Poetry

The following are a few brief words to narrate a dream.

It’s dark and I find myself walking, the road is dusty, and it’s never seen bitumen. The road is grey path in a dark landscape. The sky is shrouded in cloud and only the dimly filtered light of a fading moon lights my way.
I remember rising early as I do normally, breaking my nights fast and setting out to walk. Walking with a purpose only dimly viewed. It’s not clear but it burns bright in my mind.
My feet hurt, my body’s way of asking, why am I walking? Where am I going?
The road is gravel and dust, long corrugated with mounds of dust lining the long graded gutter. Low and dry scrub stretch away, occasionally dotted with the silhouette of a low tree. Dry grass and clay pans, silence to the dim horizon. The air is neither warm nor cool but stirring slowly with a gentle predawn breeze. I don’t know where I am, only that I am my journeys path. I walk slowly on, my pain melts into the dust.
Before another road crosses my path. A dim sign swings in the breeze. Its direction long bleached by the sun and the elements. It offers no direction, no guidance. I am lost to the direction I should take, confused by the seemingly identical choices, my path is only one of the ways. There is no help on this road. I am confused.
Then I become aware of a presence beside me. Darkly cloaked and blending into the darkness. Was he there when I came to this crossroad? Does he follow me? Do I follow him? Who is he?
He speaks, and I know him. Like me he has no name only a purpose. Mine is as a Journeyman, his is as a guide. I speak with him every day. People often call him Death, but he is only its guide. He holds no fear for me and knows it, for when the time is right I will follow without fear, curious to continue my journey.
As he speaks the clouds begin to thin, and the stars begin to show though the darkness. The Crux shows clearly and I have a way. Turning, I can see the constellation of the Emu – dark amount the stars. A dim red glow forms on the horizon and I can hear a Kookaburra announcing a new day. My friend waves and slowly walks away and I turn into the rising Sun and continue my journey.
As the horizon glows I can see Burra the eastern grey grazing the dew covered morning grass. She raises her head to acknowledge my journey. All is well with the world and I have direction. Where my journey ends I don’t know – I am a journeyman not a destination.

I am me

You are you

I am not.

You are me, I am you

We are one.

One, part of many, part of all

Everything is but one, me.

A child of the mountains, born on the wind

I am stardust

I am old but borne yesterday.

I am now eight billion year old carbon

Born of primeval particles, carried on times first light.

Today I walk this Earth.

Tonight the Southern Cross  and the Moon light my way.

Tomorrow when I'm gone,

I'll sail the Moon, Phobos, Demos and the Sun.

Then I will - We will follow the well and pass though the 'Way's Dark Core

And continue

The Journey began many times ago.

As One

With the All.

Preamble:

In order to tell my story, for you or anyone to better understand me as I am now, I need to tell my past and to share the events that have shaped my life.
I think with us all, an event as it occurs may have little direct impact - life goes on as it always has, but that event will leave a seed that can grow or subtly influence our thoughts and actions. We are shaped by many things both great and small, but the smaller things may shape us the most.
I would like to share something with you that has had a great influence on my life. But first a little background.
A few weeks ago my oldest son found some things of mine that had been long forgotten. Among them were some poems I written around the time I was at school and first at university (the early 70's).
A line from one of these poems had been echoing around in my mind for some time, and Sam's finding it brought it to my attention again. Yesterday I heard "Facebook" had banned an image that was the seed to my poem some 34 years ago. What follows is the poem as I first wrote it mid 1972 immediately after the event occurred, that triggered it. In the poem I refer to another event that had occurred two years before but is strongly linked in my mind.

I watched television again last night
Only for something to do.
"They missed again with their bombing"
The man said.
"Nothing serious"
And a girl ran naked
Screaming from the Napalm.
The reader droned on.
One hundred or more people
Died that night, fighting for the dim
And lofty beliefs of others,
And the price of eggs rose by one cent.
I turned it off when I head
That four people were shot
Because they believed in peace
And wore no shoes

The event that help formed this poem was a news item from the Vietnam war. It was broadcast in June 1972. It was an event that helped mobilise the movement for Peace. It was an catalyst. It crystalized my intention to become a "conscientious objector" if my time came. Fortunately it was time and shortly after that Gough Whitlam was elected Prime Minister and as one of his first acts withdrew our forces from Vietnam.
Here is the image - (Click to view the original News Broadcast)

Kim Phuc fleeing a napalm attack on her village

The other event linked in my mind at the time and still now almost 50 years later was "The Kent State Massacre" in Ohio - May 4th, 1970 12:24 pm (UTC-5). (Click on the image for original footage)

Mary Ann Vecchio - 1970
Kent State University Massacre

Recently I uncovered a set of 80 column IBM punched cards (from 1973) that I typed this poem on. In my mind at the time, using this "state of the art" media reflected the impersonal nature of all state based conflict. Below is a more current rendition of that original media.

The following is a work by William Blake (1757–1827).  It is described as an unfished Poetical Sketch intended as a
Prologue,  for a Dramatic Piece of King Edward the Fourth

O FOR a voice like thunder, and a tongue
To drown the throat of war! When the senses
Are shaken, and the soul is driven to madness,
Who can stand? When the souls of the oppressed
Fight in the troubled air that rages, who can stand?
When the whirlwind of fury comes from the
Throne of God, when the frowns of his countenance
Drive the nations together, who can stand?
When Sin claps his broad wings over the battle,
And sails rejoicing in the flood of Death;
When souls are torn to everlasting fire,
And fiends of Hell rejoice upon the slain,
O who can stand? O who hath caused this?
O who can answer at the throne of God?
The Kings and Nobles of the Land have done it!
Hear it not, Heaven, thy Ministers have done it!

My first encounter with this was from Loreena McKennitt's song "Lullaby" from her 1985 album "Elemental

Lullaby - Loreena McKennitt