Some Original Poems

 A couple of special contributions from member and past President, Barry Anderson. Just to show we can be very topical………

WE STAND WITH YOU

We say a prayer for loved ones
Who you’ve lost this awful day.
By these mindless acts of terror,
That stole their lives away.

Our hearts are sad and heavy,
As we share your dreadful pain,
For those who’ve been affected,
And the wounded, who remain.

Although we are a world away
From where you are today,
We stand with you in unison,
And for Paris, we will pray.

We all stand up together,
Shouldered, side by side.
And, Australia is there with you,
As you take on every stride.

No one knows how you feel,
Or just how well you cope.
But, we off words of sympathy,
And share in prayers of hope.

The lives affected on this day,
We cannot comprehend,
For the grieving for your loved ones,
We know will never end.

No one has the answers,
Of how to get on by,
As you try to to rise above this,
But, it’s all right to cry.

So, know you’re in our every thought,
For this I know is true:
We’ll wrap you in our loving arms,
And France, we stand with you.

Barry Anderson ©2015

WE REMEMBER TODAY

As we lay a wreath, upon the shrine
On this day in November
We say a silent, soulful prayer
For those heroes, we remember

We ask that God, look after them
For their sacrifices made
So we may live, the life we do
By the price, that they all paid

Young men who signed up to defend
The freedom of our land
Were sent away, to far off shores
To make a final stand

They fought with strength and courage
Not a backward step they’d take
As they tackled every battle
For all their country’s sake

They joined up by the thousands
Armed with slouch hats, and a gun
And boys became young warriors
As they’d stand to charge and run

Most knew, they’d never make it back
To their family’s warm embrace
But selflessly, gave their lives
To make our world, a better place

And today, we will remember them
With honour, and with pride
All those who are not here with us
All those, who fought and died

And as the bugler plays, “Last Post”
Please, bow your head and pray
For the souls, of all our heroes
We remember them today

Barry Anderson © 2015

MORNING DEW © Rhyl Graham

The warmth of morning sunshine slowly spreads across my back,
as dew drips from the roof edge of this broken down old shack.
Cracked floorboards creak in rhythm as my chair rocks to and fro,
beside the door the work boots lay there, in a straggled row.

The magpie sings his morning song up in the tall gum tree,
whose blossoms have attracted the loud buzzing of the bee.
The far off mountain ranges have their first light fall of snow,
grey mist is slowly rising from the valleys down below.

The frosted grass is glistening where shafts of light peek through
the gums that stand so strong and tall displaying shades of blue.
The lowing of the cattle as they wander nose to tail
meandering to the milking sheds along their daily trail.

The whistling of the kettle brings me sharply from my dream,
the men will soon be back again with rich fresh milk and cream.
Their early morning slumber breaks before the rising dawn,
as they face their daily duties while they stifle back a yawn.

The tea is slowly brewing in its pot upon the hob.
The fridge is humming quietly, a low and beating throb.
I listen as the sound of boots are dropped beside the door.
They’ve come to have their breakfast before facing their next chore.

The noon brings forth a warming with the sun high in the sky,
a time for rest, so in the shade you’ll find the cattle lie.
The men you’ll find upon the porch each in a squatters chair,
with hats pulled down across their face to shade their eyes from glare.

Again you hear the lowing of the cattle as they come
once more along the dusty trail to have the milking done.
The cleaning of the dairy and the chores that must be met
won’t let these men relax before the evening sun is set.

So now the cold has come again and with the night the dew,
the moon shines through the ghostly gums and forms an eerie view
of the land that makes this place our home where we all work each day.
These valleys and the mountain views just will not let us stray.

So as the night comes quietly and sleep takes us away,
we’re blessed that we are able now to face another day.
Our slumber will be broken by the dawn’s awakening sound
and once again we’ll tread the dew that lays upon the ground.

