A Country Weekend

Still living with me
A weekend not that long gone by
One with several days
among the hills of green and gold.

Green with the rains
of winter. Gold with the blossoming
in every field and on
a hundred thousand trees in bloom.

And the little town, across the other side,
a town with its own small history,
And a countryside that built warmth,
contentment, even strong affection.

But that weekend was one
that will last with me,
last with every one of us.
Forever.

It was the weekend of New York and Washington,
a black Tuesday. Unbelievable horror.
Tuesday was the day
that my weekend ended.

Beliefs that are beyond my understanding.
Fanatics. Madmen,
People who ordain their own deaths
and the deaths of many others.

Far distant from the little town. Far distant
from a town with one wide street
stretching out forever
into the hills of green and gold.

Yet those madmen were not alone.
History has given us their forebears.
These long pages of mankind are filled
With people who have died to kill others,

Those few days, my weekend,
also had its history.
About men who sacrificed their lives,
and those of others. For their beliefs.

The war-prisoners of Cowra.
They threw themselves on the wire,
and overran machine guns,
killing hundreds, we and they.

And I wondered
if they were the same -
the killers of New York
and the kamikazes in Cowra ?




Live Poets October, 2001
Entered in Red Dragon awards
Entered in Poetry Australia, March 21, 2002

Read at the Sydney Poetry Festival,
November, 2002