Shearing Shed

The yards behind the shearing shed are overgrown with grass
And the fence posts look a little worse for wear
There’s cobwebs on the tractors that are sitting all forlorn
And a farm cat snoozes gently on a chair

The boards have not been trodden by a shearer’s boot for years
But the remnants of their trade lie on the floor
A dull and rusty hand piece was left hanging on the wall
And an old gray fleece is draped across a door

A fridge that held refreshments for the shearers long ago
Stands rusting in the corner on its own
Some wool bales from the final clip are sitting in a pile
And the wind whips through the rafters with a moan

The only sign of movement is the farm cat getting up
It must be time to go and hunt for tea
As she slinks between the barrels that are holding up the floor
It’s time for mice to hide, or turn and flee

A drowsy looking blowfly buzzes lazily around
And the morning slowly turns to afternoon
Then the purple shades of evening slide across the waving fields
And the shearing shed is bathed beneath the moon

Then somewhere in the darkness you can hear the shearer’s ghosts
you can hear them clipping long into the night
Cries of ‘fleece off!’ are competing with the bleating of the sheep
but silence reigns again come morning light

And the shed just goes on rusting underneath the summer sun
And the termites come and chew upon the boards
And the spiders in the tractors go on spinning silken webs
And the shearer's ghosts are undisputed lords

October 2005, Popanyinning.

Tag Team

It’s just before the sun comes up
You sip upon your brew
The chilly air will keep at bay
The early morning crew

But later as the day heats up
You’re starting to salute
That honoured Aussie swiping wave
That gives the flies the boot

And suddenly they’re everywhere
They crawl around your eyes
You try about just every trick
To keep away those flies

A hat with corks has given way
To covering with mesh
The Aeroguard you used to use
No longer keeps you fresh

They seem to know, those cursed flies
When tasks will take both hands
For when they do they gather round
In massive swarming bands

The bush flies aren’t the only ones
That make you swear and curse
The blue flies buzz around your head
And March flies, even worse!

You know there’s no escaping them
When gray skies turn to blue
But evening rolls around at last
And then their reign is through

But in the dusk you hear a sound
A nasty high pitched whine
The mozzies are all waking up
Those lousy rotten swine

You cover up with jeans and boots
You light the mozzy coils
You sit out in the balmy night
And burn exotic oils

The subtle nasty little sting
You feel upon your leg
While gathered round the barbeque
Or leaning on the keg

It tells you all your sprays and stuff
Are having no effect
So bites and stings are just the things
You’re learning to expect

And so the Summer tag team makes
Your days a living hell
And even in the evenings
You will suffer on as well

All Winter long you waited for
The skies to turn to blue
But you forgot the nasty things
The tag team planed for you

Popanyinning October 2005

The Wanker

The wanker’s always with us, everywhere we choose to go
Even if we travel quickly, even if we travel slow
When you’re sitting nice and quiet having just a sip of beer
You can bet your bloomin’ socks that some big wanker will appear

As they get out of the car and they loudly slam the doors
You wonder why you take the time to gently close up yours
Then out comes all the camping gear, they take up all the room
The clouds on your horizon gather swiftly in the gloom

You were careful when you got here and you had a look around
For a campsite that was far away from others on the ground
But now you find the Wanker’s gone and set up next to you
Though there isn’t really room enough, there’s nothing you can do

There’s campsites by the dozen to the left and to the right
As empty as the Wamker’s head but he can’t see the light
You get a sinking feeling that you’ve done this all before
For you know the world is choc-a-block with wankers by the score

He’ll play his music loudly and he’ll shout and make a fuss
And he’ll winge about his missus and he’ll blather on and cuss
Then he’ll get his great big dog out which will piddle on your car
And his kids will bounce a ball until you don’t know where you are

The wanker’s voice is louder than the screaming of a jet
It comes right through your caravan, a sound you can’t forget
He doesn’t have a single thought of how it effects you
As long as he can get away with what he wants to do

Then his mates will all come calling and they’ll stay up all night long
And they’ll all get drunk and stupid, yelling out and singing songs
When you wake up in the morning and the campsite is a mess
You shake your head to clear it, for you’re somewhat in distress

You will find he’s gone out fishing trying hard to rape the sea
For he always takes the limit, plus another two or three
Then finally when you go out to catch a fish or two
The jackass will come over and fish right on top of you

So you give up on your fishing and you come back in to shore
But the wanker’s right behind you trailing tinnies by the score
You came away to get some peace and quiet on your own
But all you do is shake your head and stifle up a groan

Another night of binging by the Wanker’s drunken mates
Leaves you wishing you could send him to Saint Peter’s pearly gates
You suffer on in silence and you bend your knee to pray
‘Oh Lord if you won’t take me, make the Wanker go away!’

Cleaverville July 2005

The Great Folly of Man

I was here and I saw when the Dinosaur came
I was here when they faded away
I saw the birds flourish and take to the sky
I saw tiny mammals at play

I saw when the black man first walked on this earth
I saw the tribes wander the land
I saw many changes, the deaths and the births
I saw the great folly of man

I watched as the white man laid claim to my soil
How he dug up my valleys and plains
How he strove to find riches, my gold and my oil
How he turned all my rivers to drains

I watched and I waited and hoped that he’d see
That my riches were greater than gold
My mountains, my valleys, my rivers and seas
Are more than a billion years old

The longer I waited the more I was robbed
And the more disrespect came my way
Though my spirit’s unbroken my heart softly sobbed
But greed has its own price to pay

When they’ve dug up my riches and used up the land
When my sweet waters all have run dry
Then their great sprawling cities will turn back to sand
And their dreams will all wither and die

Cleaverville May 2005
 

Spiders of the City

Deep within the shadows of the city’s tallest spires
Is a nest of skulking spiders who all share the same desires
They spin their webs of finest silk to catch unwary prey
Their fangs are sharp, their eyes are keen, they shun the light of day

Their friends are in high places where they make up their own rules
Their only God is money and they play us all for fools
Corruption is their only game, they play for highest stakes
But all their wealth is nothing for they’re evil shabby fakes

The men in suits are plotting how to fleece us, one and all
Their greed is never ending and they hearken to its call
No morals left to speak of, they would cut their mother’s throat
If it meant they made a dollar over which they all could gloat

Stay away from city shadows where the human spiders lurk
Or you’ll lose yourself forever in the dark and dirty murk.

Cleaverville May 2005

ANZAC

Little Jack was only one
his father's pride and only son
He grew up fast beneath the sun
An Australian was he
 
By ten years old he'd fired a gun
go bare back riding just for fun
and by fourteen his schooling done
he lived both wild and free
 
Then two years on the mother land
its empire called to lend a hand
and blood was spilled upon the sand
around Gallipoli
 
When duty called he volunteered
and war was all his mother feared
Young men whose arms and legs were sheared
were sent home constantly
 
When Jack's turn came he faced it well
while all around his comrades fell
Young men all blown straight to hell
in a land across the sea
 
No longer through the bush he'd roam
They wrapped him up and sent him home
The ship ploughed on through ocean foam
that he would never see
 
Jack lies buried in a grave
His life for King and country gave
His young life lost so he could save
the likes of you and me
 
When April rolls around each year
and old men march or shed a tear
for those who are no longer here
Remember Jack Magee
 
And when the old men have all gone
their legacy will linger on
Forever we'll look back upon
their shining memory
 
April 1999 Townsville 
 

Australia
 
I am the bushland dawning
in the stillness of the morning
I am the sunlit plains
and the mighty river's flow
 
I'm the drought and I'm the flood
I'm the earth and I'm the blood
I'm the breezes ever blowing
where the wild pandanas grow
 
I'm the stockman and the drover
and I've walked this land all over
and I share forgotten secrets
that the wild ones only know
 
I'm the dust of outback trails
I'm the wind that fills the sails
I'm the city and the country
and the first high mountain snow
 
I'm the Murray River flowing
and the cattle softly lowing
I'm the kangaroo and emu
and the sunset's orange glow
 
I'm the Southern Cross at night
the explorer's guiding light
I'm the place that tells the traveller
that it's better to go slow
 
I am Banjo and I'm Lawson
I am Kelly and I'm Mawson
I am the Melbourne Cup
and the Sydney Easter Show
 
I am wild and still untamed
and there's beauty in my name
I am the land Australia
where the lucky people go.
 
December 1999
Townsville (Two verses added while cruising down the Murray River on Proud Mary 2000)
 

Breaker
 
A breaker came our way last eve
with such a tale to tell
that even now I don't believe
although he sold it well
 
He was riding out the back blocks
seeking out a mob
for he'd fallen down on hard times
and couldn't find a job
 
He rode the hills and valleys
and traced the rivers course
looking for the hoof prints
to lead him to a horse
 
He'd heard the local legend
about a yearling mare
of those who tried to catch her
and those who wouldn't dare
 
He worked his life with horses
and thought he knew them well
but now he's having second thoughts
about the mare from hell
 
His tracking skills were tested
unto their very ends
and luck, he sorely pressed it
on luck his life depends
 
Ten days he rode the saddle
ten days he tracked the herd
until at last he cornered them
I'll take him at his word

He swears the horses vanished
except the yearling mare
she turned and then she fixed him
with one unearthly stare
 
His horse just turned and bolted
and threw him to the ground
and then the mare was on him
with one enormous bound
 
She bit him and she kicked him
his body black and blue
she kept on till she'd licked him
he swears that its all true
 
And when at last she'd finished
she vanished in thin air
his broken bones were proof enough
that she had been right there
 
And with his story over
he walked in to the night
and with the coming of the day
we found that he was right
 
They found his body broken up
ten miles away at most
the one we got the story from
had been the breaker's ghost
 
December 1999 Townsville 
 

Bush Verse
 
The shaking shadows waking
through the morning’s misty haze
The morning bright with dappled light
that heralds summer days
 
And on the far horizon
the hills are burnished gold
Where now as for a million years
another day unfolds
 
The gum trees by the river bed
stand reaching for the sky
And somewhere in the distance
a mournful curlew cries
 
All about, the endless plain
grows warm with morning sun
Where spinifex and grass trees grow
where roo and emu run
 
No rain clouds in the distance
to soak the cracked red earth
To wash the ants from bleached white bones
to help the land give birth
 
No raindrops fall from heaven
It hasn’t rained for years
And all that man has left behind
is blood, and sweat, and tears
 
For those who came to tame her
departed long ago
Dreams buried deep by desert sands
that never cease to blow
 
Dawn drifts into morning
then into afternoon
And day gives way again to night
to greet the rising moon
 
The cycle goes unbroken
from year to passing year
Land sleeping and unwoken
To rise and reappear
  

Bushy
 
Its ten miles as the crow flies
from here to billabong
And that's where I will have a blow
back out where I belong

It's been a while since I've been bushed
or swapped yarns with a dag
Or been out duffing clean skins
Or slept upon my swag