5 MOTHER’S DAY POEMS 2015

Mothers

Our Mother’s Day is held in May, we all celebrate in a different way.
Now I weave a different rhyme, as Mother’s faces emerge from time.
The first in time of a mother giving, as Eve “The Mother of all Living.”
Sweet Mother Mary Our Lady, birthed our saviour, the Jesus baby.
Lines etched upon her face, shows Mother Teresa’s passionate grace.
Back through the dream of space, to women who commenced my race.

Distant Grand Mother clad in black, left England for the Australian track.
Her family a happy group, taught by example faith, honour and truth,
My mother, hub of our place, correctly named “One in favour, full of grace.”
A gentle lady, her family her world, safe from harm in her arms we curled.
My daughters’ a mother in a different age, teaching a bright unfolding page.
A modern future the path ahead, implanting values on which she was bred.

Remember them each, and every day, for blessings given along the way –
Mothers with deep abiding love, whether here now, or watching from above.

Del Luke © 1915

My Mother Loved Me   ©Dot Church May 2010

I know my mother loved me;
Because she nursed and cared for me from the start;
so special to her as I grew right there beneath her heart.

I know my mother loved me;
as she gave me love and food of another kind.
She nourished soul and spirit, developing my mind.
I know my mother loved me;
when I put on that screaming tantrum show,
and couldn’t sleep over at someone’s she didn’t know.

I know my mother loved me;
she said she’d pick me up from the school dance.
All my friends got a ride while others took their chance.

I know my mother loved me;
when she said you cannot go to that show.
I cried, for all my friends, they were allowed to go.

I know my mother loved me;
when she said “No! That skirt is far too short!
My mother never cared what other people thought!

I know my mother loved me;
for she made and sewed my wedding dress.
Even though it caused her so much expense and stress!

I know my mother loved me;
for when I had each of my babies too.
There wasn’t anything that my mother wouldn’t do!

I know my mother loved me;
because when I said ‘He did me wrong!’
“Go home, you’ve got two kids, that’s life; you must go on!”

I know my mother loved me;
Because she taught me how to raise my kids with love.
And my mother loves me still, as she directs me from above!

MY MUM

WHILE MUM WAS IN HOSPITAL HAVING ME,
SHE HAD NO IDEA OF WHAT WAS TO BE.
GOD TOOK HOME TO HEAVEN, GRAHAM, MY BROTHER,
TWO YEARS EARLIER HE’D TAKEN ANOTHER.
TWO LITTLE BOYS BOTH UNDER FOUR
WERE GUIDED BACK THROUGH HEAVEN’S DOOR,
SO MUM DIDN’T GET TO SAY GOODBYE
AS WELL, SHE HAD ME, KNOWING I WOULD RELY
ON HER FOR COMFORT, FOOD AND LOVE
WHILE MOURNING FOR BABIES NOW GONE ABOVE!

MUM HAD SIMPLE DESIRES, AND WORKED SO HARD
BAKING, WASHING, AND ALWAYS ON GUARD
PROTECTING HER FAM’LY, LIKE A MOTHER HEN,
GOING WITHOUT, AS MOTHERS DID, BACK THEN.
SHE KNEW A HUNDRED AND ONE WAYS TO COOK MINCE,
THOUGH SOME OF THOSE DISHES MADE US ALL WINCE,
AND IF SOMEONE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD DIED
SHE WOULD BE THERE, BY THEIR SIDE,
COOKING A MEAT PIE, ATTENDING TO THE DECEASED,
HER NURSING SKILLS, NEVER FADED, BUT INCREASED.

I DON’T NEED “MOTHERS’ DAY TO REMEMBER HER,
EVERYDAY I REMEMBER, THOUGH SOMETIMES A BLUR.
I MISS MY MUM AND IN HINDSIGHT NOW
WISH I’D BEEN A BETTER DAUGHTER, SOMEHOW,
AND TOLD HER I LOVED HER MORE THAN I DID,
AND NOT TAKEN FOR GRANTED THOSE THINGS, AS A KID,
THAT MOTHERS DO, TO SHOW THEY CARE.
I PROMISE, TOO MUM, I WILL ALWAYS BE THERE
TO CARRY ON WITH WHAT YOU TAUGHT ME TO BE,
A LOVING MUM, SO THANK YOU…. FROM ME.
KATHIE PRIESTLEY

My Mother Janeen Mapson © 2015
My mother was a weird old girl of this there is no doubt.
All over the neighbourhood they would hear her scream and shout;
as she couldn’t remember which one of us really pissed her off.
So she’d yell out all our names and then she’d have a cough.

