The mowana tree is about the ambitions we have as children and
how our initial drive can stall as we grow up.
The
mowana tree
Down below the mowana tree
lying
prone and silent among the
grass
the shadows spread out from my
past,
flickered thoughts and memories
spinning like a top, golden
bright yet oddly
sad when measured against my dad,
I have grown to slay no giants
nor
travel oceans wide and vast, no
instead
I’ve filled my desk with piles
of books
and promises, tired lines and
maps,
I’ve grown old but sown no oats
and
wrote no poems that have filled
these
eyes with tears but have no
fear
because these doors lay open
and all
those poets who came before me
have enshrined a dream of fame
and
fortune that has me hooked, and
moving forward no bruised eye
or
quickly spoken lie will change
my course
or lead me off into the
darkness of the bush.
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