Poems
Grab a hat and join us in a cattle drive in far northern Queensland. Four weeks on the road with a big mob of cattle - a wonderful adventure for you to share, or perhaps remember.
The morning dew was washing the dust from "desert" days,
when the fierce, hot wind parched skin to tinder dry
and the Stockman's lips were cracked beneath the sunscreen he'd applied,
in an effort to control the burning sky.
The camp cook called for breakfast, with a signal loud and clear
that would wake the soundest sleeper from the swag,
and from over near the campfire, came the muffled sound of "curse"
as another dream was shattered in the bag.
The poem continues through the full experience of a cattle drive: the helicopters, the cattle yards, the drafting. Crossing the Cloncurry River, stragglers in a strong current, a young stockman risks his life and later shares his personal loss. Set among the flinders grass and Gilleat channels of north Queensland, the poem lives out the teamwork required and the lessons of life that we learn.
There has always been a great humour in country life. "Mick's Blue Dog" takes us to a cattle sale.
Old Mick was a legend, while yet still alive, at the Saleyards at Harristown,
Each Wednesday he sat on a giant white mare and brought the cattle down
To the ring, from the yards at the back of the race, where unloading took place every day.
'That mare and old Mick are worth three men,' Leo Lynch was heard to say.
Now Mick's old blue dog that made up the team, was toothless but mean as hell,
And when Mick said "push!" you could bet your life, old blue dog'd do it real well.
His toothless condition didn't matter to him - his jaws were sharp and quite strong,
And with one short nip, and a terrible growl, he'd push the cattle along.
All the colour, the pace and complexities of the cattle market come to life in this poem: a gun auctioneer, a southern cattle buyer and his young red kelpie bitch give the story a series of very complex and humorous turns. The "attitude" of the cast, the dialogue and events that flow through the story lead to a very strong twist in the tail of the poem.
I have always marvelled at the lean and very efficient way our natural resources are managed, by the "caretakers" of the country.
Our vast brown land is, indeed, in caring and capable hands.
One thing you always notice: in any efficient, smoothly operating and well run Station, there is always a very much involved woman: wife and partner.
The old adage "behind every successful man, stands a good woman" is never more true, than in the Australian Bush. Well done, girls. You are more than "equal."
You notice, in an instant, their healthy suntanned glow.
They don't spend countless hours, with talk of what they know.
But in the bush communities they stand beside their men:
they battle through the hardship and then 'front up' - again.
Some are born of country stock, some from cities far.
They share the isolation of the bush, where'er they are.
Their man, their kids, their block of dirt, are what their lives are for;
many haven't got real much, but few would ask for more.
A homestead filled with children, soon becomes a school,
and in the monsoon season, the water hole's a pool.
As kids grow up, a Mother's heart bends, as near to break:
as on the plane to Boarding School, the trip, her children take.
Bushfires, a lost bore-man, and all the many and varied issues country people deal with day after day, challenge the women of the bush. As it says in the fourth stanza: "just another twist of fate, the family has to beat." I trust you will enjoy my tribute to the "Women of the Bush."
Water has always been a precious commodity. Politicians and city people have only recently learnt how precious. Set in the 1940's this story weaves an intriguing tale of joy, depair, hope and plain old bush "stubborn." Positive attitudes are a big plus when things go wrong.
It had never existed, for so many years,
When the hardship of drought brought all those tears,
But then in the midst of it, water appears
Flowing out of the ground from a spring.
With his short handled pick old George opened it up,
Knelt to his lunch bag, took the tin cup
And almost reverently, filled it up,
With clean water, fresh from the spring.
Cold and clear with a with a crisp, clean taste,
Filled his water bag; not a drop did he waste,
Quickly on horse now - home in great haste,
To share the good news of the spring.
To follow George and his old mare Eve, you will have to find a copy of my book, as I don't want to spoil the story for you.
He remembered as a young boy, he had noticed her red hair -
The way it bounced around her face, next to her skin so fair.
A fleeting image - of no real worth - a gangly girl was she
And he, so full of boyish things: the world was his, you see.
The years went by: an unkempt youth, he noticed her once more;
She passed him in the hallway - he collided with the door.
He said his mates had pushed him, though he knew all the while:
He'd lost his equilibrium in the sweetness of her smile.
Few words they shared through high school, then went their separate ways;
Plumbing and photography, filled their respective days.
He was pubs and surfing - the beach was his domain,
She was quiet and bookish - enjoyed walks in the rain.
Two young people share a passing school "spark" then go separate ways. Is that all there is? You can believe that's NOT all there is, but again, I wouldn't want to spoil your fun....
Ah! Tyalgum – your mountains – majestic, serene.
The forest canopy – lush and green.
A bright blue sky, frames this wond’rous scene,
As white clouds drift silently by.
The mornings – when silver spills over the crests.
The birdsong orchestra, welcomes its guests.
The evenings with purples and pinks in the west,
As the sun slowly sinks in the sky.
Crystal clear nights, when the stars seem to blaze -
The Southern Cross shines so bright in the haze.
Where soft coastal lights, glow - as you gaze -
An aura of peace, here abounds.
And sometimes – when dark clouds roll over the hills,
A free light and sound show, the sky around fills.
As the power of Nature, its audience thrills,
When lightning and thunder surrounds.
Where raindrops can fall so soft from the sky,
Or driven by wind, they hurtle by.
When none but the strongest bird, chooses to fly -
We watch, and wonder, in awe.
Nestled in mountains, so close to the sea,
Bright, flashing colours of birds - so free.
Natural forests of native tree -
Creations’ perfect score.
Green tree-lined valleys, where fresh waters flow;
Rivers and brooks where native fish go.
A leisurely life here; relaxed and slow,
Where Nature and Man are at one.
Whatever our views on this valley’s birth,
We all agree this is our Heaven on Earth.
Tyalgum, we marvel at your precious worth
And will, ‘till our days here, are done.
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Thank you for sharing a short sample of my words. Your feedback would be most welcome.