And the galah upon her shoulder would cough and then he’d shriek
and you wouldn’t believe the language that came out his beak.
Then one day the Mormons came to visit our old Mum
but the reception they received made them wish they hadn’t come.

She told them to leave in no uncertain terms, but they stayed,
and this turned out to be the worst decision they had ever made.
Now old Mum she never swore, but the bloody galah sure did.
And when Mum began to yell at them, he surely flipped his lid.

The words they heard, curled their toes, but that was not the worst
cause the magpie out the back, he’d heard the galah when he cursed.
So flying round to see, he spotted these poor silly buggers there;
and like a Kamikaze pilot he really ruffled their hair.

So the boys dead scared raced back to their car, glad they weren’t on bikes;
and fiery flames could be seen blazing out from beneath their Nikes.
Then our mongrel dogs joined in; ripping bums right out of pants.
Our Mum yelled “Go to Buggery and don’t come back,” she rants.

The boys couldn’t hear her as they were safe back in their car.
And that’s what they thought, but Maggie found the window was ajar.
Heavens know what happened as they drove off down the track.
All mum saw was flaying arms, then the bird flew out the back.

Our farm must have been black-listed, never saw them again;
But, I bet they remembered my Mum until they were old men.

MOTHERS

“Some mothers do ‘ave ’em” as the saying goes,

short and tall, thin and fat, kids give the woes.

There are young mums, older mums, and in between,

but their jobs the same world wide can easily be seen.

“Ouch” one kid is yelling, “Mum I cut my hand”,

while bigger sister laughs aloud, “he only fell on sand!”

Grandma walks in just in time to sort out this mess,

and Grandpa checks up on the dog and calms the distress.

Mums all have jobs that don’t pay much;

in fact it’s a pittance for many chores, such

as cleaning up little ones, they leak both ends

Oh Lord, she needs a medal for all she tends.

Ah now, that’s the human Mum, mothering all days,

but what of other types of mothers, some have quaint ways.

Sit a spell in the “calving yard” or in the chicken coop,

there you’ll see new mothers, and wow it’s a scoop.

The wonders of mothers in nature all around

just gives us joy when you watch, magic is found.

Mother duck sorts her babies as they swim across the river

making sure all are there, as I watched I got a quiver.

Motherhood, I could write all day, but let’s not forget

‘mothers’ come in different forms, we owe them a debt,

to raise in warmth and safety, be human or  animal,

to keep the circle unbroken, and life always optimal.

Maureen Luke,  May 2015,  exercise for our Club challenge

for May.

THE DREAM STILL LIVES – original performance by Dick Moody

All authors here retain copyright to the works shown, without reservation.  See a fuller statement under the header “About Us”.

BLOWOUT

Things have changed, as all things do,
And in Phil’s state they needed to.
He’s now with the ferals on Russell Island,
Where they call him the “broker from hell.”
He’s larger than life and louder than a band,
But he gave up the smokes – just as well!

“Drink more beer – there’s protein in that!”
The Fosters goes down and the belly gets fat.
“Can’t exercise mate, the knees won’t hold,
And it gives me pains in the chest.
Anyway I’ve got pills for all ills, good as gold.
No need to worry, I’m still fit as the best!”

Nothing’s more sure, Phil’s a man of good cheer,
Loves to tell a good yarn, knock back a cold beer.
Golf’s no longer an option – too strenuous by far,
Camping’s the new buzz, a custom trailer’s the go.
Got to get there by boat or by car,
The ped-o-meter’s been given the heave-ho!

