Tamworth Rage Page
Helen is no longer updating this website
 
"Australian Country Poems"
2003-2004
Please send a poem to me by e-mail to ragepage@bigpond.com  half way through the year 2005 each poem will be judged and the winner will receive a small prize.
 Here is a picture of part of the Macleay River for inspiration to write a poem
 
 
Winner of 2003-2004 Poetry Competition
Thanks for the opportunity to judge the 2003 Tamworth Rage Page Poetry Competition.
I am pleased to announce the winner of this years competition as, Graham White, with his poem 
The Chimney Number 25.
Congratulations Graham & thank you to all the entrants for their great effort this year.
Yours in Poetry,
Lenny'
Len Knight

 
Congratulations Graham!!
The 2003 - 2004 Competition winner is Graham White with poem 25 The Chimney
 
Click on photo to read some of
Robert Raftery poetry 

 

Bush Poets Chris and The Grey 
Bush Poet News with Merv Webster (A.B.B.A Bush Poet Rep)
http://www.bushballadeers.com.au/bushpoet.htm 
Merv Webster is about to release his first bush ballad E.P. called The Bushman and The Balladeer. 
Two songs he wrote as a tribute to R.M.Williams and Slim Dusty.
2003-2004

Mel Sommers has written a book "The Time of My Life" $12, two of which goes to the Leukaemia foundation.   This is an autobiography of his early life.     Also his fine collection of Australian Verse.    Poem 11.

 
PO BOX 124 BOOLAROO
Phone 49581995 (Scroll down for Mel's (poem 11)
 
Click here Great Unique Wood Carvings for Sale
 
The 2003-2004 Winning Poem no. 25
THE CHIMNEY

The chimney in the paddock
Now shelters cows and birds.
The grass has grown so there’s no trace
Of children one time heard.

When the land was first selected,
Was he waiting for a bride,
Did he devise the plan with love alone
Or was she at his side.

I guess he worked the land back then
Choosing food to feed his love
A cow, some sheep, a garden (hers),
And crops for all the above.

Did the fireplace share their sorrow
When a cherished baby died?
Did the mantle hold his elbow
As he gazed and dreamed and cried?

Did you watch the beginning of young true love?
Did you see the start of life?
Did the house protect just two again,
Or was it one, man or wife?

Did the crops go bad, or drought set in?
Why is the house not there?
Was it fire or flood or something worse?
Did they just lose their care?

You remind me, chimney, of an old, old man
Sitting gazing through a frown;
Remembering things that no one knows
soon gone and not to be known.

©Graham White 2003
 
Poem 36
Macleay River
New South Wales

Macleay, a gently winding river,
Her riverbanks serene,
Shady, sloping native gums,
Nature's vista supreme.

A snap shot of Australia
To reflect upon for hours,
Distant, dark-green covered hills,
Magnificent, small wildflowers.

Afternoon shadows soften the haze
On a blazing summer's day.
Picnickers seek her cooling shores,
While children run and play.

Ripples on the Macleay River,
Blackfish breeding ground,
Trevally and Blue Swimmer fish,
Mud crabs fresh and sound.

Historic Macleay River
Evokes many a scene long past,
Old timers recall the Punt Service,
The current running fast.

Echoes of 19th century cedar cutters
Are heard if you quietly listen,
Stuarts Point, a fisherman's paradise
Where the Bream and Whiting glisten.

Apex Historical Lookout
Affords a magical view,
Of the journeying Macleay River
To restore the soul anew.

Yvonne Pick,
Norman Park, Brisbane.
May, 2004. (c)
 
Poem 35
They Are Marching Once Again
For My Dad

They are marching once again, pressing forward as the rain beats
Softly down upon their shoulders up the wet and slippery way
There’s a soldier standing waiting high and lonely in the wind
Bugle ready for his moment on this very special day

And marching there beside them are the spirits of their comrades
Sons who fell to foreign bullets and succumbed to cold or ill
Daughters too who served the sovereign, giving all to god and country
While their bones lie lost, forgotten on some distant countries hill

They are old and weak and feeble, joints that creak and hearts that flutter
Bones that once were strong enough to carry young men off to war
And though some tell of sights and sounds to make your body shudder
There are some who’ll hold until they die, the horror that they saw

And oh the things they saw

They are slowing down, forgetful, numbers dwindle every year
Another soldier fades away when natures will dictates
They go back to join their comrades where they boil the old black billy
Squatting down to share a cigarette with young but long dead mates

It was different long ago when so many men and women marched
Along this same grey roadway to the stirring drums and pipes
When their medals flashed so brightly and the thousands on the footpaths
Looked in awe at brass and leather, polished shoulder pips and stripes

When the babies came in thousands and the wives stood by delighted
At the thought of having husbands back from fighting cross the seas
Mums with tears upon their cheeks to see their children home again
And me and you in awe as well upon our mother’s knees

It’s me now who is tearful as I watch these old parading heroes
Marching down the road once more with medals on their chest
It’s you who looks upon the flock to see behind the faces
What they once were like when they were young and giving it their best

There’s a kid who’s got a picture of his uncle or his granddad
There’s a young girl wearing medals holding proudly father’s hand
There’s a soldier sitting quietly saluting at the telly
While he watches comrades marching to the beating of the band

And they shall not be forgotten on the 25
th of April
Though there may be one day soon when none partake in the parade
As the sun sets we’ll remember what they did for you and I
Remember too the things they did and sacrifices made

They will grow old and leave us as their mates have done before them
They’ll not be round forever sons of Anzac and Tobruk
Though their memories and names will live beyond their earthly time
Carved in stone and song and poetry, in legend and in books.

As we grow old and take our fathers places in the marching
As sons and daughters go to war, their precious blood to spill.
A poppy blooms in Anzac cove.  A wreath is placed where heroes lie
A bugler waits preparing on some dark and distant hill.

© W. J. Dettmer 2002
Poem 34
HOW GOD MADE AUSTRALIA

Just after the dawn of creation, the blink of an eye I guess,
God was just sat on his laurels, having a well deserved rest.
Watching the world spin before him, enjoying a packet of chips*
he cursed when he noticed a large vacant lot, “oh strewth, there’s a spot I’ve missed”.
So he focused his full concentration, which wasn’t too good at the time,
reached into a cupboard marked, “plans for the Earth”, while sipping a Lager and Lime.
Scanning them over and over, whistling as he went along
he threw down his glass and swore in disgust when he realised just where he’d gone wrong.
He got all his papers together, his pencils, rulers and log.
then jumped from his place in the heavens and landed ,smack dab, in a bog.
“the first thing”, God said, “are some trees”, reaching into a bag at his side
grabbed a handful of seeds, tossed them to the breeze, which scattered them all far and wide.
Now he’d nearly used all of his animal bits to fill up the rest of the world
and not stopping to think (he was half full of ink) threw the rest in a bucket and twirled.
with one giant scoop from his mixture, he pulled out a strange looking batch.
short body, 2 short legs, 2 long and huge tail, hardly a perfect match.
He mixed till he whipped up another  (‘cause you can’t reproduce without two.)
then stood, with a smirk, considered his work and christened them both “kangaroo”.
God whizzed back and forth to his bucket, as he mixed up a rum looking lot
time and again till he stopped, wiped his chin and said, “jeez this place is hot”.
When he’d almost emptied his bucket and was just getting ready to leave
he started to shake! he’d made a mistake! he’d forgotten the Adam and Eve!
So with all of his care and attention, with all of his love and great skill
he constructed his  ‘piece de resistance’ then sat down to rest on a hill.
God finally got man together.  Said, “sorry for taking so long”
and as sort of a birthday present, created the first pair of thongs.
beside man he fashioned a woman, with assets all of her own,
then turned his back and started to pack when they wouldn’t leave each other alone.
He looked over this beautiful country of ours with all of it’s paraphernalia
and cried out, “I’ve got one place called heaven, so I’ll call this one Australia”.
Poem 33
 