I've diced my city job at last
They said I dragged the chain
by hiding in the dunny
when I ever felt the strain

I'm happy now as Larry was
I've lobbed back in the bush
I'm waltzing my matilda
and life is pretty cush

Now city life was on the nose
with ratbags drinking plonk
Galahs in cars with blaring horns
that honk and honk and honk

I'm taking Shank's pony
before I have a spell
and get back to hard yakka
by sinking bores and wells

Out beyond the black stump
where blowies never tire
and boiling up me billy
upon a bonza fire

I'll always be a bushy
who's dying to shoot through
I'll have a gig around the bend
and rarely have a blue

I'll get stuck into life again
away from city smoke
wandering the outback trails
a very happy bloke
 
May 2000 Mackay
 

Cattle Dog

The old cattle dog
lying under the shed
Fidgets as dreams
go around in his head

His weary old bones
are now stiff and sore
but he dreams of a time
when he welcomed his chores

Leaping and nipping
and pushing the herd
He'd act on command
at his master's word

He dreams of long days
beneath the warm sun
and remembers the joy
of a real flat-out run

His master was hard
but never unfair
and reward for success
was a ruffle of hair

But the boss has retired
and there's no farming now
No sheep and no cattle
no tractor or plough

But the old dog still dreams
of happier days
When he worked in the fields
and he slept in the hay

His spirit still yearns
to 'Get round!' or 'Get Back!'
and to follow the tractor
back home down the track

But now he's worn out
and he gets some odd looks
as he limps round the yard
and rounds up the chooks

For a working dog works
'till his last day is done
and his ghost hits the fields
at a real flat-out run

 June 2000 Mackay
 

City Dreams
 
The bright lights of the city
Have lured me away
From bushland plains and mulga scrub
from plains of rich red clay
 
Away from the serenity
to noise and toil and strife
To pay the bills and cure the ills
of living city life
 
Into a world of buildings
and people crowded round
of cars and fumes and airplanes
a world of ceaseless sound
 
I long to take my swag again
into the far outback
To walk the trails and feel again
the sun upon my back
 
To make camp by a billabong
cook dinner by a fire
Lie back and see the stars at night
then silently retire
 
But here I sit beside a screen
a keyboard and a phone
My time belongs to someone else
my life is not my own
 
Down below the city sprawls
around and out of sight
But in my mind I'm wandering
my fantasies take flight
 
And once again I'm on the road
not knowing where I'm bound
I'm off into the wilderness
somewhere I can't be found

August 1999 Darwin
 

Cocky
 
Like my father before me
I work on the land
and I help feed a nation from sunlight and sand
 
I've seen the bush burn
and I've seen the land flood
So I give it my all with my sweat and my blood
 
I've seen the world change
as I've seen the sun rise
and I've seen my stock die right in front of my eyes
 
I've watched while my neighbours
walk away from their land
and the city folk care but they don't understand
 
Six generations
have toiled on this earth
the land of our dreams, the land of our birth
 
The land that we work
is what makes us whole
To just walk away is like losing our soul
 
My son's in the city
there's no future here
and my wife works in town for there's more bills to clear
 
I've seen how our town
has started to die
No bank and no doctor, not hard to see why
 
Pollies fly in
and then out the same day
Like sheep or like donkeys they bleat and they bray
 
When election time comes
they promise the earth
but their promises have neither substance or worth
 
So when the last farmer
walks off of the land
When you import your food, maybe you'll understand
 
When all we have now
is taken away
You'd better believe that you're all going to pay
 
February 2000 Townsville
 

Old Halls Creek
 
The red dust road that leads from town
and back into the range
was traveled once by hardy souls
to whom this land was strange
 
They came to Old Halls Creek to dig
to pan the streams for gold
they came with dreams of striking rich
of wealth as yet untold
 
All they owned they carried in
from ports along the coast
Picks and spades and billy tins
and flour from trading posts
 
By foot, by mule, by cart and horse
they flooded into town
but many fell along the way
to crocs, to thirst or sometimes drowned
 
Some struck it rich, some just survived
some left and some returned
In all who crossed the barren hills
a lust for gold ore burned
 
And all at once the gold ran out
the town began to die
The diggings all stood silent
beneath a cloudless sky
 
Years came and went but little changed
beneath the burning sun
until at last the road was sealed
and change began to come
 
But even now the old dirt road
will lead you back in time
to ruins down beside a creek
where miners lived and died
 
September 1998 Halls Creek
 

Darcy
 
A strapping young stockman
rode in from the hills
his face was all twisted with pain
Out mustering cattle, he'd taken a spill
but he climbed on his horse once again
 
For two days and nights
he rode for The Creek
his only hope lay in the town
His spirit was strong but his body was weak
but he didn't give up and lie down
 
He made it at last
to the post office there
the Post Master brought him inside
He rested a while on a post office chair
while he told of the pain in his side
 
The telegraph line
to Derby ran out
The Post Master tapped at the key
The reply soon came back
'There's no doctor here
and no body else we can see.'
 
The call went to Perth
Doctor Holland replied
'You'll fix up young Darcy right there'
So they gave him some whiskey
and opened him up
after strapping his arms to a chair
 
The telegraph tapped
as the Post Master cut
The sweat trickled down in his eyes
He fixed up the problem in poor Darcy's gut
not balked by the young stockman's cries
 
The doctor came north
on the very next ship
and hoped that he'd get there in time
but malaria struck, and young Darcy did slip
and that was the end of the line
 
And then back in Perth
when Holland met Flynn
he said that he wished that he'd flown
The idea took hold, and grew from within
and from that a great service has grown
 
* * * *
 
Now through out the outback
the Flying Doctor tends
the sick and injured people waiting there
But few have heard the story
about Darcy and his friends
How he died too many miles from proper care
 
So spare a thought for Darcy
and his lonely little grave
For those who tried to save him
and the path they sought to pave
 
June 2000 Rockhampton
Darcy's grave can still be seen in the little grave yard out at Old Halls Creek.
 

Eagle
 
On golden wings the eagle soars
above the gibber plain
cries echo off sheer canyon walls
throughout its high domain
 
Where weathered red rock towers stand
against a deep blue sky
the raptor glides on silent wings
and calls its lonely cry
 
Saltbush, gums and termite mounds
stretch on and out of sight
No poles or lines or coated wires
restrict the great birds flight
 
Wheeling high in thermals
no need to flap its wings
for he who hunts with beak and claw
is lord of many things
 
There on some far horizon
where heat haze melts the sky
where time has lost its meaning
an eagle soars on high

September 1998 Halls Creek
 

Eddie
 
Black man dreams in the great south land
rich red earth where the coolabah stands
Dreamtime laws and wandering tribes
cared for the land where the bilby once thrived
 
Walkabout wandering, travelling far
follow the food, watching the stars
Pass down the knowledge father to son
mother to daughter since time had begun
 
Season on season, year upon year
living in freedom with nothing to fear
Everything changed when the white fella came
New laws new diseases, now nothing's the same
 
The land had no people said white fellas’ law
but black man resisted to even the score
But nothing prepared them for bullets and guns
The battle was over before it begun
 
Once standing tall, alone in this land
the black man was broken by white mans’ demands
His pride and his country were taken away
and stolen black children were lost and betrayed
 
The churchmen descended intent on reform
To civilize black man and make him conform
But civilization was all in their heads
and countless black mothers still mourned for their dead
 
The lies and deception were turned into laws
and lubras were taken and made white mans’ whores
And so it continued and nothing was done
The ‘civilized’ white man stood tall in the sun
 
For two hundred years the black man was robbed
Treated less than a human and worse than a dog
And finally one man said enough is enough
my people have suffered and still have it tough
 
A man they call Mabo showed white men the way
to make a down payment on debts to repay.
  
September 1998 Halls Creek
 

Fishing
 
Hooks and lures and fishing line, an eight foot throwing net
The sea is calm, the weather fine, there’s challenge to be met
Bait fish schools along the rocks dart frantically away
mesh descends on heavy weights to trap unwary prey
 
A baited hook is set and cast, the line is brought in taught
time like water trickles past, the battle still un-fought
The sun beats down on golden sand, the waves lap at the shore
the rod is passed from hand to hand as shoulders become sore
 
Nibblers tease and rip the bait but miss the gleaming hook
larger fish show here and there but only seem to look
Then all at once the sea explodes with one almighty flash
a heavy pull and line reels off, a headlong racing dash
 
Leaping twisting running deep the line pays off the reel
excitement builds and tension mounts, the fishes’ fate is sealed
Pumping rod and straining arms bring colour to the top
but once again the fish will run, it seems to never stop
 
An hour or more of reeling in, the fish begins to tire
arms and neck and shoulders burn and feel like they’re on fire
The battle nearly over now the fish comes closer in
at last you have it in your hand, how sweet it is to win
 
Looking down at shining scales of silver black and blue
the streamlined body glistens with the light of every hue
with mouth agape and staring eyes the fish begins to gasp
the hook is pulled, the fish reacts, falling from your grasp
 
Back into the sea once more, it slowly swims away
maybe to get hooked again and fight another day
A flick of tail and flash of scale it vanishes from sight
You long to hook it up again and recommence the fight.
 

East of Nowhere
 
Somewhere east of nowhere
stands a rust encrusted shed
In a paddock full of weeds
by a tumbledown homestead
 
A windmill goes on turning
though the bore has long run dry
and the fence posts are still standing
where the bones of cattle lie
 
Here a man once fed his family
Here a wife once made a home
and children grew to adulthood
on land they called their own
 
Lying round the paddock
are reminders of their lives
A wagon wheel, a broken toy
some rusted skinning knives
 
The corrugated shearing shed
where ringers walked like lords
Is cluttered now with tumbleweeds
and termite ridden boards
 
No clue remains to tell us
of their fate or where they are
just a tumbledown old homestead
somewhere east of Marble Bar
 
August 1999 Darwin 
 

Lost At Sea
 
The day dawns hot and heavy
clouds fill the western sky
The breeze is strong and steady
and hope is running dry
 
Far out on the ocean
beyond the sight of land
Storm winds whip white horses
Seeds of destruction fanned
 
Clouds turn in to thunderheads
as trawlers run for home
the wind gnaws on their rigging
as a dog chews on a bone
 
Fate selects unlucky souls
who stayed too long at sea
and only gulls will hear their cries
when they face eternity
 
The waves rise ever higher
the engines race then groan
and then in desperation
care to the wind is thrown
 
A towering wall of water
rises up behind
and searchers seeking shipmates
no trace will ever find
 
It happens in an instant
that seems to last all night
and those who struggle briefly
will soon give up the fight
 
Down in to green waters
to Neptune's sweet embrace
Sailors far from home now find
their final resting place
 
And soon the storm is over
and word like wildfire spreads
and wives and sons and daughters
start mourning for their dead
 
Such is the lot of seamen
who ride the ocean waves
Some whose lives are forfeit
and some whose lives are saved.
 