Well you know the result, it’s just a matter of when.
More pains in the chest, quick trip to the surgeon.
“We’ve got to operate Phil, can’t waste a moment.
Your heart’s working hard, but not getting far,
Arteries are closed, the solution’s a stent.
We can’t make you star, but we’ll get you near par!”

Well Phil I must say it, you’re not ready to die.
The wife still loves you, but heaven knows why.
So keep chasing adventure, new business to sell,
Plan a trip to the Kimberleys, another to Perth.
Buy a new tinny, and tackle as well.
But work a bit harder on reducing your girth!

Dick Moody 8/2005P1020118_2

THE GRAND OLD DAME

She sits in all her splendour, but shows signs of wear and tear,
When she was young, I’m sure she had charisma; so much flair,
For many years she’s sat there, just like a royal queen,
If she could only tell the tales of all she’s heard and seen.

Her old fat legs, still sturdy, have grown dull throughout the years,
Gnarled hands have often rubbed her arms, while calming many fears,
Her bottom is so stretched now, it sags down beneath her frame,
But for all that she has been through, she’s still a grand old dame.

She’s never known the comfort that a winter fire can bring,
But she always enjoys seeing the first buds of the spring,
She endures strong winds, the dust and rain, as the seasons change,
Watches the autumn colours appear, out upon the range.

She gives comfort to new mothers, as babes suckle at the breast,
Always is a welcome sight when old timers need their rest,
Little children love her, they are not daunted by her size,
To be the first upon her lap, it’s like winning the first prize.

To young lovers, she’s a special place to pinch a quick kiss,
To sit with her and have a drink, can be just pure bliss,
In cooler months, a granny rug is thrown across her arms,
And Sundays, is her special time with Grandma reading Psalms.

She hears so many conversations, and some funny yarns,
Hears of the world’s problems; the best way to run the farms,
She’s there in times of sadness, sometimes catching all the tears,
And watches generations as they move on through the years.

From where she sits upon the porch, she’s seen things come and go,
How long she’s really been there, no one will ever know,
Grandad made her with his hands, and with love he placed her there,
This grand old dame that we all love, its Grandma’s squatters chair.

Rhyl Graham 2012P1010414

COBWEBS OF LIFE

As I walk in this room, full of cobwebs and gloom,
A cold shiver creeps up my spine.
There’s corrosion and rust, smells of book-worm and dust,
this old house has been passed down the line.

My granddad lived here, — when he was faced with the fear
of running this place for his dad.
When the old man had gone, he then carried on
the lessons, he’d learnt as a lad.

An old ink-well and quills, used for paying the bills,
the books on the shelf are well worn.
Faded photos in frames, but I don’t know the names
of the faces that look down with scorn.

War medals, – still pinned, where the fabric has thinned
on the serge coat that hangs on the door,
the proud emu feather, in the strap of cracked leather
bounds the hat grandad used in the war.

Up there on the wall, overlooking it all,
hangs his bridle, all weathered and cracked.
And beside it, his whip, with its old plaited grip,
tells me yarns of his days on the track.

I begin to sift through. In my mind I can view
how my loved ones have lived out their past.
As I scrape off the rust, gently wipe away dust,
I find the die from which I am cast.

Grandma’s old chair, with its round cushion threadbare,
I make bright with a new coat of paint,
BUT, that frame on the wall, I don’t move it at all.
Through his life, Grandad worshipped that Saint.

Brand new curtains I’ve hung, all the blinds are re-strung,
washed and polished with ultimate care,
I’ve made everything bright, but there’s something’s not right,
This room now feels empty and bare.

So, to bring back its heart, I now need to add part
Of me, and my life, to this room.
In comes my TV, black and white it may be,
my red hat with its bright purple plume.

The old rusty scooter, my vintage computer,
cassette tapes and my Christmas card list.
It’s such a contrast when mixed in with the past
Will my family have feelings like this?

In years down the track, when all the grandkids come back,
as this old house gets passed down the line,
When they walk in this room, I hope there’s cobwebs and gloom,
and a cold shiver creeps up their spine.

