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Embers over the Billabong

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  Embers over the Billabong Deeper into the scrub, darkness thickens, steeped in a heavy, ember-red glow. Overhead, the canopy dissolves into silhouettes, twisted paperbark and gum branches clawing through an atmosphere that smoulders with charcoal grit and iron dust. Then, the bush yields to water. Nestled in the basin of the scrub, a still billabong collects the night in an entirely different register. While the air above blazes raw crimson, the surface below gathers cool, luminous pools of cobalt, indigo, and shattered violet. For a moment, the outback’s heat seems suspended. There is only the quiet breathing of timber, the mirrored water holding the dark, and ancient country resting at the threshold between fire and stone. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via  Blogger , YouTube , Flicker , Facebook , Instagram and Deviant Art .  Subscribe to JJFBbennett's pri...
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GODin Pot

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GODin Pot
In our time of relative peace, there are those who will forthrightly blame others to gain ascension.
They seek revenge through blinded principles.
But it is foolish for our society to gain prosperity from grounds of wrong.
To gain via perceive threats is untenable.
Centuries of thought have passed and still our want to employ hate lingers.
That is, to stop others and to gain our wants through forced misfortune.
And as our inflictions grow in number so does our determination.
Us theirs and ours cannot be decisively contained.
The more our empowered profiles gain clarity the less our perceived enemy is defined.
Until our enemy has no humanity that we can describe.
Until only shouts of evil and defiance describe only our state of understanding.
Within this scenario of threat, our real purpose is deliberately camouflaged.
And us we and they can no-longer see and or remember what was.
This is how our leading few maintains normalization.
Scratch this delusion and you will see that it is ourselves who are actually broken.
Our way of life is the tragedy of which we will not openly speak.
Our cost of understanding is misfortune.
Our consumption of self-hate is profitable.
We hate them for solace.





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