May 2000 Mackay 
 

Murphy's Rules
 
When everything seems peaceful
and all is going well
you'll find out that Murphy's rules
will grab you like a spell
 
When you build your money up
a bundle in the bank
and trouble strikes at every turn
then you'll know who to thank
 
The car you just had serviced
is spewing smoke and oil
the fridge just out of warranty
now watch that good food spoil
 
Just when you least expect it
Old Murphy will appear
He's cruel enough to make you spill
your last mouthful of beer
 
At every turn he's waiting
until you think you're safe
the shoes that fit well yesterday
today will make you chafe
 
Your wallet's in your pocket
at least that's what you think
until its time to pay the bill
then feel your light heart sink
 
You glide along life's easy way
it's such an easy dance
Until old Murphy comes along
and kicks you in the pants
 

Progress
 
Cattle trucks drive highways now
where drovers once held sway
Heavy rigs of chrome and steel
replaced the horse and dray
 
Gravel tracks of rich red earth
that rambled near and far
Have disappeared forever
‘neath miles of hot black tar
 
The billabong by shady gums
stands empty cracked and dry
The thirst of modern farms it seems
lets river systems die
 
The campfires of the cattle men
that used to dot the plains
No longer flicker in the night
no sign of them remains
 
Bush ballads sing of sweeping plains
where brumbys still run free
Of wild unharnessed rivers
and clear inviting seas
 
But brumbys fall as feral pests
the rivers drained and dry
The sea is choked with sewage
where fish and sea grass die
 
As the romance of the outback
begins to fade away
We learn that progress has a price
we’ve all been forced to pay.

It doesn't rain much here
(an ode to Denham)
 
It hadn't rained in fifty years
or so the story goes
Thirsts were big and droughts were long
out where the east wind blows
 
Skies were blue from year to year
with not a drop of rain
and if a cloud should hide the sun
'twould soon be out again
 
And so we rumbled in to town
expecting naught but sun
'Oh never mind' the locals said
'The rain has just begun.'
 
'The sun will soon be out' they said
'It doesn't rain much here'
'It won't be long before the sky
is blue and crystal clear'
 
We waited and we waited
while rain came tumbling down
It rained, it poured, it drizzled
until we thought we'd drown
 
The waters started rising
in rivers far and near
'But never mind' the locals said
'It doesn't rain much here'
 
A torrent fell from heaven
all night and then all day
and pretty soon we thought that we
would all get washed away
 
'Oh never mind' the locals said
'it doesn't rain much here'
but buildings all around us
began to disappear
 
The rain just kept on falling
'till we could scarcely hear
the locals from the roof tops say
'It doesn't rain much here.'
  
September 1999 Townsville
 

Living River
 
The journey starts on high plateau
From spring fed stream or melted snow
where shining silver waters flow
to rivers far away
 
From hills from range from mountain top
the tumbling waters never stop
A waterfall, a headlong drop
to pools so far below
 
In deep green pools below the falls
then on through towering canyon walls
to where the river floodplain sprawls
and on into the sea
 
From little streams to river's bend
just like our lives the rivers wend
from journeys start to journeys end
and places far away

August 1999 Darwin
 
Sport
 
The Aussies are a weird mob
when it comes down to sport
A national mad obsession
and like religion taught
 
Almost from the day they're born
the kids are taught the rules
to kick or hit or throw a ball
or else end up like fools
 
There's little league and juniors
there's senior's and pros
While in the stands the crazy fans
are apt to come to blows
 
There's shouting Norm on telly
who screams for all he's worth
with all the noise he's making
you'd think he's giving birth
 
And then of course there's Daryl
who just about explodes
He yells his silly head off
as vee eights hit the roads
 
It's footy, golf and cricket
on TV all weekend
Enough to drive the likes of me
completely round the bend
 
A panel full of 'has beens'
re-tell the days events
They've always got so much to say
but don't make any sense
 
And then of course there's tennis
and league and union too
So if you're not a sports fan
Australia's not for you
 
While all the nation's heroes
are ace with bat and ball
those with half a brain it seems
get no regard at all
 
And here come the Olympics
a massive overdose
of screaming mass hysteria
is getting very close
 
I think I'll take myself away
until the games are gone
and sit me down and find a book
to concentrate upon
 
I'll sit out in the back blocks
where everything's the same
until it catches up with me
that damned Olympic flame
 
June 2000 Calliope
 

The Things I'd Do
 
I'd love a sunburned country
but that's been done before
And Clancy of the Overflow
is nothing but a bore
 
The man from Snowy River
riding wild and free
isn't nearly tough enough
for new age blokes like me
 
I'd be off to Iron Bark
but they might cut my throat
and I'd Waltzing Matilda
if I could hold a note
 
I'd hump my swag to anywhere
or join the polo club
I'd pass the black stump many times
and camp out in the scrub
 
I'd shear a sheep and rope a bull
or pan a stream for gold
I'd write the best bush ballad
that ever has been told
 
I'd go to Tumbarumba
to see the kangaroos
who thanks to all the shooting
now live in ones and twos
 
I'd catch a barramundi
and wrestle with a croc
I'd be as game as Kelly
and even climb The Rock
 
There'd be so many coves around
to watch my daring deeds
That I'd be rich and famous
most likely to succeed
 
I'd pat the dog that sits upon
that well known tucker box
I'd be as smart as sixpence
and cunning as a fox
 
I'd find a pub without a beer
and ride the Melbourne Cup
If I could get myself in gear
and get my courage up
 
 September 1999 Townsville
 

Toorak Taxis
 
There's a load of Toorak taxis
headin' for the back o' Bourke
taken out by city cowboys
going west to "make 'em work"
 
The follow one another
like a herd of bloody sheep
The things they say about the bush
would make a swaggie weep
 
They're loaded up with camping gear
and bucket loads of beer
But ask 'em if they've got a spade
they seem to go all queer
 
They tear along the dusty trail
without a thought or care
Until they get a second flat
without another spare
 
Driving on the unsealed road
they never stop for rain
They chew it up so no one else
can use the track again
 
They camp right by the river
and lather up with soap
To leave the campsite fresh and clean
is just too much to hope

Unprepared and uninformed
they're heading off out back
Making lists of all they need
but then forget to pack
 
Their stereos are blasting
for all the world to hear
the wildlife flees in terror
whenever they appear
 
Some noisy thoughtless people
who spoil it for the rest
are flattening the bush again
somewhere off out west
 
Their shiny brand new four wheel drives
without a scratch or dent
come home a little worse for wear
and looking rather bent
 
So when you see them coming
you'd best be on your way
and like the roo keep running
until they're far away.
 
July 2000 Brisbane 
 

For Weary
 
Come and see the sunshine coast
where Aussies aim to please
Forget about the war they say
don't blame the Japanese
 
But I remember Singapore
Malaya and Bataan
I can't forget, I won't forgive
though others say they can
 
They marched us off in long thin lines
into the jungle deep
For many men this dreadful march
would see their final sleep
 
So many died along the way
from beatings and neglect
and even worse things were in store
that none could then expect
 
In camps along a track we toiled
in rain and mud and heat
and though they beat and starved us
we never knew defeat
 
Men like Weary saw us through
and kept our hopes alive
They stood up to our gaolers
and managed to survive
 
Though many times they tried to break
his spirit and his pride
They never put the fire out
that always burned inside
 
They tied his arms around a tree
about to run him through
'My thoughts I will not share' said he
'with thugs the like of you.'
 
And when at last we re-emerged
from darkness to the sun
We finally believed that we
had fought the fight and won
 
We didn't know we'd be sold out
for profits and for greed
and where the Japs had failed in war
in peace they would succeed
 
The land is sold beneath our feet
and with champagne they toast
The power of the mighty yen
that gobbles up our coast
 
In our schools they're learning how
to speak in Japanese
To bow and say 'konichi wah'
and beg on bended knees
 
On Anzac Day the old men march
to honour fallen friends
but while we sell their spirits short
their journey never ends.
 
August 1999 Darwin
This poem was written in honour of all Allied soldiers who suffered as prisoners of war at the hands of the Japanese in World War II and I dedicate it to the memory of my grandfather: Captain Walter George Glasby, O.B.E. Royal Garrison Artillery who fought in and survived the Great War.
 

Wildfire
 
December winds blow hot and strong
the winter rains were sparse
The forest floor is tinder dry
the fields devoid of grass
 
The crack of thunder fills the air
and lightning strikes the ground
The hint of rain is everywhere
but not a drop is found
 
All at once a spark takes life
the fire begins to burn
A wildfire racing on a ridge
the wind begins to turn
 
Twigs turned dry by summer sun
now crackle pop and hiss
Flames reach high into the trees
and n'ere a one is missed
 
Wallaby and emu run
and flee the roaring sound
The wombat now cannot escape
his prison under ground
 
As snake and lizard perish
the fire becomes a storm
it rages down the hillside
as fire devils form
 
And all at once as all seems lost
the rain begins to fall
A million drops caress the ground
and quench the fire ball
 
The blackened vegetation
still smolders from the heat
and scenes of devastation
now mark the fire's retreat
 
But soot and rain will nourish
the much depleted earth
Plants once again will flourish
in nature's own rebirth.
 

Southern Cross
 
The Southern Cross will lead me home
if I should ever stray
Its guiding light will help me through
and see me on my way
 
Back to where the wattle blooms
to where the ghost gums sway
To where the sky is red and gold
at closing of the day
 
Back to golden sunlit sands
that shimmer on the beach
Back to where a peaceful life
is not beyond my reach
 
To where the old man emu sits
beneath a shady tree
To where the never ending plain
will set my spirit free
 
Back to where the fields of grain
are ripe beneath the sun
To everlasting summer days
and winter on the run
 
To stand beneath the evening sky
beneath the Southern Cross
Just give me wings and I will fly
before the chance is lost
 

Harry Shute
 
From Christchurch in New Zealand
I sailed for distant shores
I didn’t know my native land
I’d never see no more
 
I went to find my fortune
in far off fields of gold
I headed for the Kimberley
There’s plenty there I’m told
 
I landed up in Derby
three hundred miles away
At night I do the walking
and rest up through the day
 
I’m thinking of my sweetheart
in far off Kiwi land
I carry in my pocket
her diamond wedding band
 
Now the days are getting hotter
and my water’s running dry
If I don’t find a pool I fear
that I am gonna die
 
I’ve searched for gold and found it
but it ain’t much good to eat
It will not give me shelter
nor protect me from the heat
  
For thirty days I’ve waited
with not a sign of rain
The sun has cooked me slowly
‘till I feel that I’m insane
 
So stranger I am writing this
to tell you of may fate
Please send my mum the watch chain
The watch goes to my mate
 
My sweetheart back in Christchurch
should have the diamond ring
You are free to sell the gold
for whatever it may bring
 
I hear the dingoes calling
It’s time for me to go.
Signed ‘Best Regards’ from Harry Shute
Whose name you all now know.
 
