The beautiful emerald breasted Wompoo pigeon of the Queensland rainforests utters a deep and awesome call, which gives us its name. These places are very special and worthy of preservation. When I spend time in those forests I come away cleansed. The poem was written for a North Queensland Conservation Council poetry competition.
WOMPOO
The warning trumpet sounds.
Wompoooo!
Wompoooo!.
Alert the forest!
The call sounds to tell the creatures we are here.
But No! This is not us! This is not me!
I walk softly on the moist earth
noting carefully where my foot falls so as not to harm
nor disturb any slow and gentle thing.
Leaf skeletons lie in frail beauty by blue fungal flowerings,
death unveiling the wonder of life,
life unveiling the wonder of death.
My eyes travel from the hollow depths of shadow within the fig,
enjoying the gradation and ply of light on the complexity of its trunk,
drinking the speckled play of active leaf upon sky,
feeling the luminant greenness of the sun passing through fan palm leaves
into the difficult to reach and shadowy corners of my mind.
A robin flies softly to a low branch and asks a silent question.
“Hello my friend,” I say and Robin stays a while for company.
My lover and I walk silently, touching gently and pointing now and then,
breathing softly scents of earth and vegetation,
looking at each other’s eyes, wondering at wonderment.
Later, we leave renewed, souls filled with memories:
Bright red berries on a forest floor
Wompoo!Wompoo!