POEMS

I attended, on the 6th July 2012, what is called a bush  muster and had an intriguing time in an area I had never before walked. Two of my poems were read out, to my delight. I learnt from this experience that the next bush must in early august I can attend and read my own poems out. Comments on my poems were very favourable. this was most encouraging. Danny and his then girlfriend Narelle came with me and they were impressed also. Here are the poems

...and there ws an error in the spacing that wouldn't rectify! Blast! And I got it.

                                                        FIREBALL

The flaming orb slithered through the trees,

Wafted along by the late evening breeze.

Its smoky tail drifted and dissipated,

Leaving the startled watchers agitated.

What is this? From whence did it come?

Why did it appear after the setting sun?

Where was it going? Panic abroad,

Hoping it wasn’t a danger sword.

The cows remained calm as it passed overhead

And the sheep were too busy trying to be fed.

But the watchers when closing the last gate,

Worried if the orb would change their fate.

Visions of burning the waving wheat

Of other weird sightings they might meet.

And mother and son observed this flame,

Of the mysterious orb and wondered its name.

Staring from the gate at the diminishing tail

                                   And marveling that the orb could leave a trail

To be observed by them and give a fright,

On what turned out to be a beautiful night.

Next morning it was they heard the news

Of a fiery fireball landing at Trewes.

It burnt up the haystack and caused a panic        
Rolling towards the house like a thing manic.

Farmer and sons with wet bags were out

To give the fiery thing a dampening clout.

But it petered out before reaching their home,

That was the end of the fiery orb’s roam.

Mother and son learnt that this flamin’ orb

Was caused by intense heat it did absorb,

As space junk that went into a hot spin

When passing through their Earth’s outer rim.

After great excitement it was back to norm

And farming work went ahead true to form.

But mother and son never forgot that night

When a bright fiery orb gave them a fright.

THE GALAH SESSION

                                                There’s a housewife off the beaten track

                                                Who rises before the sun has dawned.

                                                It is summer in the dry outback,

                                                Her work is done in the early morn.

                                                The heatwaves dance in isolation,

                                                Stunted mulga seem upside down.

                                                Her clothing sticks with perspiration,

                                                And its months since she’s been to town.

                                                The garden lies shrivelled and the hens don’t lay,

                                                Bread dough refuses to rise.

                                                Joe’s on ‘the run’, though due yesterday,

                                                He’s out there still with the flies.

                                                But it’s ten o’clock and gossip time,

                                                So she grabs her cuppa quick!

                                                Then races in to the radio room

                                                And tunes in lickety-split.

                                                ‘VKJ Meekatharra calling WIR...over.

                                                VKJ Meekatharra calling WIR!

                                                This station to long wave turn over

                                                For the session of the galah!’

                                                The neighbour a hundred of miles away

                                                Has ‘popped in’ to say hello.

                                                So what if the dog died yesterday,

                                                Her batteries are charged for another go!

                                                ‘It’s rained here, has it rained there?

                                                Is Joe back from the run...over?’

                                                ‘No - it hasn’t rained here and I despair

                                                And Joe is still out in the ‘rover.

                                                Its now the time for swapping troubles

                                                And the tension eases from her shoulders.

                                                A good old chat with laughter that bubbles

                                                Amongst the Spinifex and boulders.