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Thread: Lets hear some Aussie Bush Poetry

  1. #11
    Patrol God Bob's Avatar
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    Spring has sprung
    the Grass has Rizz
    and I wonder where the flowers is
    Birds on Wing
    Now isnt that absurd
    I always thought the Wings were on the Bird

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    The BigFella (2nd December 2012)

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  4. #12
    Patrol God threedogs's Avatar
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    You hitting the giggle juice earlier than normal Bob. I like reading your "pearls of wisdom"
    standard slipping a touch lol
    04 ST 3lt auto, not enough Mods to keep me happy, but getting there

  5. #13
    Patrol God Bob's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by threedogs View Post
    You hitting the giggle juice earlier than normal Bob. I like reading your "pearls of wisdom"
    standard slipping a touch lol
    Yeah we all have our Off days LOL

    And also apologies to The Bigfella for mucking up his thread
    Last edited by Bob; 22nd November 2012 at 02:07 PM.

  6. #14
    Patrol Guru The BigFella's Avatar
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    hey Bob, no apologies needed man, like listening and reciting bush poetry thats all mate.

    if you have some ditties, lets have em,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
    Cheers

    The BigFella
    500,000ks and still counting!

  7. #15
    Patrol God Bob's Avatar
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    Ok here is a classic


    My Country

    The love of field and coppice
    Of green and shaded lanes,
    Of ordered woods and gardens
    Is running in your veins.
    Strong love of grey-blue distance,
    Brown streams and soft, dim skies
    I know, but cannot share it,
    My love is otherwise.

    I love a sunburnt country,
    A land of sweeping plains,
    Of ragged mountain ranges,
    Of droughts and flooding rains.
    I love her far horizons,
    I love her jewel-sea,
    Her beauty and her terror
    The wide brown land for me!

    The stark white ring-barked forests,
    All tragic to the moon,
    The sapphire-misted mountains,
    The hot gold hush of noon,
    Green tangle of the brushes
    Where lithe lianas coil,
    And orchids deck the tree-tops,
    And ferns the warm dark soil.

    Core of my heart, my country!
    Her pitiless blue sky,
    When, sick at heart, around us
    We see the cattle die
    But then the grey clouds gather,
    And we can bless again
    The drumming of an army,
    The steady soaking rain.

    Core of my heart, my country!
    Land of the rainbow gold,
    For flood and fire and famine
    She pays us back threefold.
    Over the thirsty paddocks,
    Watch, after many days,
    The filmy veil of greenness
    That thickens as we gaze ...

    An opal-hearted country,
    A wilful, lavish land
    All you who have not loved her,
    You will not understand
    though Earth holds many splendours,
    Wherever I may die,
    I know to what brown country
    My homing thoughts will fly.

    ******

    ©Dorothea MacKellar

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    The BigFella (22nd November 2012)

  9. #16
    Patrol God Bob's Avatar
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    and another

    The Old Bark Hut



    In an old bark hut on a mountainside

    In a spot that was lone and drear

    A woman whose heart was aching sat

    Watching from year to year.



    A small boy, Jim, her only child,

    Helped her to watch and wait

    But the time never came when they could go free,

    Free from the bond of hate.



    For McConnel was out on the mountainside

    Living without a hope

    And seeing nothing before him now

    But death by a hangman’s rope.



    Hated and chased by his fellow men,

    To take him alive or dead,

    An outlaw banned by the world was he

    With five hundred pounds on his head.



    A message had come that evening which said

    “Now, Jim, you mustn’t wait,

    If you want to save your father, or

    By heaven, you’ll be too late.



    “He’s out at Mackinnon’s Crossing, they say,

    The track is rough, old man,

    But if any here can do it—why

    It’s you and old Darky can.”



    And Jim knew well what the message meant,

    As he brought his horse to the door!

    While away through the gathering darkness came

    The sound of the river’s roar.



    But the brave little heart never faltered as

    He stooped to kiss her good-bye

    And said, “God bless you, Mother dear,

    I’ll save Dad tonight or I’ll die.”



    The old horse answered the touch of his hand

    And galloped away from the door;

    He seemed to know ‘twas a journey for life—

    Well, he’d done such journey’s before.



