Black Fisher Swamp


I grew up on a soldier settlement block at Wrattonbully in the south east of South Australia.  This is a poem about the swamp on our property.

Black necks rise within the reeds and

swans majestically glide

to island nests.

A red filigree cloaks the water’s surface

and dandelions dance around the fringe.

Frogs reiterate a di-tone, forever making the same point.


Bank upon bank of clouds march,

dotted by a squadron of ducks.

They circle and lower their landing carriages,

approach the watery runway


brakes hard on,



Such frantic movement is quickly absorbed into

the harmony of the whole scene.


A duckling pauses, peruses its surroundings,

shakes its head

and swims on.


The breeze plays against eardrums,

Light, swan honks, reeds swaying, ripples.

Enough to nurture the soul.


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