The Poetry Section

[reefer]

Danny13...A very difficult story in poetic terms. You no doubt agonised over how to present it..great effort ! The Militia Forces were just ordinary men with little formal training up against seasoned troops...they were Heros to a man. Yes those boys virtually got a kick in the guts and it's no wonder that your Grandfather came home embittered by the whole experience.A hero nonetheless.Behold the 'Fog of War!....where the Truth is veiled in inuendo and false information...and the young men and old suffer indignation....for the rest of their lives.I like the way you have clearly set out to compartmentalise your story into roughly a sentence for each of the important facts of the overall work :Y:

 

[Danny13]

Thanks reefer. Grandad was a hero , just a bushman with some skills and some training , but they did a great job , perhaps turned the tide of war . Its a hard story to get into some sort of poetic rhythm , hence the compartmentalisation of the important facts as told to myself .

Dan

 

[reefer]

To Cross the Northern Rivers

I remember in the old days
When you made the trip up north
You'd be days on the old highway
As it snaked it's way back and forth.

And you'd go through every township and you'd need to stop for fuel
Or you'd need to stop for a widdle and you'd stand there like a fool
As every truck and motor car
Would toot their horn at you.

And of course as you got further up
Wherein the Northern rivers are
You took your chances in the wet
When the river met the tar.

The Hunter and the WangWauk
The Wallambar, in flood all took some some taming
You'd be wary though of the the one at Coopermok
And that's the mighty Manning.

While John's River is a sleepy place
That the Freeway goes right through
You can turn left and take Stewarts River road
It's a sleepy hollow too

Back out on to the Highway
And on the way to Kew
You cross the lovely Camdenhaven
It's all Freeway there now too.

By the time you reach Fernback Creek
Your bottom might well be sorry
So you might like to strech your legs a bit
By the Hastings at Port Macquarie.

And then there's one that strikes a chord
And I'll tell you the reason why
For it's the McCleay you'll have to cross
When the Rain Tumbles Down In July

And there at Kempsey there's a new Interchange
Which I wager will never get much rusty
It bears a name, forever now in Fame
That's right, it's old Slim Dusty!.

So on and on those rivers go
All timeless and running free
The Clarence and the Hastings
The Nambucca and the Tweed.

Most are easily crossed these days
Though a few bridges are still in the making
Such massive structures are some of these
An almighty undertaking.

So much has changed on the Old Pacific Way
It may give your knees the shivers
To think how much that need be done
To Cross Those Northern Rivers...
Copyright Ross.L.Langlands.2018.

 

[Jaros]

Nice mate. :coffee:

 

[silver]

There's one for history ! erfect:

 

[Dave law]

Gee mate touched a cord there. Brought back some wonderful memories. Thank you.

 

[reefer]

On Prospecting for Gold

It's that time when all is ready
And you're counting down the day's
When you 'll fire up you're vehicle
And pursue you're prospecting ways

There's been a lot of research
And you're sure you've picked the spot
You've packed all that you can think of
It won't matter if it rains or not

Your pans and your detector
Your classifier, shovel, and tools
All is in readiness
This is no trip for fools

You've included a kit for snakebite
And medical kit to boot
Your tarpaulin and your chainsaw
For whatever lies afoot

At last, your up and running
there's nothing left to chance
You're so keen to go gold hunting
You could do a little dance

Oh the memories of your past trips
They all come flooding back
The music around the campfire
Before you hit the sack

When you awake the birds are singing
Or the valley's hushed and still
There's breakfast to be cooking
And the billy to be filled

The days are filled with laughter
And the rattle of your pan
And you scan it with your 'wide-eyes'
Just as fast as you flam'n can

Or you might be set at loaming
As you cris-cross a hilly slope
Whether digging or detecting
Your heart is filled with hope

But, it really doesn't matter
If in the end there is no gold
The fun is making friendships
That will last for years untold

And the lure is that this time
You'll be lucky, just this once
And you'll not go home pockets empty
And feeling like a dunce

There's gold out there for the taking
You just have to separate the dirt
To go prospecting with my friends, I swear
I'd sell my flam'n shirt....Copyright. Ross.L.Langlands.2018.

 

[LONEWOLF]

You Fellas really have a skill putting words into Poem. :Y: .. I just seem to put a foot in where words should come out... :lol:

LW....

 

[silver]

When this day... this hurtful day,.... is done
blown away by the winds of time...
those winds that wreak havoc upon the base of life....
let them come early and blow very hard
for I can do without.... i can happily suffer this one to usher past and crash hard upon the rocks of oblivion.
my daily oblivion...my cloak of darkness that births me fresh anew
Ohh come again you fresh of day
my tomorrow once again
reprieve me lest my heart should break... and life force spill without.
ohh weeping sorrow the vestibule was full
left now like deserts floor
with gaping thirst... no song birds giving mirth
the vestibule was broken... I'll sleep here in my earth.
but come the daylight.... bring me back
and suffer me anew.... to be.
with welcome arms... so far away from yesterday
the pain there was.... subdued.
silver
2018.

 

[Manpa]

Dark Silver, but very thought provoking. I like it.
Cheers
Manpa

 

[7.62marksman]

This is not mine but i thought it was good

Gday Mr Turnbull, I trust that you are fine,
Sorryto be bothering you, but theres something on my mind
I listened to a bloke last week; he had a bit to say
You lot may have heard of him? He delivers all that hay?

He spoke of countless hours and the distances they drive
Feeding starving stock, to keep bush hopes alive
They do not get assistance from your tax funded hat
They do it on their own, all off their own bat

Im not politically minded and I dont have any clout
And I know youve done a tour, to learn about the drought
But theres just some burning questions, that have left us feeling beat
Why did we fund a foreign land, to learn to cut up meat?

