Let them crumble

The columns and arches

shall be disassembled

the stones will be broken-up

and allowed to erode

in the wind and the rain and the sun.

The stone-masons' skills

have been brought to nothing.

Let the walls crumble;

no heritage order can save them,

money has not been put aside for reconstruction.

There will be no restoration project

driven by a grand vision

with its attendant fund-raising scheme;

religion, too, will be allowed to collapse.

The man who foretells the demise

of both Temple and Religion,

himself becomes the rock

upon which these flawed vessels

will be dashed and broken.

It will be thrown down,

all of it.

© Ken Rookes 2015

Hot and windy

Hot and windy.

Really hot; the like of which

recorded history had previously

remained ignorant.

An apprehensive landscape

waiting fearfully for the ominous spark

that would create a devouring monster;

the dragon with many heads

sitting in triumph astride a parched terrain.

Ordinary women and men,

noting its rapid progress with alarm,

took arms of tank, pump and hose

attempting to defy the onslaught;

whilst communities, nestled

amidst once sweet and welcoming bush,

drank bitter draughts of grief

and tearful disbelief.

These things were never meant to be!

Those who ask difficult questions

shall be excused: Where can God be,

when hell has spilled beyond 

its metaphorical gates to turn

rough eucalyptian beauty

into roaring flame and ash?

Where, indeed;

but perhaps

in the dirty faces and

weary, smoke-filled eyes.

© Ken Rookes

I wrote this in response to the 2009 fires. Maybe someone will find it useful again in the current circumstances.