June 1st 2019


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Articles from this issue:

COVER STORY Scomo routs Labor, the Green, GetUp and the left-wing media by Patrick J. Byrne and Peter Westmore

CANBERRA OBSERVED Surprise! Polls aren't what they used to be

GENDER POLITICS The true cost of childhood gender reassignment

OBITUARY Bob Hawke, R.I.P.: astute politician, flawed policies

POETRY AND SOCIETY T.S. Eliot and the modern condition

WATER POLICY The time is ripe to revisit the Bradfield scheme

ASIAN AFFAIRS Taiwan upgrades U.S. links, asserts sovereignty

NATIONAL AFFAIRS Recapping the trial as Cardinal Pell's appeal approaches

THE FAMILY AND SOCIETY Working to bring down the Sexual Revolution

HISTORY OF SCIENCE Faith and reason and Father Stanley Jaki Part 2: Science and ancient cultures

HUMOUR A tidy planet is a happy planet

MUSIC Charles Ives: Modern elements aimed at sounding good

CINEMA John Wick 1: The lighting of the fuse

BOOK REVIEW Novelised true crime a true thriller

BOOK REVIEW The experiences of Phoebe Raye

POETRY

LETTERS

FEDERAL ELECTION Queensland voted for jobs, life and country

NATIONAL AFFAIRS The trial of Cardinal Pell ... an injustice

EUTHANASIA D Day - June 19, 2019 - Voluntary Assisted Dying Act 2017 begins operation

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POETRY




News Weekly, June 1, 2019

Wellington Storm

In the windswept rains on Te Atiawa’s plains
In the land of the lower North Island
Where the clouds scud by in the foaming sky
And crash on the Rimutaka highlands

The surge of the sea sweeps the surf to me
On the beach by the Hutt River mouth
I brace myself on the river mouth shelf
And confront the assault from the south

 

 

As the stormy sea thrusts the swells to me
From the base of the global sphere
The Antarctic bite of the cold wind’s might
Cuts me deep as I’m standing here

Every sense is alive as I grasp and strive
To capture the soul of the storm
And seize its strength right along the length
Of the beach in the Wellington morn

As the Ants in town all hunker down
Behind their double glazing
I’m out here in the storm swept air
With my eyes and senses blazing

Wildly awake, I stand there and take
The brute force of the southerly storm
But I feel no fear because I’ve been here
Long ago on a cold April morn

Fifty years ago in that cruel April blow
Nature’s fury was fully unleashed
And fifty-one died in the fierce raging tide
On the rocks near Pencarrow’s beach

On Barret’s reef Wahine came to grief
In the heads of the harbour mouth
And rolled on its side in the seething tide
Destroyed by the storm from the south

I sat in the gloom of my puny classroom
As that roof flew off in the gale
And I stared in the eyes of the furious skies
So juvenile, frightened and frail

I learned on that day when a storm comes to play
That a terrible beauty abounds
And a raw tempest’s might is a powerful sight
As a roof flies across the school grounds

That storm on its roll blew its way to my soul
And captured my heart with its splendour
Since then I delight in each storm’s awesome might
As they transport me back to remember

There’s no need for alarm, you’ll not come to harm
As the storm tosses on in its play
And gives you a fright with its powerful might
As it welcomes you into the day

The thin autumn sun breaks this storm’s sense of fun
As it did fifty years ago
And I laugh in its face, in one final embrace
As its powerful winds start to slow

The harbour then stills as the wind leaves the hills
As the latte sun ventures out
And the ants all smile down the town’s golden mile
As they cautiously patter about

The storm is like life where we know joy and strife
And we only see beauty in one
But beauty is there in the hard times we bear
And we’re poorer if we only love sun.

Terry Jordan, April 10, 2018

Written on the day of the 50th anniversary of the Wahine storm during a storm of lesser (but still impressive) intensity. My twin and I were at school when the roof flew off our classroom and sailed across the rugby fields.




























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April 4, 2018, 6:45 pm