'O' poem

‘O’ Poem On Being at Soapy Bore

Alastair Bain


Being different.
How different?
Can’t ask.
You can but no answer.
‘O’ can be been
But never known.

Heart of Dreaming
By its throb.
Lived
Not known.

Pages whipped from my hand
The wind.
Pages torn
By the wind.
And browned
By the riverbed.
Pens disappeared.

Nothing to write with
No pages to write on.
Forced into being.

Log burning
In riverbed
Sit around.
Dreams around.

Tree
Casting shade.
Shade moves
With the sun.
We move
With the Shade.
Around the tree.

And across the riverbed
On burning afternoons
To t’other side.
Where more shade.
We work and play
And in the coolness of evening
Go back to the burning log.
Dreaming around.

Evening pleasure
Walking barefoot in the riverbed.
Middle of the day
Only aboriginal children revel
On the burning sand
And show us the coolness
Under the sand

And point to the water under the riverbed.

Same Being
Many names

Criss crossing origins
But Here
And Now.
Whither?
Not Now.
Later.
Later never arrives
In the Present.

Now
Being.
No names.
Just here.
Heart

Throbbing.

Dreamers*
Sleeping in a circle
Around
The burning log
Sand pouring from
Their heads.
Wonders of the galaxy and bush flowers reflected.




Notes

O is Wilfred Bion’s symbol for Ultimate Reality.

* Images from a dream of Peter Hetrelezis’ at Soapy Bore.

Painting by Topsy Pula Jones
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