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Kenneth Slessor - Talbingo
Work rating: Low

"TALBINGO RIVER"—as one says of bones: 
 "Captain" or "Commodore" that smelt gunpowder 
 In old engagements no one quite believes 
 Or understands. Talbingo had its blood 
 As they did, ran with waters huge and clear 
 Lopping down mountains, 
 Turning crags to banks. 
 Now it`s a sort of aching valley, 
 Basalt shaggy with scales, 
 A funnel of tobacco-coloured clay, 
 Smoulders of puffed earth 
 And pebbles and shell-bodied flies 
 And water thickening to stone in pocks. 
 That`s what we`re like out here, 
 Beds of dried-up passions.
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