Russell Island

In amongst the tall, stately gum trees nestle vacant blocks of land just waiting for someone to snap them up. Murray and Terri did and they are the proud owners of a spot amongst those beautiful trees on Waikiki Beach Road on Russell Island

Find it on the map if you can!

Testimony

It's a wonderful feeling to be at Church and witness someone bearing his Testimony in tears, with few words and an honest heart. Something to remember

Me

Little girl sitting on a country fence,
Dreaming of things that make 'common sense',
Like pretty, frilly dresses and brand new shoes,
Instead of those which were 'don't know whose!'
A brand new doll in a brand new gown
Of soft white lace. She'd seen it in town!
Suddenly she started and looked around
And noticed that the sun was going down.
Back to the scrubby old shack on the hill
In her secondhand dress without any frill.

Sitting on a fence in her early teens,
Dreaming of a pony and brand new jeans,
Rodeos, Gymkhanas, all around the west.
She'd prove to them all she was the best!
Portable radio was tuned to her ear,
She'd won it in a raffle just last year!
Suddenly she started and looked around.
Her Mother was standing there, all of a frown!
'You're wasting your time - wrapped up in a dream!
You make me so mad, that I could scream!'

Leaning on a fence as a young wife,
She daydreamed away the meaning of life.
Still wearing clothes that were 'don't know whoes',
And married to a bumpkin always on the booze!
There were two little boys that took up all her time,
Along with the washing draped on the line.
Maybe one day she will find hersel free
To go and do her writing down by the sea.
A slurry voice behind her said 'wha'sh f'r dinner!'
She turned away, sighing. She'll never be a winner!

Middle age was upon her as she gazed across the river
Feeling fairly happy. No longer in a dither!
A novel she had written was due for publication,
And she recently acquired a legal separation.
Poetry, prose and novel number two
Kept her pen busy while hearing doves coo.
History and English at school she was attending,
University could follow, but that was 'depending'.
She thought it could be films, or a social worker!
Whatever she decides, she'll never be a shirker.

Gone are the daydreams, while sitting on fences!
Finally after all these years, she'd come to her senses!
During her life she made many mistakes
While washing baby nappies or baking large cakes.
Her time had not been wasted, she'd used her eyes and ears,
Along with some laughter, and many, many tears.
Tomorrow is another day, for which she'll fight
For her four sons, for she knew what was right.
Their education was important, she will not spare the rod.
It is a pact between her and Him - the one they call God!

GHOST TOWN OF BIG BELL

An hotel reared its lofty head
Beside a lilac.
No patrons now it could be said,
Not since way back.

The walls are dusty brown,
Once were white.
Inside curtains billow round,
Once were bright.

Pretty wallpaper covered in dirt
Peeling everywhere.
Drunken beds but no forms inert
Resting there.

Church with steeple rising high,
Pews in neat rows.
Long since pastor raised his cry
Of religious prose.

Bell no longer on its stand,
It tolls nearby
To call the boss and hired hands
Coodardy Station nigh.

House stumps standing neatly
Along the street.
Give mute testimony
Of houses once neat.

Pool is dry, hospital empty,
Creeper bloom.
Mine paraphernalia and shanty
Like the tomb.

Once a thriving community
But gold gone.
Now a dusty, dirty entity
A decade on.
Copyright Colleen O'Grady Published in WA Incs Journal Creatrix 7 February 2010

NATIONAL EMBLEMS

I sit down to my humble meal
And see a new world there.
There is Mexican tomatoes and Inca corn
And English beef part of the fare.

I gaze out of my window
And there I see with my eye
The Chinese rose, African Protea
And probably a Labrador fly!

Curious about our world now,
With things in such profusion,
I searched amid my humble home
And came to this conclusion:

My knickers were made in China,
My blouse is of Taiwan hue,
My jumper is off the Aussie sheep’s back
And my jeans are United States blue.

My radiogram came from Britain,
My radio is Japanese,
A cup is the product of the Philippines
And a statue is Javanese.

My Atlas was published in Hong Kong,
My novel in Singapore,
My history drifted from the Deutschland
And my poetry from the English moor.

That’s some of my home you know
And now its down to me,
For I’m more than curious to know
Something of my ancestry.

My birth is that of Australia,
My ancestors of Irish stock
Mixed with the British and Spanish.
I guess I’m one of God’s flock!

Multiculturalism at home,
Multiculturalism abroad,
Multiculturalism does roam
All one with the Lord
© Colleen O'Grady 2010 Published Creatrix Journal 7 February 2010

Gravel Scramble

Up we went, with a whump!
Only beyond the black stump
Would one hit a gravel dump
And land on top with a thump,
To put a hole in the sump!

So now we need someone to tow.
Hook us up and travel slow
Pull us down from height of woe.
So roadworkers… er… friend – not foe
Hooked us up and down we go!

Check the sump! Lose oil? No way!
Check the engine, that's okay.
Check the tires? phew, and then say
Thank roadworkers helping our way
Off gravel dump put on highway.
This actually happened when my ex-husband and I were travelling down to Perth from a station in the Murchison, in an awful hurry, to get there in time for me to meet the plane that Dad was coming in on for the Premier They're A Weird Mob. The photo of that meeting was taken by the Daily News and is printed where Finding Father is written. Its also on my Facebook profile

Finding Father

Well, that was the crux of the matter I suppose. Finding him Would probably caus a lot of changes in my thinking and how I saw myself was a private thought. Well, maybe, I mean, I already had a father, or so I thought for I had carried his name for years, and I loved him. A wonderful New Zealander. I was his shiralee; we did everything to gether during my growing up and teenage years in the bush and goldfields towns. As the eldest of a large family of eight, helping to provide for their necessary sustenance of life was my lot with my er...step-father.
But curiosity got the better of me when in my teens and I discovered that another father was around. Friends urged me to contact him at the time. Not on your Nellie was my outraged rejoinder. I thought about it though. Mind you, it took a few more years for me to pluck up the courage to contact him, so I was a young married woman when I decided to give it a whirl, for I wondered what my other father was like.
So what could I do? Now I am talking about a pretty famous man here at the time. I mean, he was always on the news and that with his books that he had written. It was a bit of a challenge really. Well, I guess i would write him a letter, though I didn't have an address. A challenge to think about but finally I upped and wrote. To this day I cannot remember what I had written on that blank page of a writing pad. Another challenge to think about then reared its head, which took me a couple of months before I decided what to do. This was his address. Well, if he was famous, everyone should know where he lived I reasoned with myself. So I addressed the envelope with his name, included in brackets the title of his best selling book, and sent it to the city where I knew his home was.
It was about three months later that a reply finally arrived, well and truly after I had given up hope of hearing anything from him. He was up on South Molle Island in Queensland, collecting data for his next book. My newly-found step-mother wrote me telling me that. This was followed swiftly by his delightful letter. He was pleased to hear from me.
Changes in my life? Oh yeah. I know had two fathers; the newer father was to teach me what I could really accomplish if I set my mind to it, which in turn was backed up by the other father who was happy for me. And I learned to love my new father too. What more could I want in life? Both are gone now and I miss them. A writer and author I inherited from one father, my bush life and a love of the bush I inherited from the other. Combining the two brings out the poet and author in me. That was the result of finding Father. The photo above was taken when I first met him after I had found him. It was September 1966 and he was in Perth for the Premier of the movie They're A Weird Mob, which was based on the book he had written with the same name. his name was John Patrick o'Grady