Roadsong -- Poetry With Vision

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Date Posted: 20:50:10 04/12/01 Thu
Author: David Henry.
Subject: Roadsong

Roadsong.

At one hundred, the exhaust note of the ancient car
Sings its satisfying song; we will travel far,
The bitumen before us winds through hill and dale,
The white line flicks on past us, we turn the breeze to gale.

Westing further every mile, we pass through fertile plain,
The forests curtsy as we go - there is no sign of rain,
Each gauge is reading �in the green�, the road trains step aside,
The blue day lies before us on our long, long ride.

We cross the last great river where paddle wheelers rode
The flood tides of the Darling with their woolly load.
The desert lies before us, the hills repeated goad
Urges us on forward along the long straight road.

We will rarely pass this way through these little towns
Basking in the old dry sun, each empty shop front frowns,
Still, the white line flicks on past; the way is straight and long
And still the long road leads us on, still, it sings its song.

It sings a song of commerce; B-doubles speeding on,
A plume of black against the blue as they go along,
Old folk with a caravan holding up the line,
Caring not where they stop, for they own the time.

It sings its songs of life and death; the carcases remain
Picked by flocks of jet black crows in the tabledrain,
The diamonds of the broken glass tell a tale of woe,
The Lorelei of tar leads on to where we want to go.

David Henry. 13/4/01.

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Replies:

Re: Roadsong -- spw, 07:34:07 04/13/01 Fri