Elly McDonald


Dust (1985)

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bright red

wounding the hillside, once

twice: every year

the dust billows down through the gullies

from up north, from the desert

dry-red flatlands, red dust clogs

cloaks the sky

so heavy, day smothers

so light, night fades

desperate-hearted nights, of throbbing sticky

heat: a bullet-hole

moon bleeds over soft lands –

bright red, like a bushfire

casting a pall

Author: Elly McDonald

Worked in the Australian rock music industry as a journalist and published widely as a poet before moving to London and spending the better part of a decade in advertising agencies. Returned to Australia and tried teaching, primarily teaching English to non-English speaking, newly-arrived refugees but also briefly as a high school classroom teacher. Has travelled Western Europe, North Africa, Russia, Northern India, East Asia, coastal USA, some Pacific Islands, and Australia.

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