Rhyl Graham 2013 ©

WHAT’S IN A SMILE
Aunt Ethel had some dentures but they never fitted right,
they slid back and forth across her gums each time she took a bite,
her dentist said she’d need new ones, so her nice smile would show,
but Aunt Ethel said she’d cope with these; ‘cause she didn’t have the dough.

She went and bought some denture glue to try and sort it out,
this problem with them staying put; she’d fix herself, no doubt,
she’d show that bloody dentist, and her price wouldn’t be so dear,
but Aunt Ethel’s eyes were not so good and she couldn’t see real clear.

She studied the instructions just to see how this glue worked
but disaster broke next day and boy! she really went berserk,
see, it said the glue be painted on each surface for a while,
then when dry, clasp together, aah she’d soon have that nice new smile.

So she spread the glue upon her teeth and put them there close by,
then painted it along her gums and laid back, so it could dry,
but after having nodded off, Aunt Ethel woke with fright,
the glue had run down to the back and hardened there all night.

So now, when you see Aunt Ethel out in the street each day,
she’ll look so surprised to see you with her mouth agape that way,
no words will she ever utter, so just give a friendly wave,
and try not to make it obvious you’re looking down her cave.
Rhyl Graham 2014

THE BALLAD OF STONEY CREEK

The rhythm of the hooves
A dust cloud swirling high
Along this god forsaken track
With storm clouds in the sky

The first rumble of thunder
The first crack of lightning
The cattle start to run
It’s really very frightening

They are heading for the cliff
A drop of thirty foot or more
Then Pete and Joe and me
Have to turn them for sure

We race to get ahead
Whips cracking in the rain
When the lightning strikes again
And I feel this awful pain

I know I can’t hold on
From my saddle I slowly slip
My foot’s caught in the stirrup
I’m burnt from shoulder to hip

Pete’s up ahead, Joe by his side
The herd they start a turning
Held by my foot I hit the ground
Feeling nothing but the burning

The cliff edge looms in sight
I can’t stop this horse of mine
He just keeps on over the top
And I just ran out of time

Around camp fires still today
The story you’ll hear tell
Of how that devil storm
Sent a drover straight to hell

Of how his horse went mad
With the flashes, noise and rain
For no one saw the strike
And no one felt the pain

But on a stormy night
We still ride that stony track
So if another herd take fright
We can turn them back

P1000797

©ANN KROME SEPTEMBER 2013

ETERNAL LOVE

You’re lying there I hold your worn-out hand.
I see the scars upon your head. They stand.
I look into those lifeless, limpid, eyes;
I speak: a silence there are no replies.

A tiny flicker sparks, across your eyes
that once showed light but now the light it dies.
I’m dazed, half crazed not sure of what I know;
I dream of things that happened long ago.

I see a pretty lass of twenty three;
she’s sweetly serving scones and tea. It’s me!
I see the train and you as it comes in.
You are a spunky soldier boy so thin.

A smile from you, I’m taken in a whirl.
It’s you who will take me a country girl-
and make a wanton woman filled with song!
You are my love, my soldier too, so strong.

Then, you were full of life, so quick to wit,
now you lie dying here, and I must sit
to watch in tears of shame, a shrunken shell-
not half the man you used to be. Oh Hell!

I am alone and long, for love, and lust
for you; to whom my love I did entrust.
I grieve for you and thus I cry for me;
mourn the passion so deep that used to be!

I know not what to do nor what to say –
and just as night precedes this very day
I’ll follow you, to where there’ll be no age,
no scourge. We’ll not feel the hurt nor rage.

We’ll have no scars upon our skin my dear.
We will be young and thus have naught to fear.
Together then, your soul with mine entwined
in love for all eternity enshrined!

Dot Church

Tell Her She’s Dreamin’ Dot Church © 18.02.2015

Thought I’d buy Gold Lotto. I thought I’d have a go!
Money was pretty tight and life was oh so slow.
Like a bride’s nightie off I went feeling slick.
There’ll be no worries mate, for I’ll give work the flick.