    Out from the firelight, and through the rails,

    Out through the ghastly trees,

    While all the time the warning roar

    Of the river came back on the breeze;



    Steadily down the mountainside

    He rode, for his course was plain,

    Though his heart was heavy, though not with fear,

    But because of that brand of Cain.



    The boy thinks over his mother’s last words:

    “I’ll love him as long as I live!

    He must have time for repentance on earth

    But surely God will forgive.”



    As he glanced back over his shoulder there

    She stood by the light of the door

    Trying to pierce the darkness in vain,

    Thinking she’d see him no more.



    Then as he looked she bowed her head

    And slowly turned away,

    And the boy knew that the noble wife

    Had knelt by the bed to pray.



    Mile after mile, hour after hour,

    And then just ahead, shining and white,

    Was the foam of Mackinnon’s Crossing—

    What a jump for old Darky tonight!



    And then Jim thinks of the long, lone years

    And the hopes that are crushed and dead;

    And a woman whose heart is as true as steel,

    As true as the day she was wed.


    As she loved him then in the years gone by

    When the future held promise in store,

    So she loved him today when the future held

    Naught but death by his country’s law.



    Jim pressed his knees to the saddle flap

    And tightened his hold on the rein;

    They had jumped the river last summertime,

    How he hoped they would do it again!



    Then a voice rang out through the darkness there,

    “Hold, now hold, stand still!

    We know you, lad, it’s too late to run;

    Hands up or we’ll shoot to kill!”



    Then he knew that the police were around him,

    In the darkness they moved to and fro;

    For an instant he pulled on the bridle-rein,

    But he’d promised his mother he’d go.



    And he thought of the poor, sad woman alone,

    Kneeling in prayer by the bed;

    So he loosened the reins on old Darky’s neck

    And rushed at the river ahead.



    Then a volley rang out through the forest dark—

    A fall in the roaring flood;

    And the darkness hid from all human eyes

    The form that was stained with blood.



    The horse struggled hard, the waters rushed on;

    He sank to rise no more.

    But the boy fought the flood in silence, inch

    By inch to the other shore.



    Slowly and sadly, but bravely on,

    Brshing away the tears;

    He was leaving behind in the river’s flood

    His friend and companion for years.



    And all the time the blood trickled down,

    O God! what a hot burning pain!

    And he knew he was doing is duty clean

    He would never come back again.



    Struggling on o’er the tough dark track,

    A horrible pain with each breath;

    Till he came to the hut in the ranges

    Where his father lay, and the faint firelight

    Showed through the ghostly gloom.


    Staggering in through the yielding door

    Into the cold dark room
    Where his father lay, and the faint firelight

    Showed through the ghostly gloom.



    The bushranger sprang to his feet in alarm

    And levelled the gun at his head

    And his loud voice demanded, “Who are you?

    Speak quick, or you are dead.”



    And then a weak little voice made answer,

    “It’s me; Mother sends you her love;

    The police are back at the crossing now,

    So clear out and meet Mother above.”



    Then McConnel placed his gun by the wall

    And knelt on the cold hard floor;

    And somehow the tears came rushing down

    As they never had before.



    His arms went around the brave little lad,

    He nursed his head on his breast;

    He seemed to know that the end was nigh

    And Jim would soon be at rest.


    And the boy was speaking feebly at last,

    “They shot me back at the creek,

    And old Darky is dead and gone, Dad,

    And oh, I’m so tired and weak.”



    Then his voice fell away in a whisper soft,

    So faint it could scarce be heard,

    “Oh Dad,, clear out, they are coming fast;

    Tell Mother, I kept my word.”



    Quickly in silence the police gathered around,

    They had captured the beast in his lair;

    The outlaw sat with his boy in his arms,

    He semed not to heed nor to care.



    He was thinking now of the seed he had sown,

    He was tasting its bitter fruit,

    When the sergeant stepped to the door and said,

    “McConnel, bail up or I’ll shoot.”



    Then the sergeant placed a lamp by the door,

    The rifles gleamed out in the light;

    But the outlaw said, “Sergeant O’Drady,

    Let’s have no more shooting tonight.



    “You can take me now to the judgement seat

    As God has taken this lad;

    You’d die to take my life, you men—

    He died to save his dad.



    “I want you to help me dig his grave,

    And perhaps you will say a prayer;

    Then you can take me and hang me dead—

    It’s my wife, or I wouldn’t care.