THE HIGHWAYMAN
(Winner of the 1995 Banjo Patterson Award at Camden Festival)

I thought the days of highwaymen were over long years past,
the "Moonlights" and the "Kelly’s" long since dead.
The cry, "Stand and deliver", that made the heart beat fast.
fierce eyes, above a pistol, that filled the soul with dread.
I thought the days of highwaymen were now just hist'rys tales
emblazoned, as we often hear them told,
I'd dreamed of how things were, while I walked the wild bush trails
reliving, in my daydreams, scenes of villains strong and bold.
Then, camping by a disused mine in Australia’s rugged heart,
the starlight and the moon my only friends,
I felt anothers presence and, dear God, it made me start
the pounding in my belly made me fear my life would end.
A voice said, “Stand your ground young friend, what brings you to this place?
Where are you from ? and, if you please, your name.
Then, if your story tickles me, why you may stay with grace".
the air about him stirred as if he'd often played this game.
I Found my voice from somewhere and  answered, best I could
with little but a stutter here and there.
It must have satisfied him for before me soon he stood
then, as he moved about, I could but hold my breath and stare.
At first this man, this mountain, simply held me with his eyes
but then I saw the pistol in his hand.
It wavered for a moment then he dropped it to his side
and smiled a smile as broad as this fair land.
My strength returned, but slowly, I asked him if he'd sit,
to stay a while and share with me some tea.
he moved his bulk to fireside and gave a hearty spit
then said, "I s'pose your wondering just who your guest might be."
"My story goes a good way back, I've rode this land for years,
partaking of the wealthy passers by.
Relieving them of gold or other things that might be spare
and riding off with 'thank you !' and a winkin' of me eye.
Across the way's some acres that I squatted on years back,
soon as I got my leave in Sydney town.
about a hundred acres and a cosy little shack,
not much but then it's mine, boy, and all men must have their ground."
The stranger then related, in a language hardly used,
bold tales as if they'd happened yesterday.
Tales of conquests and of losses both to shock and to amuse
we even sang, in harmony, "The  Shores of Bot'ny Bay".
He spoke of horse and carriages, of sailing ship and steam,
of how "Ben Hall" had, one time, been his host.
It hit me like a bolt then, this was not some crazy dream,
I’d been sitting here, politely, sharing supper with a ghost.
Like that, his visit over, he looked toward the East
and sadness cast a shadow in his eyes.
He said no more, I noticed that his mouth, in smile, was creased,
a wink and then he walked off as the sun began to rise.
So there I sat, enchanted, as the birds made morning sounds
and tried to take in all I'd seen that night.
Was I mad or had he been there sitting with me on the ground ?
and, if he had, what made me stay and not run off in fright.
I gathered my possessions, a kookaburra laughed,
I saw his point as on the road I pushed.
Then came to the conclusion that the Highwayman’s bold heart
had simply stayed, like many others, in our wild and lovely bush.
Poem 32
I Saw A Rainbow Today
 I Saw A Rainbow Today and it reminded me of you so vibrent and blue.
It stayed up there because it was you....
Your Uncle and I remember you were always one to be so vibrent and true...
and full of life that went Zoom,Zoom,Zoom...
You liked to read at rapid speed...you spoke so fast you made it last...
 I saw a rainbow today and it reminded me of you it stayed up there to say don't be blue....
 I saw a rainbow today with Red and Blue and Green and Yellow and Pink and Purple..
And then I saw another ... It wasn't as bright but it still had a plight...
When I see a Rainbow Today I will always think of you
and how bright you shined no matter what the time...
I Saw A Rainbow Today......
Written By Deborah Prinzing
Aug.2001 AKA D.P. (C)

Poem 31

Describe

I can't describe the feelings I get
When a picture of you gets inside my head
My stomach starts to churn, with butterflies inside
A smile appears on my face, two fu*king miles wide

My stomach aches, my mind feels weak
That rush that goes through me, when our eyes meet
To feel your touch and the warmth it brings
The heat of your breath, against my skin

The way you held me, with such intense passion
Believing within, that love can't be rationed
My head fills with fear that we may never be
The way we were that night, so open and free

The way you held me so close and so tight
You made me feel so alive, so real, so right
With you in my arms I feel so complete
Everything in my life would be so fu*king sweet

Did I imagine your love or was it real
Could we still have a chance, it seems so surreal
When I think of you and what could have been
I weep and cry as I can only dream
The love I hold for you is clear
So come find me... I'll be here

Copyright (C) KLT Church 2004
 

Poem 30

Friendship, Hard to Understand

I don't what it is,
is sumfin wrong with me,
I must do something that's not quite right,
I try my best,
I try with all my might.

It don't matter what I say or do,
it always ends up really screwed.
Do I push?  Do I nag?
Maybe I was always meant to have no friends.
Maybe I was meant to be alone?
I try my best I really do,
to find a friend like u.
But then it happens over again,
I have to do the chasin',
the calling and the planning,
I don't know what is wrong with me,
but I guess I'll have to stop trying.
I know 'ur busy, so am I,
but why is it,
that I always seem to find some time,
to hang out with the people, whom I want as friends?
but yet their too busy,
to even comprehend?
Why am I the one so badly trying,
what is it that I do?
I try to fix what I thinks wrong,
I try to do what I thinks right,
but never in a million years,
whether it be day or night,
that this thing 'bout friendship,
I'll ever get right.

by Kylie Francis (c)

 

Poem 29

"COUNTRY HALL."

THE OLD COUNTRY HALL WAS EMPTY
IT HAD BEEN THAT WAY IN QUIET A WHILE
THE TIMBER STRUCTURE WAS KIND OF WARPED
RECKON A STRONG STORM MAY BLOW IT DOWN

WELL IT COULD TELL SOME STORIES
IT HAD SEEN THE PASSING OF A CENTURY IN LIFE
MOST LOCALS SAY IT IS HAUNTED
THOUGH IT'S A PLACE OF LOVE & MANY A GOOD TIME
NOW A FEW OF US GOT TOGETHER
KNOCKED A FEW WALLS & REDESIGNED

BUILT A BRAND NEW PLACE AROUND IT
THAT OLD COUNTRY HALL IS NOW MAIN STAGE
LIKE THAT IS NO SURPRISE
SO ON A SATURDAY NIGHT THROW ON YOUR DANCING SHOES
HEAD RIGHT ON DOWN OUR WAY
NEVER KNOW WHO'LL YOU COME ACROSS

TRADITIONAL COUNTRY & ROCK N ROLL PLAYING OH SO LOUDLY
YOU CAN SEE COUPLES DANCING
LIKE THEY DID SO MANY YEARS AGO
THE MUSIC MAYBE A LITTLE DIFFERENT
STILL IT COMES FROM THE HEART & SOUL
SO A NEW ERA HAS EVOLVED
COUNTRY HALL STILL PLAYS IT'S ROLE.

(c)COPYRIGHT.2004. MR PHILLIP JOHN DORING.

 

Poem 28

"WHERE I COME FROM."