NOTE: Harry died after 30 days stranded in the outback. He eventually succumbed to starvation and thirst. The last entry in his pocket book was ‘Mad at last’. His bones, scattered by the dingoes, were finally found and buried. The diamond ring went back to his sweetheart Miss Orr, and the watch to his mate Henry Dove. Harry was just 35.
 
Aug 2000 Brisbane
 

Adams and Flinders
 
Up in old Port Wyndham
back in the early days
at tale is told about two men
who wouldn't mend their ways
 
Adams hated Flinders
they were the town's JPs
They'd love to lock each other up
then throw away the keys
 
One hot and dusty afternoon
while drinking in the pub
insults turned to punches
over some imagined snub
 
Out in to the street they went
with flailing legs and arms
The cops came down and locked them up
before they came to harm
 
Then in the morning sobered up
there was one fact to face
Each would sit in judgment
upon the others case
 
Well Adams was the first to sit
upon the others crime
The gavel fell, the judgment was
a mere five shilling fine
  
Then Flinders turn to sit arrived
He donned his wig and frowned
'There's too much of this thing about
the fine will be ten pounds'
 
We don't how it went from there
or how the story ends
but one thing we can bet for sure
they'd never be good friends
 
Aug 2000 Brisbane
 

The Old Dog
 
At a point where the old road meets the hill
and runs down the other side
There's an old tin shed that's standing, still
and a grave where the old dog died

He surely had seen better days
when our paths chanced to cross
As I lit up a fire and laid out my swag
he got up and wandered across

I could see from the look in the old dog's eye
that his race was almost run
but he sat by my side and offered his paw
So I gave him a pat and a bun

I cooked up some meat and he chewed on a bone
then he rested his head on my swag
We sat and we watched as the stars all came out
and his tail did a slow steady wag

We fell fast asleep and I woke with the sun
to find the old dog passed away
So I gathered him up and I buried him deep
and sadly I went on my way

It was later that morning I stopped at a farm
to ask about work round about
and I happened to see a new litter of pups
one turned and came waddling out

He sat on the ground and he offered his paw
and I saw a strange glint in his eye
Had the old dog returned? Was he telling me now
that I shouldn't be sad that he'd died?

Well I picked him right up and his warm puppy tongue
quickly licked off the tear from my cheek
I couldn't think straight, I was stunned and choked up
and found my knees going all weak

So I bought him right there and I gathered him up
He settled right down in my swag
As I walked down the road I could feel the odd thump
as his tail did a slow steady wag.

Sep 2000 Brisbane 
 

Red Hills
 
Ancient red hills
have no care of my plight
They fade into haze
far beyond mortal sight

Ageless and timeless
their faces are worn
From wind and from rain
their features are born

So silent, so splendid
they shimmer with light
a vision extended
with awe and delight

Where time seems suspended
and change is unknown
the hills stand aloof
over all that we've sown

Our time will have come
and then faded away
but the hills stand unchanged
and unmoved by our stay

So all that we do
through the force of our will
is as nothing at all
to the ancient red hills

And all of our riches
and all of our lust
will crumble away
and be turned into dust

But the hills will remain
ever ageless and strong
ever tied to the land
on which they belong
 
Sep 2000 Brisbane
 

Questions
 
What is the thing we dream of
when we dream about the bush?
Do we dream of open spaces
far removed from city push?
 
Do we dream of cattle lowing
as we slowly ride along?
Do we dream the drover whistles
some old melancholy song?
 
Is it all that we expected
as we gaze on ridges far?
Can we reach our destination
as we chart the pointer star?
 
Can we understand the old ways
of the Aborigine?
Can we see this land through their eyes?
can we set the spirits free?
 
Can we change our ways forever?
Can we make up for the past?
Can we wake up and be clever?
Can we live as one at last?
 
Or is it all a poet's dream
that never can come true?
The answer lies within us all
The answer lies with you

Oct 2000 Brisbane

Wittenoom
 
A melancholy little town
half dead and half alive
Polluted by a deadly waste
it struggles to survive
 
A mining town where workers came
from here and overseas
They never knew their lives were touched
by fatal lung disease
 
They toiled beneath a clear blue sky
through rains and through the heat
A town in deadly paradise
asbestos on their feet
 
Much later when the men grew sick
and then began to die
The company denied their claims
but knew it was a lie
 
In court they dragged the cases out
until the bitter end
and wives now widows went without
their lovers and their friends
 
The deadly dust lies everywhere
but some still struggle on
The pub is standing empty now
the petrol station gone
 
The miners ghosts are wandering
the silent lonely town
Their spirits haunt the empty streets
that they had once walked down

The Old Bush Pub
 
The old bush pub has seen some times
I'll wager things were good
When all it was, was sheets of tin
and rough cut planks of wood
 
When cattlemen tied up their steeds
to posts along the street
and spurs adorned the leather boots
upon the drinkers feet
 
When miners trod the dusty trails
in search of fields of gold
and swaggies thirsts were gladly quenched
with beer the bush pub sold
 
When drovers trails all ended here
beneath the old tin roof
and cockys came from miles around
to drink the eighty proof
 
Where granddad, Bob and Salty Bill
all came to yarn and drink
and yellow dogs from local farms
beneath the pub would slink
 
Where dad would stay past closing time
still drinking with his mates
and mum would soon come storming in
'Cos dad was always late
 
Two generations lost to war
once breasted at the bar
and photographs around the walls
remind us who they are
 
What stories these old walls could tell
if they could only speak
But tales stay locked up safe inside
the tin and polished teak
 
Though things have come, and things have gone
and much has changed about
here, mates still get their wallets out
when it's their turn to shout
 
Through drought and flood and fire and rain
the old pub stood the test
and when it all is said and done
the old bush pubs are best

October 2000 Brisbane
 

The Poor Bloody Poet
 
It's a bloody hard life for a poet
the knockabouts think you're a poof
and you can't sell your work for a dollar
You're a dog that can't even go woof!
 
Some people they say that the rhyme's nice
and others the meter they choose
but none of 'em part with their money
It's a bet that you're going to lose
 
But you write and you scratch with your pencil
trying to catch Lawson's prose
You think you're a lot like The Banjo
but really you're quite on the nose
 
You craft up your very best verses
and print them all out neat and nice
By the looks that you get from the printer
you'd think you were carrying lice
 
So you give up on trying for money
your verses now make you just fret
So you write up and bloody good web site
and give 'em away on the net.

October 2000 Brisbane 
 

Piccaninny Dawn
 
In the Piccaninny dawn
when the sun has yet to rise
and the purple shades of night
are still clinging to the sky
 
When the chorus of the birds
comes ringing from the trees
and the waters on the lake
are first rippled by the breeze
 
When the hills still wear the cloak
of the colours of the night
and their tops are touched with gold
in the clear crisp morning light
 
In the Piccaninny dawn
when there's magic in the air
When a brand new day is born
there's a world both rich and rare
 
Then a mighty orange glow
shows the sun is on its way
and the Piccaninny dawn
quickly starts to fade away

October 2000 Coolmunda 
 

Brumby Shoot
 
There's a noise in the bush
where the horses run free
and there's fear in the air
the herd breaks for the trees
 
Skimming over tree tops
the choppers make their run
the noise brings death to brumbys
from the barrel of a gun
 
Somewhere in the city
there's a man who has a yen
to kill off all the brumbys
and he does it with a pen
 
National Parks and Wildlife
have an order to destroy
and men with guns in choppers
are so easy to deploy
 
Six hundred sturdy ponies
whose lives were blown away
are lying in the silent bush
to rot and just decay
 
So much for Aussie legends
and the colt from old regret
'cos once they've all been shot to death
it's easy to forget
 
A hundred years they roamed the bush
but natives they are not
Are Europeans natives too?
are they all being shot?!
 
It's a dirty filthy business
done by stupid little men
The brumby is a noble breed
that we won't see again
 
So put your pen to paper
and raise your voices loud
this never should have happened
and cannot be allowed
 
The butchers and their bloodstained hands
must all be rooted out
The brumbys are a pride and joy
we cannot live without
 
Oct 2000 Dubbo
 
They shot to death 600 brumbys because they lived in a National Park, it's a damn disgrace! If that's what National Parks are all about then as far as I am concerned they can all be closed down.
  

No More Waltzing Matilda
 
When the rivers no longer run free to the sea
and the ocean's not blue the way it should be
when the mountains are strip mined and the land is not free
Then there'll be no more waltzing matilda for me
 
When the brumbys and roos have all been shot out
when the river's polluted and empty of trout
and all we have left are just feelings of doubt
there's no waltzing matilda for me
 
When the rich and the greedy control this great land
and there's nobody left who will give us a hand
when all of our dreams have been buried by sand
there's no waltzing matilda for me
 
When the cockys and drovers have faded away
when we can't raise our hand and we can't have our say
and all we have left is to hope and to pray
no more waltzing matilda you'll see
 
Dec 26 2000 Adelaide
 

Republic
 
There's all sorts of talk in the country today
about a republic and breaking away
While most would agree that it's long overdue
there's need for some care with this kind of review
 
ANZACs and Diggers who fought for the flag
would not want it changed to some colourful rag
and though the way forward may lie in the east
and ties with old England have somewhat decreased
 
We've built on the past, it's what makes us strong
and to throw it away can only be wrong
So look to the future, remember the past
make the change good and make sure that it lasts
 
Don't! let the pollies have it their way
and make sure the people can all have their say
we all have a right our future to choose
make the change work for there's too much to lose
 

The Tree
 
With spreading boughs you shelter me
from sun and wind and rain
Through flood and drought you stand alone
and never once complain
 
Your fruits will feed the hungry birds
you've pollen for the bee
there's nothing else like you on Earth
the tall majestic tree
 
Through out your life the world may change
a dozen times or more
For I may live but eighty years
but you may live ten score
 
And in your spreading branches
how tenderly you hold
a nest of chicks who'll grow and die
while you are not yet old
 
In time you were a sapling
still reaching for the sky
but now you stand a giant
some fifty meters high
 
In your hollows sound asleep
a sugar glider rests
your body shelters many things
all snug within their nests
 
Beetles bugs and borers all
will call your trunk their home
and though you stand above all else
you're never quite alone
 
I gaze at you in wonder
and ponder on your life
you prosper in the good times
and hang on through the strife
 
In all your cloak of brown and green
I know I'll never see
a sight so rich and wonderful
as that in front of me.
  
27/12/2000 Adelaide
 

Big Sky
 
There's a big big sky
and a flat flat land
There's rich red earth
and fine gold sand
 
There's dry river beds
and wandering streams
in a land of hopes
and a land of dreams
 
There's desert and forest
and mountains and more
There's a deep blue sea
round the endless shore
 
From a peaceful river
to a raging flood
this land you'll find
gets in the blood
 
It's station life
and a city street
It's a "G'day Mate"
when good friends meet
 
There's something here
you can't write down
For the spirit lives
within the ground
 
A spirit of time
and a spirit of place
a spirit once gone
that won't be replaced

Forty !
 