Good things come to those who wait; I’ve waited long enough!
Paved with good intentions … my road was really rough.
For a penny or a pound I am sure to win –
look out for me when I’m sporting that cheesy grin!

I’ve waited long, for good things come to those who wait;
for years I’d been yearning that wealth would be my fate.
Then at last the penny dropped or was that the ball?
Heeding not my mother’s words ‘Pride before a fall.’

But not today dear Mum! My fate is signed and sealed
With six straight numbers, my luck will be revealed.
Hell’s bells and buggy wheels, crikey and flamin’ struth.
Me a millionaire! A rat with a golden tooth.

Alas! The morning clearly brought the truth to light
Money gone! So poverty once again my plight!
“You’re dreaming, get to work,” was what my dear Mum said.
So off I went, the dollars dancing in my head.

P1010820

Born and bred in Townsville, I have always loved poetry – of all kinds – although as a child I loved to recite The Man From Snowy River or lines from it. My mum and sister also loved and wrote poetry and my Mum recited ballads at family gatherings. I guess most of our family had a love of verse. I have written other poems that are not Bush Poetry but that is what I mostly focus on now.

THE LUCKY COUNTRY, OR IS IT?

WHERE IS IT HEADED, THIS NATION OF OURS?
WHEN WILL IT END BEFORE IT ALL SOURS​
RECESSION SO HARD GETS EVERYONE DOWN
IT’S EVERYONE’S FIGHT FROM COUNTRY TO TOWN.

SO MANY PEOPLE ARE OUT OF A JOB,
FACTORIES STILL CLOSING, WORKERS NOW SOB,
WHAT CAN WE DO TO HALT THIS DISTRESS,
BEFORE OUR “DOWN UNDER “ BECOMES A BIG MESS.

OUR COUNTRY COMPRISES MANY NATIONALITIES,
BUT RACIAL DIVISION IS MAKING HOSTILITIES.
WHY CAN’T WE ALL LIVE UNDER THE SUN,
AS ONE SOLID NATION ENJOYING SOME FUN.

GONE ARE THE DAYS WHEN WE LEFT OUR DOORS
UNLOCKED AND TRUSTING, MOST OBEYED THE LAWS,
AND ANY MISHAPS OUR NEIGHBOURS SOON RALLY,
UNITED AS ONE “WE’RE AUSSIES” ONE TALLY.

SADLY THE OLD DAYS JUST A MEMORY
CITY LIFE TOO HECTIC FOR PEOPLE TO SEE
THAT LIFE PASSES QUICKLY IN JUST A FLASH.
BUT MANY SO BUSY JUST WORKING FOR CASH.

THIS LAND AUSTRALIA IN JUST 200 YEARS
HAS BEEN DEVASTATED, NOW WE ALL HAVE FEARS
THAT MUCH OF THE RUIN CANNOT BE PUT RIGHT,
MY GOD, WE MUST TRY WITH ALL OF OUR MIGHT.

WE CAN ALL DO SOMETHING TO HELP THIS LAND
BUY “MADE IN AUSTRALIA” WHENEVER YOU CAN,
HOLIDAYS SPENT HERE INSTEAD OF OVERSEAS,
WILL ALSO BOOST THIS COUNTRY’S ECONOMIES.

WE CAN SAVE THIS LUCKY COUNTRY, OUR NATION
WITH PLENTY OF THOUGHT AND CO-OPERATION
WE MUST ALL DIG IN, ENOUGH IS ENOUGH,
JOIN TOGETHER AND HELP EVEN THOUGH TIMES ARE TOUGH.

Maureen Luke
Written Feb 1992
Revised March 2013 copyrightMaureen Luke

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3 Responses to Some Original Poems

  1. Where’d you get that picture? Joking! I know where. Maybe we should have a photo gallery.
    Dot

  2. Rhyl Graham says:

    Great video Dick, Oh My, you look good in yellow!!!!
    Rhyl

  3. Barry thankyou for the beautiful Remembrance Day Poem. Also thanks to our great Webmaster, Richard. Well done!

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