Inspirational Epic Poetry
"The Legend Of Bimi"

Epic Poetry such as Hiawatha and the Rime of the Ancient Mariner has thrilled poetry lovers for many years

Over the centuries these and many other famous poems written by famous poets have become the fabric of our lives.

We have all recited the wonderful words from those inspirational poems and epic poetry written by some of the worlds most gifted poets such as William Butler Yeats, Rudyard Kipling, William Wordsworth, Dorothea MacKellar and Banjo Paterson to name a few.

Below is the introduction piece of an inspirational poem that our mother wrote when she lived in the Australian outback; it is about an Aboriginal boy in the time before European Settlement called "The Legend of Bimi" which, although not as yet numbered amongst the worlds most famous poetry is a wonderful piece of epic poetry that in time will be counted with the best.

The Legend of Bimi starts in the desert of the Australian outback and tells the tale of Bimi's life; his trials, his learning, his living, his relocation and his challenges from his childhood years onwards.

It is one of many pieces of inspirational poetry our mother wrote over the years and as part of her dying wish she asked us to let the world read her works and especially her tale of Bimi which she wrote as an observer and admirer of the culture of the first Australians.

In Loving Memory
Stella Patricia Bell
27.12.1930 - 6.2.2007

So if any of that famous epic poetry has stirred your heart or made your imagination fly take a few minutes to read the introduction of "The Legend of Bimi" and feel your heart soar again.

THE LEGEND OF BIMI

There's a tale that begins in the sand hills
That I would like to tell,
Built from myth and many legends,
And my pen it does compel.

The desert's a hot, a hostile place,
Nothing's changed since time began,
There's a hazy unreality there
As if it, in the dreamtime was planned.

The noon of the day is so hot and still,
And over all an expectant hush,
Like a canvas that's waiting impatiently
For the touch of the artists brush.

The fire of the day can change swiftly
To the night of startlingly cold,
Many legends are told of the people
Who live in this land so old.

The people who live there are wanderers,
Are constantly moving around
In search for a way of existence,
Staying briefly where water is found.

They know of the permanent waters,
And the places to which they return,
But as rain doesn't fall very often
Conservation is their main concern.

The desert's a place of stark beauty,
A place that grips at the heart,
A place of which these nomads
Are a living, breathing part.

Each tribe has a tract of country,
And on this others don't poach,
Though they meet on far horizons
They warn of their imminent approach.

This tale tells a warriors story,
From the magical day of his birth,
Tells his happiness and his sorrows,
Tells his days upon this earth.

Many hardships he experienced,
But there was joy and laughter too,
Where the desert is of hot red sand
Where the sky is a perfect blue.

And if you ask me where I got them,
The tales, the stories that unfold,
I will tell you in the desert
Where the sands are never cold.

From the wanderers who at sundown
Would appear there as if waiting
For those intruders self destruction,
Never trusting, always hating.

From the stars that in the night sky
Saw it all from its inception,
From the sun that beats relentless,
From the desert sands deception.

From the trees, the shrubs, the flowers,
From the birds in the branches nesting,
From the snakes, the ants, the insects,
From the lizards quietly resting.

From the winds that swept the sand hills,
Blowing twisters in the sky,
From the wild dog and the emu,
from the eagles wary eye.

From the hush that spreads so endless
Over the plain in the early morn,
From the chorus of the voices
That are heard as the daylight dawns.

Some breathed from the very heat of
This timeless, silent land,
Some told in song and dances,
In the movement of a hand.

Yes, I gathered of these legends
When I lived in that far, lonely place,
When I knew of Bimi the warrior,
Though I never saw his face.

Much of what I tell is authenic,
Is the way life used to be,
And I put it down on paper
The way it was told to me.

But some is shrouded, deep in mystery
And I had to guess at most of that,
Though I gathered,with some innuendo,
That, basically, these are the facts.

Many times in the distance I've seen them
As they wandered about the land,
And often, in silence, they'd be there
Where to touch them I'd stretch out my hand.

But these times were so seldom and fleeting,
That a dream they would seem to me,
Then they'd melt in the hazy horizon,
As if they'd ceased to be.

At these times I'd be left with a feeling
Of intrusion, so hard to dismiss,
I should leave, go far from the desert,
And I knew they were waiting for this.

I knew that the sense of belonging
Was theirs and theirs alone,
I knew there were many disasters
For which we would have to atone.

Hence this story I am telling
And somehow it may repay
Those proud people of the desert,
In some small, humble way.

So come with me on a journey,
To a time that was long, long ago,
To where Bimi had his beginning,
To the land where the sand hills grow.

Read with me this ballad of Bimi,
Know his troubles and his joy,
Come back, lets start on the dusty plain,
At the time when he was but a boy.

Stella P. Bell

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