I'm forty feeling sixty
I'm worn out and worn down
Where once I had a smiling face
I often wear a frown
 
I'm sick and tired of working
the deadly eight to five
slogging through the endless day
to come home half alive
 
My bones are tired and weary
my back is stiff and sore
I'm getting pains in places
that I've never had before
 
Farewell to the days of youth
I've left them far behind
Look forward to senility
and losing half my mind
 
My eyesight's getting dimmer
and my hearing's going too
Don't laugh my friend for in the end
these things will come to you
 
I'm forty feeling sixty
and the world is rushing past
and in the race to claim first place
I'm coming in dead last

11/1/01 Adelaide

Fire Fighting Volunteer
 
He's an ordinary working man
a father or a son
He likes to have a beer at night
when all the work is done
 
He lives out in a country town
and loves the country life
He's part of the community
just like his kids and wife
 
But when the four mile wailer goes
he gets himself in gear
He's proud to be a C.F.A.
fire fighting volunteer
 
In every long hot summer
he's there to heed the call
from new years day to Christmas eve
he must be on the ball
 
In dark of night or burning sun
his life is on the line
The cheerful grin upon his dial
says things should work out fine
 
But in a raging bush fire
whole crews are sometimes lost
and towns saved by the C.F.A.
must reckon with the cost
 
An ordinary working man?
but not like most round here
the backbone of the C.F.A.
fire fighting volunteer

Shipwreck Coast
 
The weathered limestone buttress stands
against the pounding sea
The wind whips through the saltbush
Un-harnessed, fresh, and free
 
The crashing waves assault the rocks
how solid they appear
but wind and waves are patient foes
that never count the years
 
The weathered rock is worn away
though it's an uphill climb
These mighty blocks will wear away
beset by tide and time
 
What a sight my eyes behold
along this rugged shore
where tall ships ran before the wind
and sails from rigging tore
 
Where now the seabirds wheel and dive
in to the briny foam
once shipwrecked souls beheld the cliffs
so far from hearth and home
 
Beheld their awful majesty
in freezing wind and rain
and only but a lucky few
would see their homes again
 
Though many years have passed since then
it comes as no surprise
that when the wind rips through the rocks
you'll hear the sailors cries.

I've Seen
 
I've seen the desert bloom with colour
I've seen the red land turn to green
I've seen the sunset's wild abandon
The wide brown land is where I've been
 
I've seen the mountains cloaked in thunder
seen the mighty Fitzroy flow
seen the land they call 'Down Under'
seen the whales that breach and blow
 
I've seen a land of open spaces
Seen the grassland wet with dew
seen a sea of smiling faces
felt the thing they call 'true blue'
 
I've walked a mile upon the footsteps
pioneers trod once before
packed my swag in lonely places
pitched a tent upon the shore
 
I've walked the rim of Wolfe Creek Crater
rode the mighty Murray down
seen the ore they ship by freighter
seen the bridge in Sydney town
 
I've been away to foreign places
seen the world in other parts
but nothing there I've seen replaces
the wide brown land within my heart
 
25/2/01 Adelaide

River Boat
 
Her bones lie near Echuca
on the muddy river bank
she was abandoned by her owners
and down in to the mud she sank
 
Her name has long since vanished
and her upper decking's stripped
there was a time she plied the river
with a cargo to be shipped
 
A proud and sturdy river boat
her master at the wheel
her planking oiled and corked
with a yard beneath her keel
 
Working through the glory days
that the mighty Murray saw
Before the roads and railways
there were river boats galore
 
A mighty inland highway
down from Barmah to the sea
she sailed beneath the branches
of a red gum canopy
 
With her boiler stacked with timber
till she built a head of steam
with her paddle wheels both churning
and her whistles piping scream
 
But today she lies abandoned
and her body now decays
but stop, look again and see her
in those far off glory days

Smell the Flowers
 
In a nursing home somewhere in Sydney
the old man sat and watched the seasons go
and in his eyes I saw a distant memory
of a place and time that he knew long ago
 
With no-one left to come and visit
he sat and dreamed of days gone by
and as he told me of his story
I saw a tear well in his eye
 
"There was a time I was a drover
riding out across the plains
driving mobs up into Townsville
facing drought and flooding rains
 
I saw the best life has to offer
I lived through times forever gone
but now I'm old and long forgotten
these memories still linger on
 
I've seen the blooms of golden wattle
stretching out for miles around
I've felt the chill of cold hard mornings
with winter's frost upon the ground
 
I've ridden high into the mountains
and seen the end of long hot days
ridden out into the back blocks
checking gates and chasing strays
 
I've seen the hand of so-called progress
I've seen the scars upon the land
I long for all that's left behind me
but sand slips quickly through my hand
 
I had a wife, I had a family
but that was many years ago
They all moved on to where I'm heading
and time these days is moving slow"
 
He offered me some words of wisdom
from his life and times gone by
"Stop a while and smell the flowers
give serenity a try"
 
And then his eyes lost all expression
drifting back from where we are
and once again he rode the range land
and gazed upon the ridges far
 
And in my wild and hectic lifestyle
I envy him his days of grace
driving mobs across the country
moving on from place to place
 
So when I can I stop and listen
hear the birds, enjoy their song
I stop a while and smell the flowers
I feel a peace that makes me strong

14/3/01 Adelaide 

Hotter than Hell
 
It's hotter than Hell
and I'm starting to smell
and the temperature's still going up
It's one ten in the shade
and I'm very afraid
that the beer's all run out in my cup
 
The river's run dry
and there's dust and there's flies
some say that we're having a drought
Not a cloud in the skies
and there's dust in my eyes
it's Summer again there's no doubt
 
My thongs have worn thin
there's a tan on my skin
the fans are all going non-stop
There's a swarm round the bin
and some try to get in
but the fly spray I've got makes 'em drop
 
Yes it's Summer all right
and the sun's got a bite
we slap on our sunscreen and hats
With the coming of night
it must look quite a sight
when we sleep in the yard with the cats
 
Sure it's hot and it's dry
and we're all going to fry
but it's bright and it's sunny as well
down the beach we all fly
with a gleam in our eye
who cares if it's hotter than Hell?

Tracks Upon The Sand
 
Down along the beach
just above high water mark
there are tracks upon the sand
underneath the stringy bark
 
Traces of the creatures
that came here in the night
but tracks upon the sand
are all there is come morning light
 
Be it kangaroo or lizard
be it frog, or bird or snake
They leave their tracks upon the sand
for us to see when we awake
 
What stories would unfold
if we could only read the signs
of those tracks upon the sand
all the patterns and the lines
 
The wind and rain will blur
and soon will then erase
all the tracks upon the sand
until new ones take their place
 
15/10/01 @ Heron Point

When I die
 
Carry me back to the bush when I die
It's there that I always could rest
Bury me deep in the desert's red earth
on a dry river bank in the west
 
Take me back home to the stock camp
out on the endless red plain
Let my soul know the peace and the quiet
of my home in the bush once again
 
Don't pray as you lower me under
just say a few words from a bard
With Banjo's sweet verse to see me away
the journey won't then be so hard
 
And though I'll not hear the calls of the birds
or feel the wind gust in the trees
My spirit will soar out over the plain
and there I will always be free.
 
15/10/01 Perth 

The Legend of the Kelly Gang
 
Transported to the colonies, caught out at stealing pigs
Ned's father Red was banished from the land of Irish jigs
Ned grew up the hard way, a life of petty crime
at sixteen years, for horse theft, he did three years hard time
 
His brother Dan was wanted, Fitzpatrick tracked him down
But Ned he shot Fitzpatrick then Ned and Dan left town
Their mother carted off to gaol her sons now wanted men
A hundred pounds reward was set, they'd not be free again
 
Up in their mountain hideaway they joined with Byrne and Hart
the legend of the Kelly Gang would blow the bush apart
They battled with three troopers who tried to capture Ned
and when the shooting ended three troopers all lay dead
 
Two thousand pounds upon their heads their spirits never sank
they planned a raid to snub the cops and took Euroa bank
Informer Aaron Sherritt had tried to shop the gang
but when Joe Byrne caught up with him the sound of gunfire rang
 
The Kelly Gang grew bolder, then they took Jerilderie
Three days they held the townsfolk before they set them free
Eight thousand pounds was offered and their time was running out
The Kelly's took Glenrowan and called the troopers out
 
An ambush set to catch the train, a tip off foiled the plan
The troopers bailed the Kellys up, the final act began
For seven hours the battle raged around the old hotel
Ned Kelly clad in armour plate but all his comrades fell
 
Shot, and shot, and shot again, "I'm done for now" he said
the sound of gunfire drifts away, five people now lie dead
Ned's wounds did not prove fatal so he went to Melbourne Gaol
the public called for clemency, an effort bound to fail
 
At twenty five Ned Kelly swung upon the hangman's rope
"Ah such is life" his final words, he knew he had no hope
Down through the years the story grows, an outlaw bound to hang
defiance born of poverty, that was the Kelly Gang
 
26/10/01  Heron Point 

Let's Kill Blinky Bill
 
The kangaroos are breeding up
there's emus everywhere
The dingoes eat the farmers sheep
and snakes give us a scare
 
There's camels and there's donkeys
there's buffalo and pigs
but worst of all is Blinky Bill
turns gum trees into twigs
 
We've cut down all their forests
and fenced off all the trees
and brought a bunch of rabbits in
and then gave them all disease
 
We bred up hordes of cane toads
to eat the beetles up
and now we find that Blinky Bill
on gum leaves likes to sup!
 
An evil little creature
that sits up in the trees
Don't let that cute face fool you
his hide is full of fleas
 
There's only one solution
to deal with Blinky Bill
we'll go out and we'll shoot him
he 'aint too hard to kill
 
Twenty thousand fuzzy bears
we'll blow them all away
That's how Parks and Wildlife
protects the bush today
 
Of all our native fauna
the easiest to kill
the poor old sad koala
Goodbye Blinky Bill
 
31/10/01 Perth
NPWS South Australia wants to slaughter 20,000 koalas on Kangaroo Island, so far the SA Government has resisted this mad plan. Why not just re-locate the koalas to the mainland??? 

