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Open Poetry #40
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‘WELCOME TO THE BULL’
| Open Poetry #40 |
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‘WELCOME TO THE BULL’ |
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PEBBLES Member
since 2006-10-30
Posts 69South Australia, Australia |
The wind howled, exploding with a sweltering blast stripping trees bare, flattening bleached grass. Rivers and lakes turned to sand that year, hardship, heartache, no relief from embered air. Stock roamed disorientated in dust and swelter, despairing heads low, hope lost for water an shelter. Birds suffocated in the floundering air, from the sky they fell their eyes a blank stare. A holocaust hungry with devouring greed in deadly silence with sickening speed the firestorm destroyed all in its path sparing nothing from natures tortured wrath. The blaze came so fast no alert could sound horses, cows and sheep no safety found. Terrified wildlife some singed and black cowed below gasping trees beside the corrugated track. The word soon spread ‘ from your houses flee make your way to the 'Bull' for your own safety’. So they come exhausted standing line upon line. the doorway was so narrow, entry,two at a time. Grime covered farmers and families come from their land, young executives, fashionable girls in pretty dresses,frightened and anxious, stand. The traveller, the punter in muted conversation the bartender face ruddy with fear and perspiration. Dusty dogs led their masters through the swing doors marking their spot, squatting on all fours soiling old patchwork carpets thread bare and worn barely protecting the gnarly and knotted cypress pine floor. Devastation and hopelessness was overwhelming but with faith, unity and safety there was no complaining commiseration, conversation flowed as the beer ran free, outside the smoke haze descended as far as one could see. It was a stinker as day turned to night flys and mosquitoes invaded with no respite, much swatting and slapping, of arms and faces cursing a must, and in a minute, the glasses were full of dust The congregating people filled the rooms. There was much about the 'Bull' to appreciate through the gloom. Doors, walls with autographs from people of dubious fame, beer bottle tops decorated door and window frames. Cedar sideboard and gilt mirrors added grace but the covered pool table had pride of place. Kerosene lamps long lit stated to fade, children in mother arms grew restless, hungry, afraid. Sketches on a wall with a ‘Bull Theme, appropriate at the time, of a Bull cornering a cow and the caption ‘Inescapabull’, repeated on a sign. On the roof of the pub was a tower the highest point in town. From here anxious eyes scanned the distant bush, creasing faces into permanent frowns. Pigeons left unmolested on the roof for many years. Suddenly, aware of smoke, ash and heat became delirious with fear. They flew into windows and walls breaking feathers and wings. People stood silent and prayed for rain and the relief it would bring. Wood and paint cracked, blistered on the pubs roof and veranda, stripping away the majestic Victorian splender. Suddenly the call they were all waiting for, ‘Its safe, you can go home now’ they heard as they rushed out the door. Everyone was grateful to have survived they raised their eyes to the sullen sky. They thought of the Pub that gave shelter from fires and they thought about the bar that became an island in a sea of dust and flies. The farmer returned to his land, to what had become the impossible dream and was heard to say,’ no human can live hear, the Ghost Gum and the Kangaroos reign supreme. Birds whistled and nestled in charred crooks of blackened trees the ferocious wind fallen to a lazy, languid breeze. Slowly, gradually the bush babies reappeared wallabies, rabbits, bats, foxes even Koala’s dared. The stars vied for glory in the black velvet bush night The monstrous speckled orb glowed, spilling over night animals and blackened earth, eerie, silver moonlight. Folklore has it, stories about the day the bush fires came to town are readily available if you by the next round. But the price was high, memories are long and the wounds to deep, so the truths will stay within the 'Bulls' walls, its secrets to keep. Time goes by, the 'Bull' welcomes guests, wearing its new coat of many colours. People remember the night when strangers became united as sisters and brothers, As they have one maybe two for the road and shake hands, they all agree, long live the 'Bull', Grandest Pub in the land. H.L. ‘THE BULL IS TAME SO FEAR HIM NOT, SO LONG AS YOU CAN PAY YOURE SHOT, WHEN MONEY’S GONE AND CREDIT’S BAD, THAT’S WHAT MAKES THE BULL GO MAD.’ |
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| © Copyright 2007 HelenIL - All Rights Reserved | |||
Lady In White
since 2001-02-12
Posts 2799USA |
Your land is an amazing tribute to survival of the strong... for one has to be emotionally and mentally strong, to bear the trials. Well done! Welcome to Passions! |
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LeeJ Member Patricius
since 2003-06-19
Posts 13296 |
amazing...this explored both the dark side of human exisitance, faith and collective joy, renew, birth.... marvelous read and write... Welcome to PIP!!!!! What an entrance Bravo!!!! |
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