    “Carefully now. . . Oh thank you, men,

    Lay him as best you can;

    The policeman is shown by his coat, of course;

    But the tears—well, they show the man.”



    Then the party went back to the old bark hut

    As the sun was mounting the hill;

    No smoke arose from the chimney cold

    And all was silent and still.



    The sergeant opened the creaky door,

    And lifted his cap with a start,

    …Ah, McConnel had broken the country’s laws

    And broken a woman’s heart.

    Anon

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  11. #17
    Patrol God Bob's Avatar
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    and the lucky last

    A MOUNTAIN STATION by A.B. "Banjo" Paterson

    I bought a run a while ago,
    On country rough and ridgy,
    Where wallaroos and wombats grow --
    The Upper Murrumbidgee.
    The grass is rather scant, it's true,
    But this a fair exchange is,
    The sheep can see a lovely view
    By climbing up the ranges.


    And She-oak Flat's the station's name,
    I'm not surprised at that, sirs:
    The oaks were there before I came,
    And I supplied the flat, sirs.
    A man would wonder how it's done,
    The stock so soon decreases --
    They sometimes tumble off the run
    And break themselves to pieces.


    I've tried to make expenses meet,
    But wasted all my labours,
    The sheep the dingoes didn't eat
    Were stolen by the neighbours.
    They stole my pears -- my native pears --
    Those thrice-convicted felons,
    And ravished from me unawares
    My crop of paddy-melons.


    And sometimes under sunny skies,
    Without an explanation,
    The Murrumbidgee used to rise
    And overflow the station.
    But this was caused (as now I know)
    When summer sunshine glowing
    Had melted all Kiandra's snow
    And set the river going.


    And in the news, perhaps you read:
    `Stock passings. Puckawidgee,
    Fat cattle: Seven hundred head
    Swept down the Murrumbidgee;
    Their destination's quite obscure,
    But, somehow, there's a notion,
    Unless the river falls, they're sure
    To reach the Southern Ocean.'


    So after that I'll give it best;
    No more with Fate I'll battle.
    I'll let the river take the rest,
    For those were all my cattle.
    And with one comprehensive curse
    I close my brief narration,
    And advertise it in my verse --
    `For Sale! A Mountain Station.'

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  13. #18
    Hardcore
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    Stop, stop, stop!

    I am starting to cry now!

    Regards,

    RLI
    The halls been rented the bands been paid, time to see you dance!

  14. #19
    Patrol Guru The BigFella's Avatar
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    Thanks Bob, they were awesome!

    And yes, I to get a tad emotional when reading old bush poetry.

    Long live the yarns, I say!
    Cheers

    The BigFella
    500,000ks and still counting!

  15. #20
    Patrol God Bob's Avatar
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    Drought

    My road is fenced with the bleached, white bones
    And strewn with the blind, white sand,
    Beside me a suffering, dumb world moans
    On the breast of a lonely land.

    On the rim of the world the lightnings play,
    And the heat-waves quiver and dance,
    And the breath of the wind is a sword to slay
    And the sunbeams each a lance.

    I have withered the grass where my hot hoofs tread,
    I have whitened the sapless trees,
    I have driven the faint-heart rains ahead
    To hide in their soft green seas.

    I have bound the plains with an iron band,
    I have stricken the slow streams dumb!
    To the charge of my vanguards who shall stand?
    Who stays when my cohorts come?

    The dust-storms follow and wrap me round;
    The hot winds ride as a guard;
    Before me the fret of the swamps is bound
    And the way of the wild-fowl barred.

    I drop the whips on the loose-flanked steers;
    I burn their necks with the bow;
    And the green-hide rips and the iron sears
    Where the staggering, lean beasts go.

    I lure the swagman out of the road
    To the gleam of a phantom lake;
    I have laid him down, I have taken his load,
    And he sleeps till the dead men wake.

    My hurrying hoofs in the night go by,
    And the great flocks bleat their fear
    And follow the curve of the creeks burnt dry
    And the plains scorched brown and sere.

    The worn men start from their sleepless rest
    With faces haggard and drawn;
    They cursed the red Sun into the west
    And they curse him out of the dawn.

    They have carried their outposts far, far out,
    But--blade of my sword for a sign!--
    I am the Master, the dread King Drought,
    And the great West Land is mine!

    W. H. Ogilvie

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