The Tide
 
The tide is ever changing
the water ebbs and flows
in steady pulsing rhythm
the water comes and goes
 
Morning sees the sandbanks
exposed beneath the sky
The waters have receded
to leave the shoreline dry
 
Wading birds come searching
for buried worms and shells
Beneath the mangrove's spreading roots
is where the mud crab dwells
 
Skippers from their burrows
come out to sieve the mud
and fiddler crabs are waving
their claws as red as blood
 
The sun now bakes the burning sand
above low water mark
and driftwood lying on the beach
is shedding strips of bark
 
It seems without a warning
the waters start to turn
and soon the sand that lies so still
beneath the waves will churn
 
The sandbank's wet with water
as the waves begin to rise
The crabs now rush to bury in
exposing just their eyes
 
Shoals of fish come searching
for creatures that have died
stranded on the sandbanks
the victims of the tide
 
The tide is ever changing
but always stays the same
the pull between the land and sea
in nature's endless game
 
30/12/01 @ Gooralong 

I Fell in Love
 
I fell in love with a lady
who's as firm as she's soft as she's strong
There's times when she's quite a hard mistress
but with body and soul I belong
 
She grants me my hopes and desires
She answers my dreams and my prayers
She asks that I treat her with kindness
All she wants is just someone that cares
 
There's times when she burns like a furnace
and times when she's cold like the moon
Her voice is the birds always singing
the sweetest of nature's sweet tunes
 
Her heart is as big as the outback
her spirit as strong as the trees
Her name whispers slowly and softly
on the gentlest of Summer's sweet breeze
 
She's young and she's fresh and forgiving
but she's older and wiser than time
So much more than is here on this paper
in this poor poets musing and rhyme
 
For the lady I love is Australia
and I offer these words as my praise
From the city's great sprawl to the desert
I'm hers to the end of my days
 
Feb 3rd 2002 Perth

For the Bush Balladeers
 
When we look back at the days long gone by
are we looking for all that we've lost?
Are the things that we seek somehow lost to the eye?
Are we poorer for counting the cost?
 
In the eyes of the settlers we see this great land
and we feel the great promise she had
When we see how the cities have covered the sand
does it make us feel angry or sad?
 
When we hear of the tales of the drovers and such
Can we ever know just how things were?
When the outback was distant but mattered so much
and when travel meant horses and spurs
 
The bards tell us tales of the bush and its men
who they met as they travelled about
They stir in our hearts all the romance again
of a time that seemed free from all doubt
 
In the writings of men who were there at the time
we can live and re-live the old days
In the pulse of their meter, the charm of their rhyme
we can touch on their lives and their ways
 
So here's to the poets, the Bush Balladeers
who gave us these treasures to hold
Who told us the tales of the first pioneers
with words much more precious than gold
 
6/3/02 Perth
A tribute to Banjo Paterson and Henry Lawson.

A Day by the Sea
 
Have you ever felt the magic
when you're standing by the sea?
The rise and fall of ocean swells
Sublime serenity
 
In the morning's salty air
the working boats leave port
and anglers keen on fishy fare
go looking for some sport
 
The seabirds wheel and flap and cry
as dawn breaks overhead
but all these sights and sounds are lost
to those still tucked in bed
 
The tinkling of the rigging
of the yachts out on the bay
 a gentle way of waking
in the first new light of day
 
The morning sun comes peeping through
a drifting bank of cloud
and on the beach, so empty now
will come a bustling crowd
 
The small boats now all set to sea
their sails so clean and bright
they jibe and tack across the wind
on which they seem so light
 
The afternoon now still and warm
there's naught but time to pass
the racing yachts all sit becalmed
upon a sea of glass
 
With evening come the twinkling lights
from far across the bay
a gentle breeze to cool the land
the closing of the day
 
Until tomorrow's light breaks through
I bid the sea 'farewell'
But in my dreams I fall asleep
upon the ocean swell.
 
21/4/2 Mangles Bay 

Gentle Giants of the Sea
 
'Thar she blows!' the cry goes up
a breaching whale is seen
The longboat's manned and low'red
the lookout's eyes were keen
 
The hunt begins, the whalers chant
the oarsmen strain and pull
The whaling ship won't turn for port
'til her holds are full
 
The boat seems small, the men seem weak
beside the mighty whale
but it's gentle nature seals it's fate
the harpoon never fails
 
The sea is churned to bloody red
the whale takes hours to die
but no-one there bemoans its fate
no tears in whaler's eyes
 
The killing done the mighty beast
is cut and torn apart
It's oil and perfume that combine
to still the giant's heart
 
The days of sail soon fade away
a spear becomes a gun
now gas is used to float the beast
when all the killing's done
 
Just when it seems that all is lost
that all the whales will die
the world begins to count the cost
of slaughter, greed and lies
 
The gentle giants of the sea
are saved from death and pain
We never should have hunted them
and never should again
 
To see them float with lazy grace
to spout and roll and dive
To touch their calves, a fluke's embrace
be glad they're still alive
 
It's very hard to understand
why some still want to kill
Their claims of scientific culls
are lies that make me ill
 
Let's let the gentle giants live
in peace beneath the waves
for once they do it's more than whales
that we will then have saved
 
5/6/2 Esperance.
 
Japan, Russia and Iceland condemn themselves for their continuing desire to slaughter these magnificent creatures. Please support all efforts to ban whaling through-out the world's oceans.

The Long Paddock (The ghosts of Cobb & Co.)
 
The stockmen know a run of sorts
they use when times are tough
a place where they go droving still
when rains don't come enough
 
They pack their swags and billys up
their dogs and horses tend
They move their flocks beside the road
its lonely path they wend
 
From Hay on up to Cobar
across the black soil plains
the only time they hope like hell
there isn't any rain
 
At night in camp they whisper
of sights and sounds so strange
They've seen the ghosts of Cobb & Co.
pass by across the range
 
They've heard the whips a cracking
as the ghostly stage rolls on
They've heard the phantom horses neigh
They're here at once, then gone
 
But then it's Bourke and Queensland
in search of pastures green
and then in time they turn their heads
back down the way they've been
  
And every night they break the march
to rest and set up camp
and every morning starts the same
with swags and blankets damp
 
Along the track they move the sheep
to keep them from the drought
and tales in camp on lonely nights
are often passed about
 
The drovers all will tell the tale
in tones so hushed and low
of how they've seen on darkest nights
the lights of Cobb & Co.
 
Eden Valley July 2002

Spring in the Hills
 
 The grays and browns of winter are still clinging to the hills
and a chilly wind is whipping round my knees
but there are some subtle changes like the flowers by the brook
and the coats of green returning to the trees
 
In the valley all the vines are being clipped and tidied up
in the hills the cattle graze on pastures green
There's a dropping of the levels in the creeks and in the brooks
and a feeling that the air is fresh and clean
 
The days grow slightly longer and the sun starts feeling warm
the beat of life grows stronger by the day
the fields all covered deeply by the quickly growing grass
that the summer sun will dry and turn to hay
 
The perfumes of the blossoms filter through the morning air
and the birds all gather items for their nest
now that Winter's slowly ending there's an urgency about
no time to sit and contemplate or rest
 
The golden yellow wattle is a sight to please the eye
the bees all crowd around its yellow cloak
but in the air through out the hills there's still a chill about
and wafting on the breeze the smell of smoke
 
As we say farewell to Winter and we greet the coming Spring
we look forward to the sun of Summer days
but we know the cycle turns again as Autumn comes around
and turns the bright blue sky again to gray
 
August 2002 Eden Valley

The Old Hat
 
I was taking a walk one day by a creek
just out in the bush for a stroll
when I found by the track an old battered hat
all curled up and left in a roll
 
I looked at the brim, all tattered and torn
I looked at the crown full of holes
I saw some old burn marks around at the back
from jumping red campfire coals
 
I wondered who wore out the tattered old thing
why they left it out here in the end
Were they sorry to leave it alone by the track
was it somehow like leaving a friend?
 
I straightened it out as best as I could
and knocked off the dust from the top
I wanted to try it for fit and for size
but something I felt made me stop
 
And inside the headband I found an old note
all scribbled and rumpled and torn
It told of the owner alone in his grave
and asked that the hat not be worn
 
The battered old hat had done its job well
it had sheltered from heat and from rain
its working life over it needed to rest
so I set it back down once again
 
As I walked off alone I saw in my mind
the hat and its owner out west
droving the cattle or shearing the sheep
or riding alone on a crest
 
I smiled at the thoughts that had come to my mind
I was turning, about to walk on
when I twisted around for one final look
but I found that the old hat had gone
 
Maybe its owner had missed his old mate
that he valued in life like a friend
just maybe somewhere out there to the west
they were riding the range land again
 
July 2002 Eden Valley   

Land of Contrast
 
I've sat atop the Great Bight cliffs
in the teeth of a howling gale
I've sat and watched in sunlit seas
the mighty southern whale
 
A country full of contrasts waits
for those who care to start
to seek her azure oceans
and walk through her red heart
 
From little towns that linger still
when all but hope is gone
to city streets and office blocks
where 'burbs go on and on
 
The river lands of fruit trees
the valleys strung with vines
The snowy mountain high lands
and stands of native pines
 
The sprawling desert wilderness
a dry as dry can be
The mighty eastern ranges where
the wedge tail still soars free
 
The boabs fat and naked
with the coming of the dry
no clouds about to hide the sun
that passes through the sky
 
Then with the monsoon comes a time
of clouds and floods and rain
and when the winds blow strong enough
there comes the hurricane
 
I've travelled round this country now
from deserts to the sea
and now I know the meaning of
"the wide brown land for me."
 
August 2002 Eden Valley 

Bloody Red Dust
 
Up your bum and in your eyes
how that bloody red dust flies
 
Up your nose and down your throat
gives everything a nice red coat
 
In your hair, between your teeth
it is a force beyond belief
 
Every crack and crevice found
It's in the air and on the ground
 
A willy willy rises high
a red dust devil in the sky
 
The choking cloud's a bloody pain
when stuck behind the tenth road train
 
When beads of sweat to rivers form
it's red dust time and boy it's warm!
 
I see it now the red dust cloud
it coats me like a bloody shroud
 
I'm praying for a drop of rain
to wash that dust away again
 
November 2002 Adelaide

Just Another Breakdown
 
It's just another breakdown
just like the one before
the time the piston threw a rod
and came up through the floor
 
It's just another breakdown
the engine's leaking oil
The radiator coolant's gone
how fast it seemed to boil
 
It's just another breakdown
the revs are fading fast
the lights are out the brakes are gone
my life is flashing past
 
It's just another breakdown
we're miles and miles from town
I don't know how the hell to smile
I sure know how to frown
 
It's just another breakdown
I'd like to burn the bus
but if I did we'd have no home
to house and shelter us
 
It's just another breakdown
but help is on it's way
we went the wrong way up the road
and called the R A A
 
It's just another breakdown
bur Graham's fixed the bus
I wonder if he'd like to come
away and follow us?
 
It's just another breakdown
for us to leave behind
next time I have a breakdown please
just let it be my mind!
 
Coober Pedy Nov 2002
 
Dedicated to Harry and Graham from the Pimba RAA and Spuds Roadhouse.

