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Wednesday, 10 June 2015

The dormant blog - The Earth Cries Out


Daisy regrowth after a long time of nothing
Welcome!

When I set up this blog in 2012 I had no idea how demanding I made it on myself! I quickly used all my short stories and poems, and realised that I cannot write enough new material, even monthly, of the quality I want others to read. What to do?

My first ‘solution’ was obvious to all – I stopped blogging! And gradually the number of hits has declined, which is fair enough.

Now my good friend, Rosanne Hawke, has inspired me to revive it by including me in the Blog Tour Award!

So here is my first blog for over two years: the pre-cursor to the Award blog, which I will post on 22 June to answer the Award's four questions on writing.

Today’s poem ‘The Earth Cries Out’ is on an issue that sorely troubles me. Forgive me if you don’t find the plight of asylum seekers disturbing too (apparently at least 60% of Australians don’t), but I hope you can at least appreciate the second stanza.

And…
after you have read it, I’d really like your ideas about my blogging problem. What would you like to read on this blog that you reckon might be manageable once a month? (I know, once a week would be better but, honestly, I don’t think I can do that). One option is the best 300 words I’ve written on my novel that month. Another is to move away from just stories and poems, including (for example) writing tips, my life as a ‘submerged’ writer, faith-informed writing, life in general...


BTW, if the comments button doesn’t work for you, you can send me an email at bellwriting@gmail.com. I’d love to hear from you!

The Earth Cries Out

I
The once mundane glory of life’s daily rhythms
pulsing a future for the family,
the tedious rising to work,
to eat, to sleep (repeat)
– ancient rhythms –
halted.
Gone
the streets
where voices raised
were only children’s cheers
and the cries of the fruit seller.
Torn by hatred, trust is a tattered flag
signalling surrender to relentless terror.                               
The earth cries out.

II
A tree stands dead, droughted and decapitated,
prized home to a succession of wild birds.
Rosellas, galahs, lorikeets
compete for the shelter
of a burr hole
exposed.
Air
quivers
with chainsaw buzz.
Orange ropes, danger’s cue,
lash the trunk. Chunks of timber thump
to the ground, and with them the burr hole nest.
Leafless landmark gone, where will the birds find refuge?           
The earth cries out.

III
Seas away from the streets of death, boats carry hope
which builds a nest in a barren landscape.
Yearning for new life, it waits…and wilts…
Shelter becomes prison
No welcome arms
No home.
Gone
the beat
of life’s normal
rhythms. The flag of trust,
roughly repaired, is fallen and
lies discarded. No terror now but mere
oblivion, a death more discreet than drowning.                
The earth cries out. 


See you next time!
Claire Belberg