|General Poetry posted January 20, 2013|
My land is burning, wildlife perish, people homeless.
Great clouds pregnant with rain; breech birth
Mother Earth would cry if she could
No tears come, streams turn to spittle
Her face is burnt, lips split open.
Waiting for the rains; lifesaving waters
She cannot gaze at azure skies
Blinded by blazing heat, she cries
Tears of ash that lay on her breast.
She can but watch her animals run
Some escape, others die in flight
Beneath her charred remains
Trees and bulbs wait to be born.
Before the white man stopped her people
From back-burning each year, each season
Mother earth brought forth new growth
Now she lies dormant - smoke-filled lungs.
Australia was managed well by her own
Because they knew how to look after her
White men fighting fires today; no relief
She cannot cry, cannot give birth.
The Creator will wash her face; blessed rain
Once again she will regain her dignity
Bring forth new growth, fodder for all
She waits, she grieves for that time before.
Free Verse Poetry Contest contest entry
Freestyle contest entry; The first Australians used to back-burn every season, they knew how to handle fire. The white man stopped this time-honored aboriginal way of looking after their lands. Before these dreadful fires started - the whites changed their mind and said they would let the landowners backburn again. Too late! Aboriginals have been caring for thousands of years - to them, mother earth comes first, she is revered as their mother. A second heatwave hit our lands and once again, Australia burns out of control. The lesson is to listen to the wise, learn from the first Australians.Pays one point and 2 member cents.
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