RAS AB Paterson Bush Poetry Award

EMBRACING THE BUSHLAND BLISS
Sehajleen Kaur

Beneath the Southern Cross, my heart finds reprieve,
Returning to the bushland, where spirits weave.
Golden wattles greet me in a warm embrace,
As the gum trees whisper tales of time and space.
Hills unfold before me, like a mother's arms,

Embracing me with tender, timeless charms.
Kookaburra's laughter, a familiar song,
Welcoming me back, where I truly belong.
Rivers flow with memories, ancient and deep,
As I tread upon the land where dreams seep.

Deserts hold the stories of my soul,
A connection beyond, making me whole.
The sun sets in hues of amber and red,
A painted sky, where emotions are led.
The bushland, my mother, in every breeze,

Guiding me home with a sense of ease.
Ancestral whispers echo through the air,
Roots that bind, a legacy to bear.
Dreamtime stories unfold in the night,
As the stars above guide with soft light.
In the heart of the bush, my love takes flight,

A passion that burns, pure and bright.
The eucalyptus scent, a familiar balm,
Calming my spirit with its gentle psalm.
The land, my mother, cradles my being,
In every leaf, in every sight worth seeing.
Under Bunjil's gaze, a celestial guide,
I find solace in this vast, bushland stride.

As I lay beneath the Southern Cross' gleam,
The Australian bush, my eternal dream.
In this sacred embrace, where love is rife,
I find my motherland, my cherished life.

THE AUSTRALIAN BUSH 
By Bree Wong 

Trees dance to the rhythm of the wind as the clouds drift away, 
Leaves fall slowly, down, down, down, then on the ground they lay. 
I inhale a breath of the fresh, damp, earthy air and grin, 
The strong scent of eucalyptus wafts to my nose, around, then in. 
I close my eyes for a second or two and observe all of the sounds, 
Birds chirping, cicadas singing, these noises are all around. 
The female tree, her bark smooth as silk, 
Stands high above the clouds white as milk. 
The male tree, his bark coarse and rough, 
Looks like a strong bodybuilder, big and tough. 
The bitter taste of lilly pillies makes me turn up my nose, 
But, make it into a cordial and the appeal grows. 
The bush is so peaceful as the trees swing and sway, 
It’s a place you can be yourself and I like it this way.

LOVE POEM TO THE BUSH
By Brooke Chapman

The bush lays before me, she rests in silent majesty. 
She wears a gown of leaves that spiral and dance towards the ground. 
Atop her head, a crown of endless blue sky is perched. 
The line of mountains surrounds; an outline of her physique. 
Her shining eyes are the sun rays that dance across the shimmering waters. 
Birds singing their sweet melody are the mere echoes of her voice. 
The cracks and crevices that line her body are artworks of the places she’s been. 
Winding trees stretch into her delicate hands that reach towards the endless sky. 
Kangaroos stand proud, arching their backs and flexing their paws. 
Snakes slither and hiss, coiling their bodies and baring their fangs. 
Spiders tip toe silently, preparing to wrap any threats in delicate silk. 
These predators fortify, stopping at nothing to protect the bush, their queen. 
The bush, my queen, my safety, my muse, my love. 
Hold me always in your sovereign grace and breathe life into me. 
If you promise to remain in your perpetual beauty I will protect you forever. 
Though my words may try, they will never capture what sights and feelings my eyes 
can.

BEAUTY 
By Julia Han 

I touch the eucalyptus trees
Leaves crunch under my feet.
Pieces of bark drop free
The forest floor complete.
I see butterflies fluttering in the wind
Sunlight grazing their wings.
Undefined and unconfined
Looking for what life can bring.
I hear the song of kookaburras
A melancholy mixture of melody.
An orchestra of highest class
The beautiful Australian familiarities.
I smell the scent of the billabong
Hidden behind the bushes.
Sand and stones pushed along
In the trickle of the fresh water pushes.
I taste cool drops of mist on the tips of my tongue
Fresh beads of dew that fall from the treetops
Lush and detoxing and beautifully young
Mint-raw but delicate in a way that never stops.
I touch
And see
And hear
And smell
And I taste
Yet my heart still wonders
About the things I may not know
My mind left to ponder
About the things that do not show.
But now the sun is high in the sky
And my thoughts are held to a rest
Questions flowing in full supply
For next time when I am once again a forest guest.
I guess now it is
Time to go back home.