RUSTIC LANDSCAPES WITHIN DROUGHT
OUTBACK CATTLE & HORSES
WORKING CLASS OF THE EARTH
RURAL PEOPLE, PEOPLE OF THE LAND
HENRY LAWSON, BANJO PATTERSON, SLIM DUSTY
LEGENDS LIVE ON NO DOUBT
NED KELLY'S BUSHRANGING THROUGHOUT
 
A SUNBURNT COUNTRY WIDELY  ACCLAIMED
SEED & GRAIN, PRAYING FOR RAIN
EMU, CROCODILE, KOALA
BOXING KANGAROO'S, DOWN BY THE RIVER
CHILLED TINNIES, LET'S PARTY & SHAG
BARBIES GREAT , LAY DOWN THE SWAG
HOOK LINE & SINKER, DRY AS A BONE
AKUBRA HAT, IN THE ZONE
 
WALTZING MATILDA ONTO AYERS ROCK
KIMBERLIES, KAKADU, THREE SISTERS, GREAT BARRIER REEF
TURN IT UP HUGHIE HAD A GUTFUL OF BUCKLEY'S RAIN
G'DAY MATE, TRUE BLUE, NOT A BRASS RAHZOO
PROUD TO BE THROUGH & THROUGH
 
AUSSIE, AUSSIE, AUSSIE, OI, OI, OI
UNDER THE SOUTHERN CROSS
GOD BLESS AUSTRALIA WHOLE
WHERE I COME FROM
MY HOME.

(C)COPYRIGHT.2003. MR PHILLIP JOHN DORING.

Poem 27

Slim Dusty - Born to Be . . .

Born to be a traveller
Singing near and far,
Slim loved Australia's outback
And strumming beneath the stars.

Born to be a rolling stone
No moss he wanted to gather,
Hardships and dusty roads
Made the good times so much better.

Slim's 'road of song'
Continues to inspire,
A love of country music
For mateship is the desire.

Born to be honoured
With many a music award,
Slim's 100 plus albums
Are his legacy and just reward.

Called to 'some quiet peaceful valley'
Free to always roam.
The bellbirds still are calling
And willows by the creek are home.

Watching down from heaven
Strumming his travellin' guitar,
Slim's proud of country music
And still smiling from afar.

(c)Yvonne Pick of
Norman Park. Qld.

 

Poem 26

Please don't take our doggy away.
I decided to leave Albury Town , packed up the kids and our dog named Sam.
We are on our way to Queensland bound
to start a new life with the kids and our doggy Sam.
 
We arrived all excited to our new home in a little town,
but not for long the Council came around.  He said to me Mrs
you have 21 days and your dog has to leave,
if not your dog will be seized.  I said to him clarify this please
"what do you mean my dog will be seized.
 
He said lady your dogs a pit bull and he is not welcome here,
the Queensland Government has banned them, their dangerous you see.
The children where frightened, they called Sam near,
 they ran out the back and hid in fear.
 
Oh please , oh please don't take our doggy away,
he has done no wrong he is a beautiful pit bull can't you see,
he plays and loves us unconditionally.
Oh why, oh why would you do this to us , he is just a dog
and has so much love.
 
l sat and l cried with the kids, not knowing what to do,
no money in our pockets no where to go, "l had to think quickly
stay strong for the kids "
Sam is a part of our family I'll not give in. 
 
The children were regressing suffering because of this,
"life in Queensland was just the pits".  
I tried and I tried to stop this cruel law,
but in the end we where just ignored. 
The Governments and Councils did not care ,
"get out of our state we don't want your dog here.
 
Oh please, oh please don't take our doggy away,
he has done no wrong, his a beautiful pit bull can't you see,
he plays and loves us unconditionally.  
Oh why, oh why would you do this to us,
he is just a dog and has so much love.
 
We packed up the car, left our belongings behind
 just to save our dog Sam, and keep him alive.  
We had to go, we were run out of town,
all because of breed, they can stick their town.
 
So back home we headed to Albury town,
where we are respected and our beautiful pit bull Sam.
So the moral to this story is don't move to Queensland,
stay where you are, save your pitty's life,
from the hands of this cruel law.
BY CHRISTINA ANDERSON. (c)

Poem 25

THE CHIMNEY

The chimney in the paddock
Now shelters cows and birds.
The grass has grown so there’s no trace
Of children one time heard.

When the land was first selected,
Was he waiting for a bride,
Did he devise the plan with love alone
Or was she at his side.

I guess he worked the land back then
Choosing food to feed his love
A cow, some sheep, a garden (hers),
And crops for all the above.

Did the fireplace share their sorrow
When a cherished baby died?
Did the mantle hold his elbow
As he gazed and dreamed and cried?

Did you watch the beginning of young true love?
Did you see the start of life?
Did the house protect just two again,
Or was it one, man or wife?

Did the crops go bad, or drought set in?
Why is the house not there?
Was it fire or flood or something worse?
Did they just lose their care?

You remind me, chimney, of an old, old man
Sitting gazing through a frown;
Remembering things that no one knows
soon gone and not to be known.

©Graham White 2003

Poem 24

THE BROKE STORE



Consciousness creeps into the still dark room
As another tired morning arrives too soon.
Musty aromas and sounds then arrive.
Her sleeping man breaths to show he’s alive.

Quietly she moves to the clothes on the floor
Arranged with precision a short night before
She dresses and uses the lipstick and brush
Gets the money, clean apron. It’s almost a rush.

The first chill of morning caresses her cheek
As the back door is opened with the slightest of squeak.
Then walk down the path that leads to the door
Of the prison she hates called “The Broke Store”.

A fumble as hands still frozen and numb
Discover the keys and choose the right one,
Walk into the dark, strike a match, light the flame
Hoping just once it won’t be the same.

Turn on the lights and the sign on the post,
Count out the money. Prepare tea and toast.
Welcome the world by unlocking the door,
Find the old broom and then sweep the floor.

The next job is sandwiches made by the score
For miners who call for their lunch at the store.
They stop by the car-full to purchase their lunch.
The glare of some headlights announce the first bunch.

They enter the shop, selecting their food
A warm drink, they hope, will help it taste good.
A person to talk to, a chat and a yawn
Then back to the car and into the dawn.

Then one of the shadows moves to the door.
She knows the thin shape, the unshaven jaw.
He comes from the valleys, skin held out by bone.
He knows that the dawn is the safest to roam.

He offers some coins ‘cos credit is banned
to a man of the valleys. Puts petrol in can
For use in an engine or whatever he might.
A tug on the hat and steps out of the light.

More carloads of miners arrive with the sun
Buy lunch with a drink can one by one
The drinks and the sandwiches sell two by two,
And the day people really haven’t a clue.

It’s a different world when the sun makes a show
A world the night people don’t want to know
The farmers arrive for some items they lack
Till the wife does the trip to Singleton and back.

Then labourers call and count out their cash
cheap cigs, pie, and drink. “Can’t be rash.
Have to pay back the money that I have been lent
And still have some money left for the rent.”

The farm owners come when the sun’s at the peak
“Large chicken and chips and a coffee” they speak,
“Fill up the tank. Wash the screen. The amount?
Just call it all petrol. Put it on the account.”

Then up comes a car, she can hear the loud screams
Of the brats wanting drinks and chocolate ice creams
Mother tries to be calm, wiping lips, combing hair
And the man in the car doesn’t want to be there.

She thought that a break from the house would be good
The family just hasn’t turned out like it should,
He works hard and long, never ceasing to try.
Maybe one day she’ll realise why.

As always the long day will come to a close
Shut the pumps, fill the frig, bring in the hose.
Empty the till, dowse the light, evening meals
And finally alone, back to bed she steals.

© Graham White 2002
 

Poem 23

Australian country

The rugged land of mountainous plains,
Along with drought-stricken lands,
Aboriginal knowledge and customs are passed
And lie underneath the red and gold sand.

