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Friday poem 14: not really a poem!

10 Jul

But it could be.

1705 017In Redfern Park

In the latest South Sydney Herald Adrian Spry contributes this on the back page.

Utopian Dream

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan…

On a drear early morning, mid-year and hand-numbing cold. Greyness seems juxtaposed upon grey. The morning mist shrouds the Waterloo towers, making them seem ceilingless. They seem to climb heavenward forever.

Walking – walking downhill. My normally constant chatter with my children is missing. We are all lost in our own thoughts. Coming to terms with the start of a new week. The start of a new day. The grind of everyday life.

Crack!! My eyes snap to the right! What was that? A pistol shot? Ahhh…

Comprehension dawns as my eyes give credence to my mind’s film. I take in the scene.

Martial artists on the basketball court. The “crack” is the snapping of fans in unison as the three artists perform the tai-chi Kata or dance. Brightly coloured as oriental fans are. Exotic. Ancient. As we watch we seem to lighten. Awaken.

And now I notice the green of the grass. The towers and buildings. I see the gardens bright. I sense all this world around me.

Ahh yes… with smiles we three carry on. As we bend the corner into Cooper Street my daughter laughs and skips. My son smiles on. My daughter speaks. “Dad, those Chinese people look great.” They do. Yes. The rhythm of life.

God is great.

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