The land is a giant whale

that swallows the sinker,

with hook, line and bait

aborting dreams of a good catch

fishers turn home at dusk

blue Peter on empty ships

all Peters with petered out desires.


The land is a saber-toothed tiger

that cries deep in the glade

While infants shudder home

the grizzled ones snatch their gut

from bayonets of tribulation

halting venturous walk at dusk


The land is a giant hawk

that courts unceasing disaster

as it hovers and hoots in space


The land lies patiently ahead

awaiting in ambush

those who point away from a direction

where nothing happens toward the shore of possibilities.


This poem is about: 
My country
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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