The gushing waterfalls break down
Onto the jagged rocks below,
And as the water slides away
Creating a silky, smooth flow.

And as I stand here with my arms
Spread out from underneath me,
The kangaroo hops towards my presence
I feel so light and free.

There was been no rain here
And I don't think there ever will,
But just because it looks like that
Don't think that looks always kill.

even though I may go afar
And to other places I may roam,
No once will I ever rethink
And not call Australia home.

Poem 22

THE FIRES

The land on which we run our cattle each year
is suddenly in a state, of panic and fear
This bush that is usually, lush and green
is in the grip of an animal angry and mean

You maybe now wonder, of which place I speak
'tis the high mountain ranges and tall timber peaks
Under attack by this animal, ferocious and bold
threatening the cattle in the high land lease hold

You now know this animal is what we all call fire
and thank god for the firemen, never seeming to tire
This beast will run down, destroy all in it's path
it's the reason for many a good man's epitaph

Unsung heroes answered the call and all came
when Victoria's mountains were attacked by flame
Leaving their loved ones for weeks on end
in a harsh environment, they stand and defend

So next time you pass your local brigade
or in the city you relax under an oak tree's shade
Spare a thought for these men who for no pay
fight so you can live and go on each day
Bill Ruth (c)
Jan 2003

Poem 21

A Motorcycle Dream

Some time ago I had a dream
I was in a big city on a street named Gleam
Everything sparkled like you've never seen
In that city, in that dream

Well, as I dreamed away, snoozing in bed
A razzle dazzle sign said, "walk ahead"
So I walked up the street and found at the top
All ablaze in lights, a motorbike shop
Peering on in through the window pane
I saw rows of motorbikes and not one the same
The whole shop sparkled and was clean as clean
Everything was polished to a shiny sheen

And the chrome-work shimmered on wide handlebars
While saddlebags studs flickered like the stars
I was dreaming a motorcycle dream!

Now, in that dream there was a salesgirl
She was filling motorbike tanks with fuel
She saw me and she gave her biggest smile
I, of course, smiled straight back, then we both weaved a track
between some bikes and met in the middle isle

The salesgirl's name was Eliza Lee,
Somehow she seemed familiar to me
She was leather clad and oozed personality
And the chrome-work shimmered on wide handlebars
While saddlebag studs flickered like the stars
I was dreaming a motorcycle dream!

Eliza Lee, I soon realized, liked to ride those motorbikes
She said  "Let's take a bike for a whirl!"
Don't ask me how we got to St Moritz
But that's where we were in a second split
going down a slope on a 1450cc.    (pronunciation: fourteen fifty cee cee)

And as we sped down the mountain through the snow and sleet
Eliza was laughing on the pillion seat
because skiers were startled to see a motorbike ski!
At the bottom of the slope was the Hotel Ritz
We rode straight through the lobby and hit the glitz
Of a nightclub, where the bar was open, and all the drinks were free

Eliza and I swung with that scene
While a new season dawned and the alps turned green
We danced to the terrace as a sun-shower came
And we sipped champagne in the falling rain

Then a cork from a champagne bottle went pop
And we were back again in the motorbike shop
And the chrome-work shimmered on wide handlebars
While saddlebag studs flickered like the stars
I was dreaming a motorcycle dream!

Well, then I woke up kinda suddenly
I woke up back in reality
I tenderly kissed my sleeping wife
She'll always be the love of my life

Now, I can tell you it came as a big surprise
Because only after that kiss did I realise
That the girl in the dream named Eliza Lee
Was my own sweet wife, Emily

Hey, but I'm not gonna try to pretend,
  to understand or comprehend
Why I didn't recognise Emily
In that dream, aged twenty three

At breakfast I told Em of what I'd dreamed
Of her and me and the bikes that gleamed
I said "We fell in love in St Moritz
And you preferred love to a sales pitch
And the chrome-work shimmered on wide handlebars
While saddlebag studs flickered like the stars
Em, you were in my motorcycle dream
You were in my motorcycle dream
Yes. Darlin' you were in my motorcycle dream!"

E.C.O'Hara©2001
 

Poem 20

'The Land of Harmony'

Australia is a land of harmony
Among the tall gum trees
Where peace and hope all floats
A country so strong and free.

Australia is a land of harmony
Of jagged mountain plains
And the blue skies; sapphire blue
with the rivers and pouring rains

Australia is a land of harmony
Of wheat fields like carpet golds
and the shrill call of the dingo
just adds to the jungle do bold.

Australia is a land of harmony
Of many drought stricken lands,
Where the Aboriginal heritage lives on
Underneath the red and gold sand.

Australia is a land of harmony
Of fertile and healthy soil,
Where the charming nature beholds
The deadly serpent coiled.

Australia is a land of harmony
Of sparkling jewel-scented seas
where the waves ripple lightly
And the tides swim in the breeze.

Australia is a land of harmony
And nothing can ever compare
To the unique essence of our country
A place so stunning and rare.

Roopa Varadharajan (c)

Poem 19

CARAVANNING MAYHEM

We're as Aussie as a barbecue, fair dinkum as they come,
And we're passionate 'bout our footy and we love a Bundy rum.
We're as true blue as Don Bradman and I'll wager both our pays
We're as ridgy didge as vegemite.  No! Mightymight leastways.

We get green and gold malaria at least twice every week.
And the truth be known ... we've got it now ... right as we flamin' speak.
When we see our nations coat of arms we feel a sense of pride.
Well ... that was until we went outback.  These days we cringe and hide.

We had bought a brand new four-wheel drive and caravan to boot
And we thought we'd tour Australia.  It was bound to be a hoot.
We drove up through Bourke and Charleville and that old mate is where ...
Both those critters on our coat of arms ... attacked us then and there.

We had crossed the bridge at Yo Yo Creek when right there in full view
Was a whopping great big Kangaroo and old man Emu too.
Well they raised our Aussie pride on high ... that's 'till they split those
chaps ...
And the emu hit the windscreen and was dumped upon our laps.

It was panic that now overtook this oversized galah,
As he started kicking madly to escape from out the car.
His big beak was pecking firmly at the middle of my groin,
While my manhood stood protected by a pocket full of coin.

The sharp claws were madly thrashing and my wife was not amused
'Cause he lashed out at her torso that was bloodied, cut and bruised.
And whatever emus tend to eat and digest through the day
Was now spread throughout the vehicle as we fought that deadly fray.

The old emu found the window and with freedom now in sight
That bird shredded the upholstery as he kicked with all his might.
We were covered with its feathers and in one all mighty push
He then squeezed on out the window and he headed for the bush.

We were bloodied, bruised and beaten and bewildered and amazed
As we scrambled from our four-wheel drive both still a little dazed.
We were now in need of first aid so we opened our van door
And we climbed inside to find the kit both feeling rather sore.

In the meantime unbeknown to us the big 'roo in despair,
He had clipped our brand new four-wheel drive and hurtled through the air.
When the flying frame of that large beast, which stood near six feet tall,
It had landed in the caravan through awning, glass and all.

On the table there before us stood this stunned 'roo, not quite dead,
When the scream from my old lady triggered something in its head.
In an instant he had grabbed me and had lunged out with his feet
And he shredded my new Levis and then made a quick retreat.

He had landed on the double bed and turned to strike again,
But instead his big tail hit me with excruciating pain.
He then latched onto the missus who by now was just a wreck
And they jumped around together as they grabbed each other's neck.

In that instant I then managed to make for the van's front door
While the missus she kept screaming, "I can't take no flamin' more!"
Now the 'roo he sensed his freedom and both he and my poor wife,
Spilled outside onto the roadway where it bolted for its life.

