Orca

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Intelligent air breather immersed in the sea

‘My head is full of killer whales
and they are trying to get out!’ he said
face bloated
eyes popping under pressure of orcas
the mettle of deep spirit forces.

The incarnations of orca are many.

Spyhopping in cold ocean water
with warm blood and majesty
brutality cloaked by ethereal beauty,
tear-like haze covering black eyes that grapple my soul.

Showing off – porpoising in dark waters
breaching to good effect
displaying a strong, white chest like a silverback gorilla
black glossy back disappears into the depths
reappearing to display again.
I am mesmerised but not afraid.

Don’t get too close!
the force might suck you in
momentum
mass of savage flesh creating dire chasms in the water
juxtaposition of fascination and fear.

Then, hunting in pods like packs of wolves
speed, ferocity, synchronicity
wolves of the sea
following the bleating of lambs
a blanket of fear smothers my warm breath.

Conscious mind immersed in dream.

_____________________________

‘Orca’ was published in the Third Eye journal (Vol 1, Ed 2, Dec 2009)

* photo by Gabrielle Bryden

Australia takes the lead in the animal Olympics

 


Synchronised Pecking

Diving

Wrestling

Floor Gymnastics

Boxing

Gymnastics (Beam)

Marathon

Spectator

 

Competitors: Emu, Humpback Whale, Gecko, Frog, Kangaroo,
Photography by human: Gabrielle Bryden
Spectator: Kookaburra

Location: Woodgate Beach, Hervey Bay, Queensland

the show must go on,

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Now I know how Dorothy felt when the tornado picked her up in Kansas and whoooossshed her to the fantastical land of Oz to be with a bunch of witches, the scarecrow, tin man and cowardly lion. Now I know how a cork from a bottle of rum feels when thrown overboard by a pirate (concentrating on the melody of what shall we do with a drunken sailor while scratching his itchyaaarse and dancing with a mermaid of his fantasy), tossed up, down and sideways on the black, tumultuous seas, longing to be safely back in the dry ship cabin. I must be hallucinating, I’m sea-ing a pink snail floating on fairy floss or is it slithering along a shimmering martini, too many incantantations to digest,
never mind that, I can see the washing machine waters beginning to settle, a little, and the sky tonight is red so another day will bring a sailor’s delight of calming seas, for sure
peppermint tea anyone …

he would have it no other way
the show must go on,

The Tale of Black Rosita

black-rose

There was a girl child
Black Rosita
who never once did seem to cry
she always smiled,
a flash of dare.
She broke her foot once, running free
in the forest darkness
that embraced the town
and still she did not make a sound or cry.
Her lack of tears drew idle words
From simple folk
who thought her wicked.
One day a troublesome witch
spun a spell
to make the girl child cry
and so the tears began to flow
like a river with the dam removed.
They flowed for one, then two years
and then some more.
A salty ocean began to rise
around the girl child,
Black Rosita.
She was drowning in a spell of tears
but knew not what to do.
~
The dark angel of time had been listening
growing tired of tears and cries.
He exhaled a mighty breath of air
and life boat to her path.
Black Rosita
swam with arms so weak
toward the boat,
then clinging with clawed hands,
as only a drowning fool can cling,
too tired to get in, but still with breath
Black Rosita
drifted back to shore,
a mollusc attached to an empty vessel
but anger in her being.
The crying had stopped,
the spell was broken
and the villagers awaited
Black Rosita

to be cont.