Woman To Man
The eyeless labourer in the night,the selfless, shapeless seed I hold,builds for its resurrection day---silent and swift and deep from sightforesees the unimagined light.
This is no child with a child's face;this has no name to name it by;yet you and I have known it well.
This is our hunter and our chase,the third who lay in our embrace.
This is the strength that your arm knows,the arc of flesh that is my breast,the precise crystals of our eyes.
This is the blood's wild tree that growsthe intricate and folded rose.
This is the maker and the made;this is the question and reply;the blind head butting at the dark,the blaze of light along the blade.
Oh hold me, for I am afraid.
Judith Wright
Other author posts
Sonnet
Now let the draughtsman of my eyes be done marking the line of petal and of hill Let the long commentary of the brain be silent Evening and the earth are one, and bird and tree are simple and stand still Now, fragile heart swung in ...
Blue Arab
The small blue Arab stallion dances on the hilllike a glancing breaker, like a storm rearing in the sky, In his prick-ears,the wind, that wanderer and spy,sings of the dunes of Arabia, lion-coloured still The small blue stallion poses li...
The Trains
Tunnelling through the night, the trains passin a splendour of power, with a sound like thundershaking the orchards, wakingthe young from a dream, scattering like glassthe old mens' sleep, layinga black trail over the still bloom of the orchards;t...
Drought Year
That time of drought the embered airburned to the roots of timber and grass The crackling lime-scrub would not bearand Mooni Creek was sand that year The dingo's cry was strange to hear I heard the dingoes cry in the scrub on the Th...