For the moment we just stood there both bewildered by our plight
And I must confess our torsos they were not a pretty sight.
We then sat and drank the rum we had; we needed a stiff drink.
And we headed back for Melbourne where we both sought out a shrink.

We have sold the four wheel-drive and van to pay our flamin' quack
And we watch the good old tele when we want to go outback.
We have both now turned religious and we daily read the psalms,
But we cringe when we're confronted by our nations coat of arms.

©Bush Poet
Merv Webster
The Goondiwindi Grey

Poem 18

Tranquility
 
Standing on this mountain
Taking in the valleys view
There ain't nothing like a river
Quietly running through

It brings to mind a ripple
and what life means to you
The stillness of the water,
is the peace inside of you
 
 But when you see that ripple,
it reminds you of your life
When thing's are not so good,
but don't give up yourfight

Just go stand there on that
mountain and take in thevalleys view
Cause' there ain't nothing like a river, quietly
running through.
(Tracey Bulley) (c)
 

Poem 17

Over The Hill

So you reckon I'm over the hill you say;
That the old man's finally done;
That brain beneath this snowy crown
Has been dimmed by too much sun.

Though my step is slow, my tread is sure.
You can be sure of that,
And the life you have was not like mine
When I battled the Birdsville track.

The walking stick that aids my gait
I thought would never come;
Replaced the whip of greenhide plait
Which mountain echoes sung.

Oh, I see your look of disbelief.
Pray do not hide your eyes.
Like you I gave that look
Which my father too despised.

"What's that, old mate ? A shout y' say.
Well that's really kind of you.
A beer would set this old frame right
And see this hot day through.

We'll brace the bar just you and I
And I'll paint for you a tale,
When I drove the famous Cobb and Co
And carried the royal mail

So we sat together both age and youth
And talked the clock around:
The youngster with his future fears;
The old with tales abound.

We talked until the barman's call
Sounded the time was done,
And staggered home with a swaying gait:
A father..And his son


Dennis Hardy (c)

Poem 16

Northern Land
I love the indigo blue of the northern sky
The red ochre dust when the land is dry
The white of the ghost gums against dark grey
As the thunder rolls in and the lightning plays

Crash, boom, bam
The first of the rain drops hit the sand
The wet is finally here to drench this sunburnt land
Splish, splosh, splash
The waterfalls return to crash
Down the ancient rocks into the pools below

I love the many greens of the plants that grow
The sweet scent of lilies, pastel colours that they show
Burnt orange and pink as the sun goes down
We walk along the beach in this laid back town

I love to look into the velvet sky at night
And see the silver stars that shine so bright
I make a wish, when I see a star that falls
I wish for all these things to never change at all.
Author Tracy Knowles (c)

Poem 15

The Picture Show Drovers

Along the Canning Stock Route to the old Wiluna Town
From Hall's Creek in the Kimberley, they drove the cattle down
Down through where grow desert oaks and sand dunes run so wide
Where the wells and troughs were the watering stops, on that thousand mile ride

Then, when they reached Wiluna, they had no time to spare
They hurriedly yarded the cattle and each man was paid his share
The locals, they were most impressed by the drovers' working speed
But were a tad or more bewildered, when each stayed upon his steed!
(The drovers had an anxiousness, to be making tracks away
  and kept to the saddle, so as not to invite delay)
And…Oh, what a pace those riders set, as they took the road that goes
Onward to Kalgoorlie… "to see them picture shows!"

McDonald, Mulligan and Coster, were enamored by the screen
Whilst Farnsworth and the reader Pearse, to say the least were keen
The westerns they most favoured such as those with Broncho Bill
Where the hero usually won the girl and triumphed over ill

To say the drovers were enthused is an understatement grand
When the theatre seats were all sold out, the drovers said they'd stand
And when at first encountering an intermission time
They offered to free the projector, of sand or clogging grime

Perhaps they felt a common bond with the cowboys on the land
A western theme could be observed among their little band

McDonald bought a Stetson and liked to smooth the brim
He'd seen the cowboys do it: their style appealed to him
Mulligan wore Texan boots that went mid-way up each shin
And when he put the polish on, he used up half a tin
Coster was more conservative; he simply wore a ring
And self engraved the theatre times, of when they'd let him in!

Farnsworth sometimes rode ahead; he was tall and lean
He was the first to tell them of the people on the screen
He'd been to the city and seen them; to the capital he'd been
And now Kalgoorlie had them; And they even served ice cream!

The picture shows were silent, so captions were a need
But of these five particular drovers only one of them could read
So Pearse, being the reader, sat with two on either side
His companions intently listened and their eyes were open wide

Pearse read out all the captions, but one night stopped mid-line
Whilst the film, it kept rolling on as though everything was fine
The problem was a strange big word, that no doubt had Pearse stumped
And while he was stalled pronouncing it, the others sat there slumped
The four then in desperation took to reading from the mimes
A hazardous pursuit of course, but a last resort at times

This interpreting method, was to somewhat stray them from the plot
As they thought some of the words to be, what they were really not
Remember, their forte was The Canning, droving down the wells and troughs
Now, they thought the hero "Honest Bob" mimed, "pictures are for toffs."
They were up from their seats and making haste for the streets, before the scene was through
Pearse was told what "Bob" had said, and he sought an exit, too.

Silent films were not old, before a star had a role
of a tramp in a bowler hat
Farnsworth was down in Kalgoorlie town
at the shop of the farrier, Matt
And as the farrier tacked the nails to shoe the drover's horse
He motioned with his blacksmith's hammer and gave this short discourse
"See yonder there across the street, pasted on the baker's wall
There's a theatre poster of a tramp in a film for one and all
It seems to me," Matt, chuckled with glee; He liked to clown about
"That's the only bloke to earn a quid by being down and out!"

Farnsworth laughed and grinned a bit but he didn't understand
He'd seen tramps and they carried swags, but they weren't in picture land
'Twas then a compulsion seized the bushman, to ride back up The Canning,
  for this droving man little understood the concepts of picture acting!

Farnsworth had the knack of riding a track
by day or under the moon
So he rode with little rest and he hoped for the best
That he'd find the others soon

It was late on the sixth day when Farnsworth's pack belly neighed
And the droving team's camp came in sight
They were at Well Four, hobbling the horses to be sure
  that they wouldn't roam too far in the night
Although tired by the ride, as were his two horses in their stride
Farnsworth galloped them into camp
And above the mob's mooing drone (It carried a distinct, snorting tone)
  he hollered the news he'd construed of the tramp

"They're signin' up tramps for pictures, when they could sign up fancy gents!"

McDonald with a dash left his horse in a flash
  to join the others more out in the open
Although his words were often few, the group much respected his view
And he realised his chance to enlighten
McDonald's words were concise; he didn't have to think twice
As he explained the news to the men
"Boys, the days of the toff, it's for sure they're off!
It's back to the pictures, again!"


                                                            E.C.O'HaraCopyright1999

Poem 14

INTRACTORBILL

'Twas nearly dark when Bill returned from business done in town,
with brochures of the beast he'd bought, on ten-percentage down:
a diesel-quaffing juggernaut we gave Godzilla's name;
a four-wheel-drive extravagance that put the sheds to shame.

"Yer crazy!", snorted grandpa, "For around the flaming price",
"we could have bought the neighbour's run, or wiped our mortgage twice!"
Long years he'd driven teams of six to scratch and seed the land,
and walked behind them every inch, with weathered straps in hand.

