Treasure Island

Anthony Burge

(16/06/1962 / Australia)

Wild Dog

The fog crept twixt the stick straight trees

rolled low across the ground.

The yellow moon shone frosted grass

and nothing made a sound.

A low-slung Dingo slunk in the shadows

propped at the edge of a clearing.

His tattered ears swivel fore and aft

alert to the sounds not hearing.

Trotting across the glassy grass

beneath the smoky haze.

Weaving between the fallen trees

by scent through well trod maze.

Tall crosshatched shadows cast moonlit trunks

across the sodden earth.

Pandanus palms dance eerie light

knee deep in dewy surf.

Propped stopped again, ears pricked, eyes sharp,

honed in to scope his quarry

Paw raised, held breath, breaks into a gallop,

hunting on the hurry.

A panicked fluster of night bird feathers

flees upon the wing.

Caught between the Dingoes teeth

no longer will she sing.

The mournful cry of a lonesome bullock

like a ship through the thickening fog.

Answered by another

from a distant wetland bog.

Frozen Dingo feathered mouth

stands silent in the mist.

Till all is clear and fog bound sound

is hushed in natures list.

Head dipped low, cross rock, twixt trees

beneath the slippery fog.

He trots a wary traveler,

to his lair the wild bush dog.

Submitted: Saturday, April 06, 2013
Edited: Thursday, October 10, 2013
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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Inspired by an early morning sighting of the 'mustard dog' out bush.

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