WindRose
Epic Poem with artwork and song " A Highland Lament" by Magda Palmer Cordingley
Epic Poem with artwork and song " A Highland Lament" by Magda Palmer Cordingley
Under skies where clouds collide, Causing conflict scattered wide, Over acreage galore With trackless saltbush by the score, With twisted gums and creeks relieved, And curious rocks by past conceived, Ran a child with tangled hair Breathing fast for want of air, His casual garments flying free, Uncovered feet gave liberty To move as fast as hares through corn Or flying foxes from the dawn, To a farm house where he told Wild, urgent stories sevenfold; Sevenfold for none believed, Yet none believed this child deceived; Silence reigned, like winter's land Wrapped in snow, their faces bland. “I tell you all, Wind’s in a cave, She’s trapped inside and must be saved; I could not see her, but could hear Her voice, moss-soft and river-clear; Like gently, gurgling water-music Trapped in whirlpools ever cyclic; She sings of love, foresworn, reborn; Of a paper bird whose wings seem torn. Were it not for heaven’s blessing It’s elements, our land caressing; With one in bond or lacking freedom, We will turn as salt in Sodom; Monstrous fright will then employ Long buried phantoms to destroy With lustful plagues in frenzied need To gorge on all in rapturous greed; Vehement pleasures riding high, Will honour nought or sanctify. |  Then each sheep as silent sentry
Will look on dams gone dry and empty,
Will think on dancing butterflies
Once flaunting finery in the skies
With flitting hordes of creatures flirting;
And tussock grass with flowers waltzing,
And golden wattle strands; Then thinks
To lichen laden trunks where skinks
Abide with micro-worlds of varied
Larvae grubs-to tree roots married,
Will muse on wallabies and bees
To wafting, bird trilled melodies
Of wild voiced tribes of trekking geese,
Of finches singing, doves at peace;
Hears jingling chords within each tune
Form harmonies to draw the moon,
To blanket all with muted light
Concealed from Keepers of The Night.
| The sheep will then try silent prayer To ask for evening’s tranquil air; They’ll feel the earth turned parched and frizzled And taste the oats and grass grown grizzled; They’ll smell the green with drought replaced Our precious farm land gone to waste; No fellow creature to be found, Like termites hidden in their mound; They’ll look for Wind to ring release And wonder why her power ceased; She’d always given nature’s needs, Here some rain, there some seeds. Wind has gone sheep know not where; Distress will drop them in despair; We know the Wind is in a cave, Compressed within and won’t be saved Unless we help release her bird Who fills her heart with songs unheard.” Done, the boy drew back reflecting, His family sat, their thoughts collecting; Heard the eerie air was noiseless; Absent sounds drummed deep and voiceless, Renting sound as Darwin thunder Smashes eardrums, tears asunder; Loud as astral bodies clashing, Volcanic nightmares, icebergs smashing; Hidden sounds of hooded silence Indicating secret violence; As though some twisted, boastful thief Had stole their joy and left his grief; The very air was charged with fraught, Was it true this tale he'd brought? That Wind, the Queen of earth and air, Whose breath brings fortune through repair, Is trapped within a cave forever, Forever, forever stopping never? |
