Under The Mallee Bough

  Mrs. Hancock cuts our hair. It’s funny, you know…; the image of adults one has as a child, compared to the actual reality known by the adults of the time around you. Mrs. Hancock used to cut our hair when we were children…the four of us ; from the oldest brother (about 10 yrs) , down incl’ to my sister, then myself (the youngest about five yrs). We would be marched down across the railway-line by the eldest (“hup-two three four”), each clutching a bob (one shilling) in our sweaty little hands to get that one generic haircut for which Mrs. Hancock was infamous..: “The Baseoh”…about once every couple of months, it seemed, most of the kids in the district would sport a Mrs. Hancock “special”…and we’d be lined up on the railway station going to school, looking like a lot of miniature “Moes” (as in The Three Stooges!) waiting for the train….girls incl’, you know!..I wonder that some social science person didn’t do a study on ; “Demographic by haircut” kind of

                   A Compendium of poems.                      Under the mallee bough,                 Across the quiet waters,              Blended with cries of river birds,                 We hear our ancestral voices . . .                                                             A compendium of poems.                                                             ( Sponsored by : The Scriveners Review.)           Cherish the Trees.   In September, Pink gum blossom flowers Against the spring blue sky – While among the leaves Honeyeaters wage silent and savage wars Over the bounty of the nectar.   Last year’s fledgling magpie Practices his carol, Weaving a spell Over cliff and mud and reeds Of the river valley. A black feather, faultless in every detail Lies upon the grass. Whose hand crafted the perfection of that feather? Gifted to each bird, their song Grew each leaf, upon each tree?