Bora born
Miracle on mary street _
An icy cold frost bitten night has a breath
all it's own for a nine year old boy on a
sleep out cuddled up by a doona's warmth.
Night speaks a curlew's wail pressed in sound set to
penetrate bamboo slats of copper wound blinds.
This timber bared house two bedrooms full teases
out tolerance of whisper quiet drafts which seep
up through floor board cracks to chill old rooms inside.
These miner's cottages raised on posts look to
the past when people refined their basic needs.
On such a silent night idle thoughts drift on
an icy breath, a swirl of intention draws
him toward his sister's illness six months long.
A prayer vigil by elders has passed by in
a last ditch effort to lift her body song.
Mind floats, senses tilt, he's only a child cleansed
in Leo's sun, Jupiter rising solo
on a new moon to seal his bora ring birth.
Guided by spirit engels of light draw near
a child's air of sacrifice builds within mind.
The human will in service to another
a lot he's brought with him from times before time
unwinds in love when pressed through creation's brew.
Under doona he belly breathes her sickness
deep inside, no mystery needs to survive.
Sweaty fevered body shakes rise on a tide
of breath so slow, the thin soft whisper so deep
extracting her poison to settle within.
It's too much for his tiny body, he needs
to go bush to get his mind out of this place.
Sickness rises, he sits up legs bared to jack
frost's grip on doona wrapped shoulders, his breath deep
to quench the fire inside, his mind glides, peace found.
There he sits, breath slowed, shakes subside, be careful
what you wish for he thinks, some need to lay down.
So he does, right side, left side, belly up to
find the sweet spot for body rhythms lost in
the slow rise of bile creep past the dan tien's glow.
In a flash trade he's bolt upright, feet on floor
breath cycled deep to tame this monster inside.
No joy, it escapes in a technicolour
yawn to fire hose the bamboo blinds with a force
to put Python's Mr Creosote to shame.
He finishes off in an endless dry reach
sob in his mother's arms who's come to his aid.
Life's strange buried treasures breathe new life into
that night on mary street when elders came
bibles bled, as spirit moved through that old house.
Mind sensing the passage, became the vessell
for inner voice the child within understands.
- O -
© 27th mar 2015 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
Author's notes are here.
all it's own for a nine year old boy on a
sleep out cuddled up by a doona's warmth.
Night speaks a curlew's wail pressed in sound set to
penetrate bamboo slats of copper wound blinds.
This timber bared house two bedrooms full teases
out tolerance of whisper quiet drafts which seep
up through floor board cracks to chill old rooms inside.
These miner's cottages raised on posts look to
the past when people refined their basic needs.
On such a silent night idle thoughts drift on
an icy breath, a swirl of intention draws
him toward his sister's illness six months long.
A prayer vigil by elders has passed by in
a last ditch effort to lift her body song.
Mind floats, senses tilt, he's only a child cleansed
in Leo's sun, Jupiter rising solo
on a new moon to seal his bora ring birth.
Guided by spirit engels of light draw near
a child's air of sacrifice builds within mind.
The human will in service to another
a lot he's brought with him from times before time
unwinds in love when pressed through creation's brew.
Under doona he belly breathes her sickness
deep inside, no mystery needs to survive.
Sweaty fevered body shakes rise on a tide
of breath so slow, the thin soft whisper so deep
extracting her poison to settle within.
It's too much for his tiny body, he needs
to go bush to get his mind out of this place.
Sickness rises, he sits up legs bared to jack
frost's grip on doona wrapped shoulders, his breath deep
to quench the fire inside, his mind glides, peace found.
There he sits, breath slowed, shakes subside, be careful
what you wish for he thinks, some need to lay down.
So he does, right side, left side, belly up to
find the sweet spot for body rhythms lost in
the slow rise of bile creep past the dan tien's glow.
In a flash trade he's bolt upright, feet on floor
breath cycled deep to tame this monster inside.
No joy, it escapes in a technicolour
yawn to fire hose the bamboo blinds with a force
to put Python's Mr Creosote to shame.
He finishes off in an endless dry reach
sob in his mother's arms who's come to his aid.
Life's strange buried treasures breathe new life into
that night on mary street when elders came
bibles bled, as spirit moved through that old house.
Mind sensing the passage, became the vessell
for inner voice the child within understands.
- O -
© 27th mar 2015 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
Author's notes are here.
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Miracle on mary street _
Miracle on mary street _