The Women of the West
 
There's tales about the drover
 The Swaggy, Cops and such
but of the women pioneers
you don't hear overmuch
 
The ones who came with nothing
but the clothes upon their back
who faced the rugged wilderness
in bush blocks up the track
 
From Ireland and from England's slums
some convict, some were free
they came, these women pioneers
from far across the sea
 
They rode and shot and mustered
they learned to crack the whip
and many things they never dreamed
when they first boarded ship
 
In shacks and little shanties
they were mother, cook and wife
they opened up the outback
as they shared the squatter's life
 
Courageous, strong and hardy
they faced the drought and rain
they helped their husbands build a home
out on the gibber plain
 
Just like the men who worked the land
they gave it all their best
they wore the title proudly of
'The Women of the West'.

Kangaroo Feathers
 
Kangaroo feathers and emu's teeth
I'll spin you a yarn just beyond belief
Where the sun comes up on the Coolabah
and a right old turkey's just a big galah
 
Where the rivers run but they're upside down
an' yer back t' front if you like the town
I'll tell a tale that makes no sense
where there's dogs both sides of the dog proof fence
 
Where there's not a shark for a hundred mile
for they've all bin et by the crocodile
I'll show you a place not far away
where the dry plains swim in the light of day
 
Come right along and I'll show you now
where the ground's so hard it'll blunt a plough
Where there's too much sun or too much rain
and the heat does odd things to your brain
 
Come stand a while 'neath the boab tree
with its big fat trunk it's a sight to see
Where there's birds that run and roos that hop
and the mice grow fat on the farmer's crop
 
There's honey ants deep underground
and birds that laugh and mice that bound
There's fish that crawl up from the sea
no sting at all from native bees
 
Come see the white ants build their nest
so it's north to south, not east to west
A flat out lizard drinks its fill
and chases dingoes with his frill
 
How about a mutton bird?
I think you might just doubt my word
Well bugger me! and bloody strewth!
I tell you all it God's own truth.
 
Alice Springs November 2002 

The Beating Heart
 
Can you hear her heart beating
in the heat of the day
when the white gums stand silent
and as time slips away?
 
Can you feel her pulse quicken
in the crisp morning air
with the sun not yet risen
over hills stark and bare?
 
Can you sense her blood flowing
in the creeks and the streams?
Is she all that you hoped for
in the best of your dreams?
 
Do you see her eyes open
as the sun meets the sky
does her beauty and terror
lift your spirit up high?
 
Can you sense her beginnings
in the reaches of time
when you gaze at the ranges
as the sun makes them shine?
 
Will you sense her forever
in the back of your mind
when you're back in your homeland
and have left her behind?
 
Alice Springs December 2002

Not so far apart
 
If you've ever felt the rough hand of the sun upon your back
if you've ever mended fences in the rain
if you've ridden bare back ponies who have no regard for tack
then the country surely runs within your veins
 
If you learned in early childhood how to set a simple snare
if you helped your father plough a stony field
if you've seen the seeded paddocks standing empty cracked and bare
then you know the power that nature has to wield
 
If your school was just a radio and lessons came by post
if your friends were mostly Jack and Jillaroos
If a ride to town in dad's old ute was what you wanted most
then you're likely to wear boots instead of shoes
 
If you've been to see the big smoke and can’t wait to get away
if you love the silent stillness of the night
if you long to see the starlit sky, the distant milky way
then it's ten to one your campfire's burning bright
 
If you know and love this mighty land like nothing else on Earth
if you pledge her your allegiance 'till you die
then although we come from different worlds, we're not so far apart
for we share the same emotions you and I
 
Alice Springs December 2002 

On The edge of the Sunset
 
Just out on the edge of the sunset
where there's nothing but slow passing time
you can see past the face of forever
to a place without reason or rhyme
 
It sits on the cusp of tomorrow
and it sits at the end of today
as the light slowly fades into darkness
like a ghost it keeps slipping away
 
There's a place on a moving horizon
that exists between light and the dark
ever spinning away to the future
like a flame that explodes from a spark
 
It's real but it's ever elusive
you can watch as it passes you by
but you'll never be able to touch it
it's just something you catch with your eye
 
Alice Springs January 2003 

Murray River
 
By Snowy Mountain Rivers fed
they fill your banks, your river bed
and follow where your waters led
to Goolwa and the sea
 
From sparkling waters turned to brown
across the plains and past the towns
your mighty S bends wend around
a red gum canopy
 
Your surging waters fed the plains
by flooding land af-ter the rains
but now you're dammed and now you're drained
no longer running free
 
The red gums are condemned to die
your salty water's drifting by
while politicians cheat and lie
you're dying by degrees
 
Who can save the Murray now?
beset by waste from farm and plough
this is a thing we can't allow
we cannot let it be
 
There was a time the river ran
unharnessed by the will of man
it can again if we all plan
it's use in harmony
 
January 2003 Alice Springs
 
The Alice
 
The mighty MacDonnells stretch out to the west
where the gorges cut right through the range
and just when you think it's unbearably hot
come the rains, the red land starts to change
 
In a matter of days the red turns to green
and the dry creek beds wetten and fill
The long dormant seeds are all pulsing with life
and there's water falls right through the hills
 
From Simpsons to Big Hole to Ormiston Gorge
and on where the Finke River flows
the red and the green with a blue sky above
are all out where the spinifex grows
 
To the east stands The Alice on the great highway north
where it's half way to Darwin or back
and the track stretches onwards and touches the sky
and the road is a ribbon of black
 
It's a long way from nowhere in the heart of the land
and it's 400 Ks to The Rock
You'll find you make changes to well thought out plans
and you'll no longer live by the clock
 
It's ageless and timeless and all that you've heard
You'll find that you're slipping away
back to the Dreamtime with no need for words
'till the sun slowly sets on your stay
 
March 2003 Alice Springs 

South Land
 
Have you hopped a plane to somewhere
that was far off overseas
Have you been to see the deserts and the snow?
Did you feel the South Land calling
on a whisper of the breeze
Did time away go past a little slow?
 
Have you been to see the Eiffel Tower
the glory that was Rome
Have you travelled up through many foreign lands?
Have you often felt there's nowhere
quite as beautiful as home
with golden sunlight spilling on the sand?
 
Have you walked along a coastline
that is rugged and remote
seen the mighty ocean crashing on the shore?
Have you seen the desert sprawling
where mirages seem to float
Have you walked along a canyon's shaded floor?
 
Have you been to see the Snowy's
where the mountain tops are white
Have you seen the centre turn from red to green?
Have you walked the southern forests
in the dappled morning light
can you take in all the sights that you have seen?
 
You are standing on the South Land
it's the oldest place on Earth
It's riches are unique, pristine and rare
It cannot be explained in terms
of monetary worth
it simply is a land beyond compare

 Gravel Road
 
I love to travel down a gravel road
where corrugations try to shift the load
 
Your drop your speed and drop a gear or two
and watch for stock, washouts and kangaroo
 
More time to sit and watch the world go by
as sweat and dust are drawn to your eye
 
You lose a tyre or two along the way
the river crossings make you stop and pray
 
Bugs are splattered on the window glass
the radiator's full of seeds and grass
 
An hour or two stuck in a bull dust pit
just get the shovel out, get on with it
 
The sky is blue the earth is rusty red
the rolled out swag will be your only bed
 
A beer or two around the camp at night
you're off again in early morning light
 
The hours roll on under the burning sun
who said a drive like this would all be fun?
 
The motor's hot and ready to explode
and that's your journey down a gravel road
 
April 2003 Alice Springs  

Changing and Changeless
 
In the city, season's changes only barely leave their mark
for the city's far from nature with it's neon in the dark
The rush and ceaseless hustle leave no time for rain or drought
and no one has the time to see the sun come peeping out
 
The dirt and grime, the lack of heart, the soulless dead fish eyes
the traffic jams and smog alerts, the crooked deals and lies
The city's unencumbered by a need for flooding rains
and if they come, there's water pipes and flood controls and drains
 
The bush is more dependent on the cycles of the sun
where nature rules the way of life from dawn till day is done
Where farmers scan an empty sky with hopes of building cloud
and red dust coats the stockman like a ruddy choking shroud
 
Then with the rains come changes all across the barren land
and life in all its wonder now comes bursting from the sand
Where days before the dry red earth foretold impending doom
now everlasting flowers are a sea of coloured bloom
 
And now along the river beds the flooding waters race
and with a time of plenty nature quickens up its pace
The magpies flit and warble as they gather up their nest
for till the season turns again there'll be no time to rest
 
And then the wheel begins to turn the rains will soon abate
and those who live by nature's law are in the hands of fate
But city streets remain the same though seasons come and go
no room it seems for nature's world, that ceaseless ebb and flow
 
May 2003 Alice Springs

By The Side of the Road
 
I lie dead and broken and crushed by the road
and the crows make a meal of my eyes
I no longer wander the trails in the bush
there's no one who mourns me or cries
 
And all who pass by are repulsed by the sight
and the smell that hangs on in the air
where once I was handsome and vibrant with life
my little ones now must despair
 
The thing I did wrong was to cross the big road
alone on a dark Summer's night
and the last thing I saw as I ran for my life
was the blazing of oncoming light
 
I was everything wild, I was everything free
I was lizard and emu and roo
I was betong and wombat and numbat and quoll
I was eagle and black cockatoo
 
So next time you see me all battered and torn
lying still under brilliant blue skies
don't see me as something grotesque and misformed
with the spark of life gone from my eyes
 
Look back and remember the way that I was
before my eyes dimmed in the light
and next time you travel rest up before dark
and slow down when driving at night
 
May 2003 Kununurra 

The Ghan
 
From Adelaide the tracks go north
and from the yards a train sets forth
"Aboard"s the cry for boy and man
to journey on the mighty Ghan
 
Up through the green and rolling hills
through morning mist and early chills
The sleepers, sitters, diners, bars
with freight and pets and motor cars
 
The rugged Flinders Ranges crossed
the train rolls on no time is lost
Past Port Augusta and the sea
and bound for Northern Territory
 
Across the flat and endless plain
upon the rails there rides a train
Past Black Hill up through Baesdow Range
Through dark of night and country strange
 
As dark gives way at last to night
there comes the wild and wondrous sight
of Heavitree and Alice Springs
the journey ends, the whistle sings
 
The Centre lies beneath the sun
Your journey now just half begun
The crowd aboard anticipates
The Ghan departs, adventure waits
 
June 2003 Cleaverville  

The Road
 
The road is a journey of people and places
it calls to the traveller in welcoming tones
It speaks of adventure and has many faces
and has many places to rest weary bones
 
The road can be winding and troubled and narrow
or wide and expansive across easy ground
There's places so cold that you'll chill to the marrow
and places so quiet you can't hear a sound
 
There's friends who are waiting if you should go looking
there's wild rugged hills to climb and to cross
When wind brings the smell of the campfire and cooking
then time is no longer a worrying boss
 
The road is a journey of life and of laughter
of places to go and of people to see
and once the road has you, you're hers ever after
There's nothing and nowhere that you'd rather be
 
June 2003 Cleaverville 

When The Wind Stops Blowin'
 
When the wind stops blowin'
I think I'll go outside
Maybe get the push bike out
and take it for a ride
 
When the wind stops blowin'
I'll go and catch a fish
but as the wind is picking up
I'll stay inside and wish
 
When the wind stops blowin'
Then I'll maybe get some sleep
but now there's just a tapping sound
that keeps me counting sheep
 
When the wind stops blowin'
then I'll walk along the shore
I've been inside for weeks and weeks
It's really such a bore
 
When the wind stops blowin'
I'll go out in the car
just take it down the road and back
no need to go too far
 
When the wind stops blowin'
then the moon will turn to blue
there'll be such peace and solitude
I won't know what to do
 
When the wind stops blowin'
It's got to happen soon!
To stop the pipes all howling out
their wailing mournful tune

When the wind stops blowin'
I'll raise a mighty cheer
I'll go outside to celebrate
and raise a glass of beer
 
When the wind stops blowin'
can it ever come to be?
there isn't any sign so far
of calm across the sea
 
If the wind stops blowin'
then I may be old and gray
but how I'll praise the lack of wind
upon that one fine day.
 