The working-horse was in his blood, he mourned its passing still:
the steady stride, the honest pride ... the jangles of the drill.
"A tractor half the size", said he, "would surely do the job:"
"the beggars saw you coming, Bill, that farm machinery mob!"

But Bill was of a mood for putting progress to the test
and when you grasp technology, it might as well be best.
A team of six made perfect sense in slower days of yore:
far better now six hundred, with a gear shift on the floor!

So William took delivery within the very week,
and thrice he lapped admiringly its body bright and sleek:
two storeys high Bill's monster stood, his monolithic pet;
with cabin air-conditioning and stereo-cassette.

Its power-steering trembled at a finger-tip's command;
its console sported knobs and lights for missions yet unplanned;
the front and rear suspensions gave a shock-resistant ride;
the axles were articulated, Bill observed with pride!

The rain soon fell, and Bill was first to overdose on power,
as acres in their dozens stripped to naked by the hour.
The sun rose on a sea of soil - a vast and weedless plain,
then tracked him over winter skies and sank to earth again.

Ensconced within his cab-cocoon, Bill looked a papal flea,
and thus pontificating, made a royally-rash decree:
"This tractor's such a breeze to drive, a giant-yet-gentle toy,
that any fool could handle it ... I'll chance it to the boy!"

Now William's heir-apparent wasn't cut out for the farm,
but though he didn't think too much, he meant the world no harm:
he loaded up a tape cassette and set the volume loud,
and soon was driving blissfully, inside a mental cloud.

The "genie-of-the-steering-wheel" was quick to seize its chance,
to organise a mutiny and lead a merry dance:
as heavy metal filled his cab and inter-aural space,
Bill's youngster crossed their dairy fence and seeded half the race!

The Friesians wending home to milk were quick to lose their poise:
they sprayed the bails a fluid-brown in protest at the noise.
And onward coursed 'Godzilla', planting poultry in its way -
though most escaped to pepper trees, and lost the urge to lay!

It trespassed through the lucerne shut to feed the stock in Spring;
while on his "rear suspension", Junior never felt a thing.
It let to lie Bill's ancient dog that slept the deafened's sleep,
and headed for the lambing yards to terrorise the sheep.

When all seemed lost, the tape ran out - its "music" hit the wall,
and William Junior snapped to life, which made the tractor stall.
Its lathered hide was smoking - heaven's tears began to drum;
for rain was introducing the scenario to come:

a distant drone of "hornets" filtered softly through the sky,
as far below, the adults raged and caught the driver's eye:
appearing from his cabin door, he faced them with a wince,
then sprinted off toward the west, and hasn't surfaced since.

Now grandpa spoils to spin again his tale of Bill's machine -
the dearest mega-horse recruit their district's ever seen:
"KALGOORLIE, we've renamed our farm", he'll tell you with a smile;
"It grew the richest reef of wheat that ran a golden mile!"

Max Merckenschlager (c)
 

Poem 13

^.^That’s A Beaut Damper^.^

Grab me a tinnie will ya mate, and go and fetch the Ute
Ya gotta pick up granddad, He needs a lift the silly old coot

Awww you little ripper luv, that’s a beaut damper
Where did ya get it, in the ruddy Crisco hamper?

I’ll give you that bloody hamper, Fair suck of the sav
Ya cheeky little bugger, It’s the best you’ll ever have

Gawd who left the bloody door open, Look at all them fly’s
Toss me the mortien love; I’ll give-em there final good-byes

Then who should pop in the door, G’day there ya old fart
How are ya this beaut day, don’t you bloody start

Show respect to this old cobber, or I’ll kick ya in the acres
Well hav-a-go-ya-mug, there has been many takers

Just pull up a chair ya yobbo, and we will tell a good ol yarn
Someone got up ya nose son, Not me, I’m full of charm

Yeah tell another one son, not until the other shoe drops
Holy-Dooley which reminds me, Hey missus did ya get out them chops

So what ya been up to old timer, Flat out like a lizard drink’n
Oh come off the grass pop, Are you fair bloody dink-um

Well here’s a good ol yarn to tell, and just call a spade a spade
And thank that lovely wife of yours, for this good tucker she has made

Yeah she’s a beaut babbling-brook; She’s been doing a roaring trade
Yeah she’ll be apples mate, it’s that beaut damper that she made

Shannon Rogers
Copyright ©2003
mysongwords@hotmail.com
 

Poem 12

G'day Mate, Here's cheers

We are a lucky country
Our land is girt by sea
With our beautiful outback
The home of our Wallaby

From the eucalyptus gum trees
To our coconuts in our palms
To our cuddly Koala bears
With there graceful little charms

And our beautiful creeks and rivers
To where our native Platypus roam
And our Australian cattle dog
Our outback he calls his home

We have 7 of the world deadliest snakes
From the Taipan to the King brown
And with our good old Aussie pubs
You'll find in nearly every town

Yes us aussie's are true blue
With our special little lingo
We have a wild dog that steals ya baby's
That basted called the Dingo

And what about our Barramundi
An awesome fighting fish
Cooked up there on the barbie
Makes a delicious bloody dish

Home of the biggest Crocs
That world has ever seen
The monsters of our muddy creeks
Where the waters not so clean

We have 1 of the 7 wonders
They call it the Great Barrier Reef
The best place to scuba dive
But our Sharks may cause you grief

And around awesome coast line
There are many islands to explore
To our Aussie thunder box
With it's creaking wooden door

Then our man they call the Yowie
He's a scary looking beast
And of course our Aussie Meat pie
With tomato sauce makes a beaut feast

The fastest bird on earth
To run across the land
They call him the Emu
Try and catch him if you can

What about our spiky little fella
None as the Echidna or Porcupine
Stand on this little critter
And you'll bloody winge and whine

Oh and our cute little Wombat
With his cuddly brown fur
Ouch our nasty bindies
They're a painful nasty bur

Then our most famous fella
Our mate Skippy the Kangaroo
He will box ya bloody ears off
With his cobber the Cockatoo

You'll find our mate the Kookaburra
Somewhere laughing up in a tree
And our special treasure, Ayres rock
Something ya just gotta see

We have a big reptile lizard
Who love's to scratch and bite
Come face to face with this Goanna
Be prepared to fight

Yes we are a lucky country
With so many native creatures
A land so rough and rugged
With all its Beautiful features

So mate I gotta tell ya
A sun burnt country we are
But this mighty land down under
Is the proudest country by far

But don't forget your insect repellant
Coz look out for our Mozzies
Were so proud to be Australian
But you can just call us Aussie's

So if ya wanna BBQ
Or one of our famous beers
Feel free to come and visit
So from me mate, Here's Cheers.

Shannon Leigh Rogers
Copyright ©2003
mysongwords@hotmail.com
  

Poem 11

A Smokers Ode

I've got to have a cigarette, damm these new found laws,
No smoking here, no smoking there, it's chasing us out doors,
So what if I cough and wheeze when I walk a flight of stairs,
And my lungs may not be good as they were, but who cares.
 
My doctor says I should give 'em up, but I know he sneaks a pack,
And if it's good for him than it's good for me, could say it's tit for tat,
And when I rise each morning I cough until I'm black and blue,
Then I have a good old puff, draw back, ah if they only knew.
   When it's all said and done, I think that I am fair,
I blow my smoke all around, for all of you to share,
And when my day comes around, and my life is in the past,
I'll be off to smoker's heaven, where my cigarettes will forever last.
 
