INUKSHUKS

They stand alone
in vast tundra landscapes,
signposts, boundary markers,
custodians of sacred space –
as they have been for thousands of years.

And yet today
they have become popular,
perhaps cheapened –
something to make by a roadway
or on a stony beach,
sometimes to promote a function or locality.

We have two inukshuks in our front garden,
reminders of Canadian visits and friends,
but also for their historic message -
here is where we are, this is our space
and it is sacred to us.

We have had a lifelong, special interest in Canada, visiting there a number of times and accumulating wonderful Canadian friends and memories. Over several trips, we have driven the whole distance from Vancouver to Nova Scotia - something that most Canadians have not done. Sadly, age and the current global situation mean that we will not go there again. 

 

 Photograph and sketch of our Inukshuks,  

originally made for us at Athelstone by Kim and Steve Rydall when visiting us in Australia.

 

Our first Inukshuk, seen near Lake Superior.

 Inukshuks met in our travels around Bruce Peninsula.

PAUSE

 Is my muse dead?
... or perhaps
just tired,
diverted,
rather than stimulated
by the happenings of life?

Once
poetry seemed to be
everywhere
but now ...
What has changed?

Nothing really my friend.
Nothing that you
can’t overcome
if you truly want to.

Stop.
Calm yourself.
Reflect.
Look.
Listen.
Feel.
It is still there.
You will hear it speak again.
If you truly want to.

Written in some frustration from my own lack of focus and output.

OLD BIKER

He was old and lean,

even rangy,  

perhaps a little demented,  

and rode an old pushbike 

around our little, country town.  

Some called him our

“geriatric biker”.

Few really knew him.

 

When he died 

I was asked 

to conduct the funeral.

I invited a friend, a “local”, 

to research his eulogy.

 

She unearthed 

old photographs of a proud man,  

wearing a ten gallon hat, 

sitting tall in the saddle 

on a station horse.  

Our geriatric biker 

had managed 

some of the largest stations 

in Australia.

 

We took him

to our bush cemetery 

on the hill behind the town,  

overlooking the seemingly endless 

arid northern plain

where he had lived and worked.

 

By request of the family

he was buried 

to the country song 

“Leave Him In The Longyard”.

 

"Leave Him In The Longyard" is one of the many songs

made popular by the late Slim Dusty.