Poem: Beneath a Grey-Green Canopy

Beneath a Grey-Green Canopy

Eucalypts, thank you for your summer strip show,

that scattering of bark across this land,

a confection of fawn, brown, yellow, grey,

pink, cream and motley cinnamon shards or strings,

giving us our complexion.

You are so like us at times.

Just as many lay their dead,

feet pointing west,

you send a signal before shedding

by changing your trunk’s colour

on the side facing the setting sun.

Your summer rebirth shimmers with floral filaments

popping into the world from tough little gum nuts

till red, orange, yellow, white,

and pale green flora infuse the skies

and feed the bees and birds.

And, what of you, Scribbly Gums,

reversing the palimpsest with your trunks,

revealing new moth larvae scribbles

when old bark drops? What stories do they carry?

Did you give us those tight congeries of inscriptions

on the underside of branches to make us laugh?

We call them wrinkly armpits with an affectionate smile.

Lindy Warrell, anthropologist, author of fiction and poetry, lives in South Australia. She has published two novels, The Publican’s Daughter and They Who Nicked the Sun and two poetry collections A Curious Mix in Free Verse and Dressed & Uploaded. An abiding love of the natural world and Australian native flora and fauna, inspires the likes of today’s poem. More can be found about Lindy, her work and thoughts at her site wattletales.

Readers’ original and unpublished poems of up to 40 lines can be emailed, with postal address, to [email protected]. Submissions should be in the body of the email, not as attachments. A poetry book will be awarded to each accepted contributor.