It wasn’t the Roman’s that he was angry with. The all powerful legions that were able to crush any army that stood to confront their mighty war machine could not be blamed for the control of the population. The administrators that the Roman Empire installed to govern the vanquished state were the real destroyers of the hope and faith that this proud nation once had. Looking at the drab coloured people that inhabited the market the youth noticed the way they bent over and shuffled along as if by hunching their shoulders they could deny their true feelings from being exposed. They did not realise that this act did in fact telegraph their feelings, their dead dreams coupled with their imprisoned realities screamed from beneath the billowing dusty cloaks. The youth constantly searched for a leader that would be able to raise an army to destroy the occupation force, but this was foolish thinking. No, he realised that the victory, the freedom would have to come through the destruction of the “installed”, their own people who had chosen to betray the nation in the interest of wealth and power for their own families over the needs of the whole population. The youths lip curled with the hatred that he felt for these people, these people he had admired before the occupation, these people who had led all the religious ceremonies and administered the sacred laws, these people who had so easily moved from defenders of the faith to destroyers of the truth.

As was the custom the youth studied the law and observed all the religious traditions that still were allowed to be practiced under the strict control of the “installed”. His intelligent inquiring mind was constantly devouring the scrolls of the past, the letters and the studies of the leaders of a peaceful, prosperous time. The “installed” allowed him access to the most delicate and closely guarded writings because of their arrogant belief in their infallibility. His commitment to completing his apprenticeship in his fathers workshop coupled with the long after hours study regime that he imposed on himself convinced the “installed” of his desire to join them. It was in his studies that he found his leader, the one to rid the community of the poison that had permeated through all levels of living. The “installed” owned everything and the items that were not owned they controlled. The laws were moulded to suit the “installed”, to protect their interests and deny the success of others. This is how the country lived, worked and worshipped.

He planned carefully, silently and thoughtfully. He practised his craft in the dead of night, out in the fields while he tended the flocks of herders who were grateful for the rest. His voice became like a weapon for him, a booming canon or a soft, soothing wind that whispered peace to the sheep around him. He took to fishing to get to know the ways of the stars and the power of the seas. He learnt of the tides that brought shoals of fish and learnt of the sharp drop off just off the beach that was home to schools of herring that appeared at certain times of the year. For years he studied and practiced for the time that would come, the time of confrontation and subversive attacks. He collected a fanatical group of friends that were slowly exposed to his plans, reluctantly agreeing with the outcome. 

Stars

The world rolls over around the sun,

Planets and moons orbit spaces.

As our minds slide slowly by

Barely revolving to my naked eye.

How can an eye be so deceived

By distance and movement and whats between

 While they hurtle along at invisible speed.

It is hard to think when what you know

Is that the  planets are moving in elipsical throws

So if I stand quiet and so very still

The rocks that go by might wait.

Words

Words that have power and they just might

Redeem the redeemed or fill them with fright

To learn what is known, or accepted or taught

To die a death of a thousand nights and never, no never,

Consider the light.

Living as parasites from the carcass of hope

Live of the fear that consumes the most

The fear of death.

Wishes

I wish I had a great white canvass

A spray can, bright colours and nothing between us

I wish to be angry and take spiteful offence

And battle the demon that won’t even dance

I wish to explode one fine sunny day

Then the noises, those noises would blow away

Falling

Falling leaves of burnt orange grey

Of brown and purple of kittens at play

Of nights and apples and frangipani leaves

That sail like canoes on the ripples of the breeze

The Room

Speckled grey floor with

Dirty white walls.

Bright orange splashes with

Holed panelled ceiling.

Small blue cushioned chairs with

A red phone over there, and me.

The Quiet

I like the quiet and being alone

I like neat and tidy and no telephone

But I see disorder and chaos at play

With each room I enter in wild disarray

With volume on high and attention at low

With no where that is safe, no where to go

There are five little bodies, entities or sprites

That mix up my days and disrupt my nights

When they are sleeping the quiet returns

As I wander restlessly with all my concerns

No, I don’t like the quiet!

G'day Luke,

I'm Steve in 3rd year lit. A mad golfer that has never viewed the game as poetry or personified the aspects off the tee. I appreciate what you have done because the unbelievers (in golf) who will never see the fluid beauty of a softly drawing tee shot as it slides to the middle of the fairway or the powerful snap of a ProV1 as it skips, bites then spins back toward the pin will not see the pleasure/pain of your words.
Thanks
Steve

Oh Miss Lyndal,

I think that you write beautifully and you should employ the timeless theme of LOVE as represented by Shakespeare with the timeless theme of space/time travel portrayed by the time lords. I am not sure whether you could include yourself as the love interest and the alien bad guy at the same time but I am sure of your ability to pull it off.

Tom Baker was much better..............

1. The unity of action: a play should have one main action that it follows, with no or few subplots.
2. The unity of place: a play should cover a single physical space and should not attempt to compress geography, nor should the stage represent more than one place.
3. The unity of time: the action in a play should take place over no more than 24 hours.

The desert speckled B.D.U’s (battle dress uniform) were not much help in the urban environment however this did not change the mission nor the patrol objectives. The lone figure, weighted down with pack, extra water, double ammunition and assault rifle moved awkwardly, slowly, exposed to the web like streetscape of the city.

With a heightened awareness that comes from constant training and the now present fear were the company for the forward scout as he sought to follow a route marked on a map that made sense to someone else, someone that certainly wasn’t here. He noticed the real lack of cover, he had to, if a contact were to go down only the baked earth underfoot or the dry mud walls framing the road could be seen and this provided no comfort at all. So exposed, he cautiously rounded the corner into a small square intersection of the labyrinth. Movement catches his eye, instinctively he drops to one knee and prepares to engage. Split second decision making, evaluate the target, threat or safe. His thumb smoothly slides the safety to live as the rifle glides up and nestles into his right shoulder. Body weight slightly adjusts forward, tightens, ready to absorb the recoil of the weapon. Right forefinger moves off the trigger guard and pressures the firing mechanism.

Aligns the target, exhales for balance, and the sudden piercing boom of a rifles discharge. The target kicks, spins and crumbles lifeless to the earth.

Screams of “Contact, move on me.” filled his ringing ears. Rising he moved with the rest of the section to the dark shape bundled unnaturally on the ground, a non combatant, a woman, dead. “Next time wait for the scout’s assessment.” screamed the section leader to the shooter. The shooter looks to the scout, mumbles an apology and moves away to the secure perimeter. The scout felt something, he was sure, perhaps an uneasy feeling of relief, of surprise, of gratitude as he realized that he didn’t have to make the decision. The next one would be his.

Steve