But if by chance a no-smokers sign is along side St Peters chair,
I guess I'm bound for the other place, where no one gives a care,
But there'll be a joyous reunion with mates who's past before,
In a place filled with nicotine, who could ask for anything more.
Mel Sommers (c) from book "The Time of My Life"
EMAIL       EMEL@IDL.COM.AU  

Poem 10

My World
I stand on the crystal sand at the edge of the Pacific Ocean, the cool water
rolls up the beach, playing chasey between my toes.
My eyes linger back to the untamed and unspoiled island; dreamtime has
created her into a mystery because she is distinct, unlike someplace else.
She is the only sunburned country, now crisp to the core from sunlight
flames which have bounced from her dusty desert and toward her jagged coast.
At twilight a kaleidoscope of clouds cover her heavenly skin, concealing and
protecting all her beauty.
She is the motherland, she is my Australia.
By Michelle Rose Trewartha (c)

Poem 9

Falling Trees

Tall trees keep falling
Deep in the forest of my mind
The raped birds are climbing
In the memory they can find
The old hand is winding
The time and ever grind
While someone is missing
Wishing there home was still in the pine
Distant me braves an echo
Calling from a long far off line
The sea and the ghekko
Beneath the rhyme
And if I ever make the shore
For me there is so much more
That' when I'll find peace
Not just a forlong drawn out war
In a world filled with sadness
The sea will always free
The living
And all that it has taken me.

Phillip Ukich  (c)

Poem 8

THE YOWAH ADDICTION

Midst the mulga and the gidyea out beyond the old Paroo
Runs a road which leads to Yowah and a great place it is too.
Where the populace is smitten by an urge they can't withstand;
It's the lust to find the queen of gems, beneath a timeless land.

With her tantalising beauty and her taunting, twinkling eyes,
It's the radiance of this desert child her lovers highly prize.
Suitors come from every walk of life, from countries quite diverse
And she keeps them courting tirelessly exacting quite a purse.

And the charm of her charisma casts a spell they can't escape,
So they've built a unique township there amid that red landscape.
Quite relentless is their quest to toil;  a constant ritual.
Still they love their leisure moments like their opal festival.

Chris and I were asked to join them and present our poetry show
Through the festival proceedings and replied, "We'd love to go."
First we entertained the children at the school there for a spell
Then our host, Gwen, took us for a tour that went down very well.

We were shown the local opal fields and dug for Yowah nuts,
Then we lunched and watched some golfers sink some rather dubious putts.
But the opal bug had bitten and we sought a licence out,
For we planned to do some noodling or at least just poke about.

But the torture of the digging with just handpicks proved to tough
And we chucked the towel in quickly as we'd simply had enough.
Down in spirits we decided to search out the mulberry wine,
Down at Roy's, not far from Gwen's place, which was said to be quite fine.

After scoffing down a sample we were feeling mighty good
And old Roy was sympathetic to our plight and understood.
So produced a bar and shovel and a bottle of his brew,
Then we headed back to noodle with our outlook all anew.

Well we dug and sipped and dug and sipped, oblivious to pain
And the next two days we carried on and did it all again.
We were up each morning early and sat cracking all our nuts
Though our hands were full of blisters and a mass of little cuts.

We were both both now surely smitten and could not resist her will,
For the bug had surely bitten and we talk about it still.
Yes its tantalizing colour and its taunting texture's fine,
And we're flamin'well addicted to Roy's homemade mulberry wine.

Merv Webster (c)
The Goondiwindi Grey

Poem 7

A CALL TO A DISTRESSED ALTER EGO
       ----------------------------------
 Weep not alter ego, for thy cry is gold
 Sob not beloved, for thy tears is precious
 Shy not away from crucible, for there lies your fate
 Be not a skulker, for the battle is in stages
 Be not a coward, for the end justifies the means

 Weep not alter ego, for thy cry is gold
 Sob not beloved, for thy tears is precious
 Shy not away from crucible, for there lies your fate
 Chase not the cruds, for they shall fall into oblivion
 Chase not your adversaries, for their obsequies is near
 
 Weep not alter ego, for thy cry is gold
 Sob not beloved, for thy tears is precious
 Shy not away from crucible, for there lies your fate
 Join not the vulgar chorus, for it shall move notstones
 Join not the boozers, for their's is destruction.
 
   Adebiyi Idris A. (c)

Poem 6

THE GENERATION GAP

Remember when you come home screaming
really in a flap
saying me your dear dad
had caused the generation gap
well it gave me quite a shock
it gave me such a fright
but you know your dad don't give in lad
least not without a fight

So I brought a pair of levis
and I let my hair grow long
started buying rock/roll records
singing all the latest songs
I quit my job down at the office
went a working on the dock
your mother had a heart attack
it gave her such a shock

So play me some rock and roll and pour me out a beer
Beethoven's far to heavy and your champagnes way to dear
put your legs out in the sunshine
hang your head back in the shade
come on son and sit a spell cos' boy
we got it made

At all those teenage parties son I really was a sport
with all those little hippy chicks
just begging to be taught
I got percolated coffee dregs a hanging in my beard
my eyes are red and bludging
and my friends think that I'm weird

But I wouldn't change a thing my son
it's been worth every tear
why it's the first time that we've spoke like this
for more than 20 years

So play me some rock and roll and pour me out a beer
Beethoven's far to heavy and your champagnes way to dear
put your legs out in the sunshine
hang your head back in the shade
come on son and sit a spell cos' boy
we got it made

Well there's a sad side to this story
there had to be of course
your darling grey haired mammy
just filed for a divorce

So play me some rock and roll and pour me out a beer
Beethoven's far to heavy and your champagnes way to dear
put your legs out in the sunshine
hang your head back in the shade
come on son and sit a spell cos' boy
we got it made

Written by Barry Swayn (c)

This poem is now a song with the music written by Barry's son

Poem 5

DIDGORYDOO
 
I`D FINISHED WORKING ON A STATION
 OUT IN THE OUTBACK AT THE TIME~
AND I WAS SITT`EN IN A PUB THERE
TALK`EN TO A FRIEND OF MINE~
A CHAP THERE WHO WAS A RINGER COME SINGER
ASKED ME IF I WOULD LIKE TO COME~
OUT WITH HIM TO DO A LITTLE MUSTER`EN
SEEING I WAS ONLY SITT`EN THERE SUCKING MY THUMB~
I DON`T WANT`A GO MUSTER`EN I SAID
I JUST FINISHED DO`EN THAT YESTERDAY~
HE SAID NO WER`ER NOT MUSTER`EN STOCK MATE
WERE`ER AFTER A NATIVE WITH A DIDGORYDOO
WHO CAN PLAY~
SEEMS HE WAS RECORDING A COUNTRY SONG
AND NEEDED A GOOD DIDGORYDO SOUND IN THE BAND~
  AND SAID HE WAS GO`EN OUT TO MUSTER ONE UP
AND THAT THERES ONE BLOKE THAT CAN REALLY
PLAY AWAY OUT IN THE RED DIRT LAND~
SO WE WENT OUT THERE AND HE FOUND HIM
BUT HE TOOK OFF AS SOON AS HE KNEW THAT WE~
WANTED HIM TO COME BACK WITH US
AND PLAY HIS DIDGORYDOO  FOR FREE~
NO MY MATE CRIED WE`LL PAY YA FOR IT
WE`LL GIVE YA BEEF AND SALT AND BEER~
BUT HE WOULD`NT HAVE NO PART OF THIS
AND TOOK OFF AGAIN INTO THE SCRUB WITH FEAR~
SO IN THE JEEP HE WENT AFTER HIM
AND BULLDOGGED HIM LIKE HE WOULD A BULL~
THEN TIED HIM UP AND PUT HIM IN THE BACK
WITH HIS DIDGORYDOO LAYEN ON A SKIN OF WOOL~
GOT HIM BACK TO HIS MUSIC STUDIO AND THEN
TOLD HIM TO PLAY THAT THING~
AND THAT IF HE STOPPED UNTILL HE WAS TOLD
HE`D HEAR THE CHURCH BELLS RING~
SO PLAY HE DID AS HE`D NEVER DONE BEFORE
AND THIS BLOKE RECORDED EVERY NOTE~
AS THE NATIVE SAT THERE ON THE FLOOR PLAYEN THAT THING
WHILE SITT`EN THERE ON HIS OLD COAT~
AS SOON AS IT WAS ALL RECORDED ON TAPE
HE WAS PUT INTO THE JEEP IN THE BACK~
WITH A SIDE OF BEEF , SALT AND A SLAB OF BEER
AND THEN HEADED ON BACK UP THE TRACK~
NOW HIS MUSIC IT WILL BE HEARD BY MANY
ITS ALL THERE IN THIS RECORD BEHIND THE BAND~
AND I CAN TELL YOU SO HELP ME ITS TRUE
I`VE NEVER HEARD DIDGORYDOO PLAYED SO GRAND~
Written By
Terrence Michael Sutton
Copywrite 1988