And what about those soccer boys, who went and got all lost
You pulled out all the bloody stops, plain just showing off
Youve bigger problems here at home, theres drought up to our necks
So what does your mob go and do ? Give them big fat cheques!

Dont they have a government to deal with all this stuff?
Why should it be up to us, whats with all your fuss?
Should we not be reigning in and look after our own
Have you never heard the phrase charity starts at home?

I realise theres many things, that need an allocation
And I also can appreciate, complex trade relations
Im not sure if you realise, but if our stock all die,
There wont be any trade you see, your deals will all run dry

As a rule were not a whinging lot, our requests are but a few
Most of us who work the land, are tested, tried and true
We respect that we are guardians, and sustain it for the kids
But I often have to wonder, what future will it bring?

I guess all that Im wondering, is wheres the Aussie aid?
Wrapped up in a swag of tape, only then to be repaid !
Theres Aussie blokes and chicks out there, putting you to shame
Helping fellow Australians, in their time of pain

Im just a simple farmer, grazier, wife and mum
And even though were feeding stock, were better off than some
Ive never had to shoot a cow, who could no longer stand
But many have before me, and I pray, Im not dealt that hand

So will you take another look; admit that were in strife ?
And do more than bloody empathise, before another farmer takes their life ?
Id like to think youll do whats right and put Australia first
And help your own damn country, before this drought gets any worse

Joanna Collett
Wee Waa NSW

 

[reefer]

Thanks for bringing that piece by Joanna Collett into the light Ken...She does a good job of bringing the plight of the suffering farmers to the masses in the language of the common people the way we like it...firing right from the hip.
Silver!...very good piece there mate!...soulful, to say the least...one of your best so far mate,

 

[Manpa]

The Bush Relaxes

The sky is an artists palette,
as the sun continues it downward arc.
Birdsong fills the air,
before the all consuming dark.

The gully breeze rustles leaves,
Cicadas strike up their evening throng.
First stars begin to appear,
the air fills with strange song.

Nocturnal critters begin to stir,
moths attracted to the light.
Spiders weave those silken traps,
owls hunt with silent flight.

The gift of sight is gone,
my hearing is heightened.
Peace fills the night,
no need to be frightened.

The bush has woven it's magic,
the hours soon pass.
In restful sleep,
tension a thing of the past.

 

[reefer]

Manpa!... excellent!...All that I love about the bush,right there in one lovely package...great stuff mate. :Y:

 

[Mackka]

Strawberry, strawberry, strawberry,
Are you from Berry no I'm from further north, Dumbery
I , that's where Dick...?: are born.
You see, they want to cause calamity
The poor wee burn that grow the crops
Only to see a thousand cops
To you , yes you the terrorist amist
A disgrace, a plague on the land
Hand yourself in and be a man.
Your kind is not wanted
On this fair land
We want peace, not terrorists
In this majestic land
So if it's not want you desire
Retire!
Somewhere else!

 

[Manpa]

The Twitchers List

Majestically, silently, stealthily,
completely still.
Stands the Egret, white feather,
curved neck and yellow bill.

Always on the move, nervous,
cocks royal blue, hen brown.
Flitters the Fairy Wren,
always hunting low down.

Magpie greets the new day,
with a chorus of riotous song.
Clothed in black, white and grey,
its beak sharp and long.

Black as night, with yellow eye,
the Blackbirds gather upon the line.
Your fruit trees the target,
on which to feast and dine.

Swallow, with forked tail,
swiftly on the wing.
Skimming across the water,
it makes my heart sing.

Plumed in pink n grey,
they love to fly in crazy ways.
Galahs that wheel and screech,
aloft on long summer days.

The Robin with a breast of red,
sits upon its eggs.
An expertly woven nest,
of twigs and spiders web.

Long of neck and leg,
short on brains and wing
The Emus run,
is the most erratic thing.

Wedge tails with wings so wide,
soar and glide upon the sky.
Rising high above the land,
on thermals they love to fly.

He greets the evening,
with calls of laughter.
He's the Kookaburra.
the Australian bush master.

My love for birds,
it's easy to see.
Their song, their color,
it sets me free.

Manpa 21/9/18

 

[reefer]

Manpa!...You're smashing it there mate....totally blown away! great stuff. :100:

 

[Manpa]

Manpa!...You're smashing it there mate....totally blown away! great stuff. :100:

Thanks Reefer, I'm enjoying it, long way to go. I find it hard to get them to flow sometimes.

I need to research different styles and try and get better at composition.

Thanks for the encouragement.

Cheers

 

[Jaros]

Another bird lover here as well. Nice work Manpa.

 

[MegsyB007]

ODE TO POPPY

Grandpa was miner, he sought the opals flash,
and taught us all to love the gold, with stories hed rehash.
His grinding wheel it spun so fast, and brought out all these glories,
for eyes of five adventurous kids, borne from the miners stories.

Now years have passed and so has he, missed sadly to this day,
when two grand daughters had a thought to follow in his ways.
New Miners Rights, pans and shovels, picks and all and sundry.
The research done, with maps in hand, we set off in no hurry.

Up the highway, just like as kids, to camp beside the Murray.
Excitement high, hopes a-plenty, so sure wed find the shiny.
Wed pan it out as pop had done, and showed us how to do it,
two chips off the old miners block, somehow wed just intuit!

A spot we chose, a creek unknown, but oh the new adventure!
Got lost somewhat, but didnt care, no navigators censure.
Excitement rose as legs were stretched, a pee off in the trees.
Keen to pan and find the gold, gone bush again, and pleased.

Got the gear and walked along, with thoughts of inside bends,
rocks and heavies, clay and sand, golds place just never ends!
Then stood atop the creeks steep bank, and heard the miners laughter,
when both grand daughters frowned and cried, Where the hells the water?!