September 2003 Greenough
(An ode to Bush Bay) 

Free At Last
 
I’m Free at last to wander
To travel far and wide
To go where my fancy takes me
And roam the countryside
 
I’m free at last to rest up
When I ever feel the need
I’ve no need now for rushing
I’m done with the world of speed
 
I’m free to drop a line in
When I pass a shady stream
I’m free to live the kind of life
That once was just a dream
 
I’m free to fill my days in
By resting on the beach
And travels out to distant lands
Are not beyond my reach
 
I’m free to take the sights in
In places far away
To greet the silence of the night
That closes every day
 
I’m free at last to live my life
Exactly how I choose
To give the quest for money up
Was not too much to lose
 
November 2003 Safety Bay 

What Happened ?
 
What happened to the land I knew when I was six years old ?
A place where pride and workmanship, outshone the greed for gold
What happened to the unlocked doors of houses and of cars?
Where now there is a state of fear with loud alarms and bars
 
What happened to the promise of a place beneath the sun ?
All the hopes this country had, have somehow been undone.
Who took away our liberty with endless stupid rules ?
The councils and the governments all run by oafs and fools.
 
I saw a land of innocence where everyone was free
But now they’ve locked the country up and thrown away the key.
We pay and pay for everything that once belonged to us
And no one has the guts it seems to stand and make a fuss
 
The public institutions that once met our wants and needs
Were sold by politicians who were all possessed by greed
I saw a land where everyone once had an equal chance
But all it takes is money now to get on and advance
 
I can’t believe we’ve let the chance to prosper pass us by
We choke the sea with sewage and pump waste into the sky
Now money is our only God and mammon rules our lives
As sweet as honey flowing from a million slaves in hives
 
What happened to Australia, the land of sweeping plains ?
We live just like a nest of ants devoid of wit and brains
As long as there’s another beer still waiting in the fridge
We grin and say that ‘she’ll be right’ it’s oh so ridge-e-didge
 
Before we know it things will change and it will be too late
We’ll be served up as breakfast on a ‘made in China’ plate
What happened to Australia ? We gave up and gave in
The politicians took it and they threw it in the bin!

Little Joys
 
It’s the little joys of life
That make it all worth while
The funny quirky silly things
That bring to light a smile
 
It’s not about the money
Or the fame good fortune brings
It’s all about how good it feels
When fantasies have wings
 
It’s not the shiny motor car
Or fancy racing yacht
It’s not the stocks and bonds and shares
Or how much gold you’ve got
 
It’s special times on certain days
That make you feel alive
When nothing can account for it
But joy just seems to thrive
 
When all you have is nothing
But each other’s warm embrace
That’s all you need to always bring
A smile to light your face
 
It’s the little joys of life
That will last from year to year
And the little joys of life
That are always held most dear.
 
April 2004 Baldivis
Inspired by Mel Brooks, in an interview with Anderew Denton. 

The 40 Mile
 
It’s blowin’ at the 40 Mile
And time is goin’ slow
There’s naught to do but sit around
And watch the kapok grow
 
For days on end we sit and wait
To see the dread wind drop
The easterlies that curse our lives
Have blown without a stop
 
Then finally a morning comes
The sea is calm and flat
And those with boats will set to sea
You can be sure of that
 
But by the time you bait a line
And drop the anchor low
The wind picks up and boats come back
To miss the next big blow
 
And days go by without a chance
to fish out on the reef
the waters churn themselves to brown
and hide what lies beneath
 
So in the end you plan a trip
and head off into town
and all at once the wind has dropped
the sea is calming down
 
You curse the wind, the hand of fate
While you go on your mission
For all the other boats go out
to have a good time fishin’

When the Rains Come
 
For five years now the winter rains
Have barely come at all
The dams are dry, the crops are dust
Our backs are to the wall
 
The sheep have all been trucked away
There’s no grass left to eat
The price we got was well below
The value of the meat
 
The shearing shed’s a ghostly place
The only fleece is rust
The boards and combs do nothing now
But sit and gather dust
 
The dog’s fed up with looking for
The missing flocks of sheep
Are we’re fed up with marking time
And loosing too much sleep
 
The bank is making noises now
Our credit’s running thin
Be buggered if we’ll walk away
Just give up and give in!
 
That’s not the way they breed us here
We’ve battled through before
And if the rains would only come
We’d battle on some more
 
Our blood, our lives, our very souls
We’ve given to this land
It’s more to us than just another
Dusty patch of sand

My father lived and died here
And if I have my way
My son will call this land his own
When I am called away
 
If farmers got the prices
That their produce gets in town
Then times of drought just wouldn’t have
The chance to knock us down
 
The middle men make up the rules
And set the highest price
While farmers wait for rains to come
It’s just like throwing dice
 
But when the wind starts blowing
And the clouds build in the west
We gamble on the time to seed
That’s going to suit us best
 
Then late one night we’ll hear a sound
Out on the old tin roof
The rains have come to break the drought
There’ll be no better proof
 
But ‘til that time we live in hope
And we’re in need of some
We’ll live again with simple words
‘At last the rains have come’
 
Baldivis August 2004 

Everything Changes
 
There’s strangers in my father’s house
And all his things have gone
There’s nothing left but memories
Of all that he had done
 
All the things he saw in life
And all the things he knew
just vanished with the sands of time
The day his life was through
 
My childhood friends are nothing now
But ghosts and faded dreams
Just melancholy memories
How long ago it seems
 
The places of my youth have changed
And I can’t recognise
The old man in the mirror now
Who looks back with my eyes
 
The world has changed beyond belief
In just a few short years
It cares naught what I might say
My hopes, my dreams, my fears
 
In days gone by the haunts I knew
Were always to be found
But changes take my memories
and steal my sacred ground
 
Everything they say must change
Each dog will have its day
but everything you thought you knew
Will someday fade away

Heron Point (The Life of Brian)
 
There’s a place down by the water that everybody knows
A place to sit and just relax so everybody goes
When Spring turns into Summer it’s a very busy joint
That’s when we know that Brian will return to Heron Point
 
On the corner of the campground on the left as you drive in
Is a caravan and 4 wheel drive, an annexe and a bin
November through to April is the time you’ll know he’s there
Making sure that campers treat the place with all due care
 
You’ll see him in the mornings taking Kenny for a trot
If you ask about the crabbing he will always say what’s what
He planted trees to give us shade and watered them in drought
And then the Council came along and pulled the whole lot out
 
He does a job that few would do and gets his share of grief
The stupid things some campers do are just beyond belief
So when you go to Heron point, remember, park east-west
And parking by the windmill isn’t really for the best
 
There may have been a long weekend with yobbos by the score
And Brian’s had to deal with them, a none too pleasant chore
So offer him a cuppa when you see him on his rounds
And don’t keep him awake all night by making too much sound
 
I know when I’m done travelling and I’ve grown old and gray
I’ll look back on the days here and wish the time away
Back to a time when crabs came in on every Summer tide
And Brian walked round Heron Point with Kenny at his side
 
3/10/2004 

Crying Shame
 
It’s a crying shame that they make TV ads, with scant regard to cost
It’s a crying shame when little children die, and their chance at life is lost
 
It’s a crying shame in an election year, when a million lies are told
It’s a crying shame and the cost too dear, when a million souls are sold
 
It’s a crying shame that they drop bombs instead, of dropping crates of food
It’s a crying shame that we don’t exercise, but to the TV set are glued
 
It’s a crying shame that we can’t find a way, to live and work as one
It’s a crying shame that all the good we do, will always come undone
 
It’s a crying shame that hate and malice thrive, instead of peace and love
It’s a crying shame that life is little more, than one big push and shove
 
It’s a crying shame that wealth and power are, the ways to get ahead
It’s a crying shame that all we get from life, is the fate of being dead
 
It’s a crying shame and it’s a damn disgrace! the way we treat the Earth
It’s a crying shame the Human cancer grows, with each new Human birth
 
It’s a crying shame that we were given brains, that we never seem to use
It’s a crying shame that when we strive to win, we only seem to lose
 
It’s a crying rotten bloody shame, that we never seem to learn
And if we don’t then all we’ll do, is tumble, crash, and burn.
 
Quagi November 2004 

Country Town
 
There’s nothing much to see there
and there’s not a lot to do
It’s the kind of place you glance at
A place you just pass through
 
There’s a pub up on the corner
And one big general store
There’s a garage and an oval
But not a whole lot more
 
It’s been the same for years
We’re not that big on change
We don’t think much of city ways
To us they’re just plain strange
 
We still enjoy the weekend
The shop and garage close
There’s no such thing as ‘rostered on’
On Sunday time just slows
 
The only signs of rush and haste
Are bees down in the park
The local dogs are fast asleep
They’d rather snooze than bark
 
The gum trees by the rail line
Give shelter from the heat
On lazy long hot afternoons
They shade the whole main street
 
It’s quiet and it’s peaceful
And there’s time to stop and talk
You can take all of the sights in
Just by going for a walk
 
It’s the place that I grew up in
And a place I won’t let down
You can keep all of your cities
For I love my country town
 
Quagi November 2004

Stranded in the City

I've been stranded in the city
It's a God Almighty curse
For it starves imagination
and dries up all good verse

How can anybody stand it
with its rush and endless haste?
You would think the world was ending
and there's no time left to waste

Every second's worth a dollar
so there's no time to be lost
In the rush to make a fortune
No one stops to count the cost

How I long for open spaces
where there's time to stop and think
Far away from city hustle
that can drive a man to drink

Give me endless plains so empty
just as far as I can see
Give me wilderness and rangeland
give me rivers wild and free

Take me far away from people
from their wickedness and greed
Let me interact with nature
and its many lessons heed

If I could but flee the city
and its soul corrupting ways
then I'd count my self so lucky
the remainder of my days

January 2005 Baldivis