aussiepoet@kooee.com.au

Poem 4
Ragepage..
A few of my poems and you might not believe that they er true
but I can tell you that they are ..
Yours Sincerely
Terrence Michael Sutton
42 Bannockburn Road
Inverell NSW
2360
THE SIMPSON DESERT
 
A BIG OLD TREE AS NAKED
AS A BIG OLD TREE CAN BE~
STANDING IN THE RED SAND
AWAY OUT WHEREEVERYTHING IS FREE~
TUMBLE WEEDS THET LAY ABOUT
AND EVERYTHING IS STILL~
THE SKY ALL THE SAME SHADE OF BLUE
AND ONLY A BREEZE IT MOVES AT WILL~
BUT LIFE OUT THERE DOES EXIST
THE LIZARDSAND THE LIKES~
NOTH`EN MOVES DURING THE DAY
THEY ALL COME OUT AT NIGHT~
THE NIGHTS ARE AS COLD AS SIN
THE DAYS ARE AS HOT AS HELL~
AND DESERT SANDS CHANGING ALL THE TIME
OUT THERE WHERE WHITE MAN COULD`NT DWELL~
ONLY THE ABBO CAN SURVIVE
IN A PLACE LIKE THAT~
FOR ONLY THEY KNOW HOW TO LIVE
IN A LAND THAT CAN BURN YOUR HAT~
AWAY OUT IN THIS ARID LAND
WHERE WATER IS AS GOOD AS NIL~
LITTLE FOOD AND LITTLE SHELTER
WHERE A MAN CAN SOON LOSE HIS WILL~
THE SIMPSON DESERT
A LAND THAT KNOWS NO CARE~
NOT A PLACE TO BE ALONE AND UNPREPARED
IN THE HOTTEST LAND...OUT THERE~ 
Written By
Terrence Michael Sutton
Copywrite 1988

Poem 3

A FEATHER IN YOUR CAP 

LONG AGO MY GRAND FATHER SAID TO ME
THAT`LL PUT A FEATHER IN YOUR CAP~
AND WHEN I ASKED HIM WHAT THAT MEANT
HE SAID...WELL I CAN ANSWER THAT~
HE SAID...
LONG AGO THERE WAS THE LIGHT HORSE
MEN YOUNG AND BRAVE AND GALLANT~
AND THEY WORE A FEATHER IN THEIR HATS
UPON THEIR HEADS SLIGHTLY AT A SLANT~
NO GREATER PRIVILAGE WAS THERE
THAN TO BE A PART OF SAME~
THEY WENT TO FIGHT FOR HOME AND COUNTRY
COME DEATH..LIFE..SUN OR RAIN~
THEY WERE THE BRAVEST EVER..LAD
COME HEAVEN AND COME EARTH~
NO GREATER HONOUR THAN TO WEAR THAT HAT
NO HAT HAD ANY GREATER WORTH~
WHEN THEY PUT THEIR FEATHERS IN THEIR HATS
THEY KNEW THEY WERE THE ONES~
TO GO AWAY AND DO ALL THEY COULD AND MORE
ALL OF THEM...BROTHERS..HUSBANDS...AND SONS~
SO YOU SEE...WHAT A COMPLIMENT IT IS
WHEN YOU HEAR SOMEBODY SAY~
THAT`LL PUT A FEATHER IN YOUR CAP
AS THEN YOU KNOW YOUR DOING A GOOD JOB...AY~
Written By
Terrence Michael Sutton
Copywrite 1988

aussiepoet@kooee.com.au

Poem 2 

Staying Country.

The dam was so dry
Thought mumma was trying to fill it
For so many tears she did cry
Losing the battle to keep the farm
Been a family association through four generations
Growing cotton, peanuts, wheat & beans
Farming helped with those John Deere Greens
Scarifying, ripping, picking machines
Built things ourself invented strange things
Well the situation couldn't get much worse
Bank wants more money
May have to move & get some form of income
Look out city here i come
Momentarilly gave country the fling
Mates & family would jump out of there graves
If they knew i started going to ballet shows & mixed up party raves
It's not for me & i'm proud to say
Itchy as hell to head back outback
Get lost down some old beaten track
Pull out the swag & settle down
Tranquilty, Beautiful nature
Love the wind whistling great sound
Country's in my heart
For sure that's one thing the bank won't tear apart
People rallied all over the land raised some money to give folk like us a
hand
Could tell you stories forever & a day of the hard times with no running
streams
The bush is the lifestyle you see
No city smog, strange devices, pro's on sidewalks, men in black suit ties
Settle with me jeans & Akubra hat
Granma's scones or even sponge cake
Even the ladies from the CWA are as rocks in there own way
Excited we got pay tv but give it up for a few drops of rain
It's great to see Slim now everyday Kasey, Beccy & the girls oh what a range
Now they got together a singer or two made a few bob for us country folk too
Farmhand appeal seemed the title of it all
Every dollar donation adds up for sure
Still everybody prays for rain
One day some it'll come hopefully
Before we all go insane
Won't leave the country though i'm there to stay.

Phillip J Doring. (C)Copyright.2003.

Poem 1

GOING TO THE GIBSON
 
It was noon when he left for the trip,
his old car was packed full of his gear.
The old timers had offered experienced tips
but their warning all fell on deaf ear.
"Take plenty of water," they warned him,
"You never can carry too much."
 
But he never had room for the water,
with a TV, a bar fridge and such.
The locals all studied the wheels that he drove
and concerned they all shook their head,
"If that waggon breaks down,
when there’s no-one around,
young feller, I tell you - you’re dead."
 
The visitor laughed as his hand turned the key
and the engine burst noisy to life.
"No worries," he said as he nodded his head
"I can ‘phone if I get into strife"
He drove off down the track without glancing back,
through the red dust that now filled the air.
An old bushman who stood near the pile of fire wood
said "That stranger had better take care."
 
A week had passed by when a sound from the sky
told the men it had happened again.
A search had begun, from the air, for someone
who was lost in that land without rain.
Only the eagle or the big kangaroo
have the God given talent to know what to do
when the sun climbs that staircase to the top of the sky
and causes the timid and unskilled to die.
 
This land is much harsher than strangers may think
where death will come quickly with nothing to drink.
The ways of the city out there just don’t work,
it’s been so since the travels of Wills and of Bourke.
Don’t venture beyond the world that you know
don’t go without all that you need.
When the old ones advise you, they’ve seen it before,
When they give their advice – please take heed.

PETER RONDEL (c)

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