More

    ‘…IT CAME AT US LIKE A JUMBO JET.

    Date:

    THERE WAS NOTHING WE COULD DO BUT JUMP IN THE DAM AND COVER OUR HEADS. WE WERE DEAFENED. WE COULDN’T BREATHE. WE COULDN’T SEE. AND THEN, IT WAS GONE. IT TOOK EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING…’

    UNKNOWN SURVIVOR ON TELEVISION NEWS, VICTORIA, JANUARY 2020

    The first signs show the ground is dry
    Parched beneath an empty sky
    Drained of life, now just a crust
    It blows away in clouds of dust.

    And the empty men
    Still sing the song
    ‘It’s always thus,
    There’s nothing wrong’.

    Rivers slowing, fish are dying
    Climate sceptics keep on lying
    About water sold offshore to crooks
    While onshore weasels cook the books.

    And the empty men
    Just turn their backs
    ‘There’s nothing here,
    Let’s all relax’.

    Then science steps into the light
    With truth that stings and facts that bite
    Data sets are peer reviewed
    Evidence with care accrued.

    And the empty men
    Just obfuscate
    They pivot
    Then they fabricate.

    And now the spark, from lightning strike
    From dodgy car or motorbike
    From arson’s match or careless durrie
    From campers in too big a hurry.

    And the empty men
    Massage the facts
    To manage
    How the world reacts.

    Grim-faced farmers watch for clouds
    But all they get are smoking shrouds
    To wrap the lives at which they’ve slaved
    As they bulldoze yet one more mass grave.

    And the empty men
    Offer up their prayers
    And empty thoughts
    To dry our tears.

    Exhausted fireys try to tell
    How red-rimmed eyes have just seen hell
    Its gates torn off by fire’s rage
    How evil’s now out of its cage.

    And the empty men
    Maintain the lie
    The costs ignore
    The help deny.

    From ashen towns that once had thrived
    Folks marvel that they’re still alive
    Shattered by unbridled fear
    Their sunburnt lands beyond repair.

    And the empty men
    Sustain the myth
    They’ve always packed
    Their fictions with.

    Frightened folk demanding answers
    From pseudo leaders, febrile chancers
    Who promise this while blaming that
    Their care would fit inside a hat.

    And the empty men
    Still push the fables
    And toss us crumbs
    From swollen tables

    Then one by one the people turn
    On empties who would let them burn
    Self interest turns the keys in locks
    As empties fret the ballot box

    And the selfish men
    Backs to the wall
    Are forced
    To catch us as we fall…

    By John Dickson

    Contributor
    Contributor
    Our content is a labour of love, crafted by dedicated volunteers who are passionate about the west. We encourage submissions from our community, particularly stories about your own experiences, family history, local issues, your suburb, community events, local history, human interest stories, food, the arts, and environmental matters. Below are articles created by community contributors. You can find their names in the bylines.

    Your feedback

    Please enter your comment!
    Please enter your name here

     

    Share

    Latest Articles

    Latest Edition

    #93 February 2024

    Recent Editions

    Subscribe

    Become a supporter

    The Westsider is run on the power of volunteers. Your contribution directly contributes to ensuring we can continue serving and celebrating our community.

    spot_imgspot_img

    Related articles