It’s an honour to have a poem selected for this anthology, hot off the press from Ginninderra Press (the publisher of ‘A Voice for Veronica’).

This collection had its beginnings in the shame, sadness and disbelief that was felt by so many after the result of the Voice referendum in 2023. The poems passionately express those reactions and unflinchingly explore some of the truths about Australia and its history, that, if they had been widely known, might have led to a different result. It is hoped that the readers will find solace, inspiration and hope in the pages that follow. Stephen Matthews, editor.

My poem, ‘Four Generations’, reflects my perspective on generational legacy and where I sit in history. I leave my beautiful and very smart grandchildren a mix of hope and sadness.

Four Generations

You were my gentle grandad

I was spoilt and loved, the first female of your line

Quietly spoken grower of delicate gladioli

You named one after me

Companioned by your loyal springer spaniel

But never told me about Fromelles

The horror of your war

Just grew sweet strawberries.

You were my upright father

Brilliant but Depression deprived

Lived for service and duty

Pressured night study late in life broke your health

I think you loved me.

I am still living and loved; married

Have played, planted and bought houses

Studied, travelled, written books and made music

Flourished in my female way

Gathered my grandchildren around me

Some say I am a lucky boomer.

Dear granddaughter, finished school, finding your way

Tossing the dark curls bestowed by my genes

Driving a car to university

Free to choose your life or even gender

Inheriting a broken beautiful world I leave you

with love and some sorrow..

Jeanette Woods ©️ 2024

https://www.ginninderrapress.com.au/store.php?product/page/3175/Stephen+Matthews+%28editor%29+%2F+Telling+Australia%27s+Truth

Where is the sweet sound of grace?

Not just an act of grace or simple gratuity

But a perfumed, pervasive grace note

Adding lightness to life’s grinding song of lament.

Screens filled with sadness

The media serving dark news with our dinner

Falling like a weighted blanket on conversations

Loaded words driving people apart

Sowing distrust between us

Insidious weeds that choke conversations

Virus-like stealing our health

Our ungrace sucks our very life

And is exhausting.

Grace defies explanation

Best conveyed in looks and hugs

Gifts or choosing to be silent

Acts of love that cross divides

Costing the giver dearly

But in acceptance are free.

Acts that melt away disgrace, abuse and shame

That spread like soothing oil

And precious perfume.

Acts that break the rules

Gratified to find a lover’s love languages

Gracious love that blesses others

And returns with interest to the givers.

Relationships not regulations

Saving grace.

Servant Babette used all her fortune

Creating a generous feast

Exotic foods that cost her, sourced from afar

Prepared with hospitable love and labour

For those who came.

Opening the way for grace to enter

Changing the village

As only grace can transform.

We sit at a table prepared just for us

Oil slathered on our heads and feet,

Forever.

JW December 2023

(Torres Strait language for full moon)

New crescent moon

Rising at dawn, a silver sliver

Trailing the bright orb in its waxing

Reaching the first quarter

Emerging languorously at midday

Gibbously glorious.

Obtusely angled

Daily later and larger

Luminous in its swelling

Competing with its gravitational star

Entering the sky at dusk.

Pink moon

Fulsomely round, facing off sun

Sprouting grass and egg moon

Packed with new life

Hanging large and unreal

First nations see

Fish become moon as waters rise,

Swelling tides

Giz meb

Falling tides as bright circle shrinks

To third quarter, last

Chasing fish to nets

Waning to a silent midnight arrival

Ready to rise again

An Easter moon.