Reader Submissions
Well-Known Corners of the People
Oratorio at Bowen Creek
by
Fiona McIlroy
now I know what to do
when my heart is ruffled
torn or battered in a storm
now I know where to go
when my mind is baffled
by the pressure to perform
just walk a bit more slow
to where sound is muffled
soft carpet of starry lawn
from the log- look below
where strobe lights dapple
the granite rock form
all shades of green glow
from pomaderris to apple
from moss to tree fern
the thrill of each arpeggio
as thrush and gang-gang grapple
with tree creeper and scrub wren
the solo gong of oriole
against the rise and free fall
of speckled warbler or wattlebird
hours pass by in liquid flow
as shimmering pebbles ripple
bathing the eye in light and shade
on the way back to the cabin
you can be royally entertained
by the king of mimics-lyrebird
the Marcel Marceau des oiseaux
dancer, romancer, ventriloquist
and studio artist superb
now I know where to go
to the source of all I seek
the birth of the Word, the babble
of Bowen Creek
the oratorio improvised each
dawn and dusk just for us-
surround -sound tones
from birds and singing stones