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.
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.
