Poems from down under

Nice.

Sad. A lost moment in time. Never to be recovered. :-(

More Downunder but in a lighter vein.

The Rangitiki Line
My father was no farmer but he loved the farmers life,
And he took along my mother as  his devoted wife.
He rented an old homestead  on Rangitikie Line
Weeds were up to the windows but he said, ”OK! That’s fine!”

He went off to work in town, while mother rolled up sleeves
Attacked the weeds, the windows and webs under the eves.
Each evening he came home again bringing useful stuff
Like little plants ,some garden gloves  and once a box of fluff.

The box of fluff turned out to be  fifty day old chicks,
“We’ll be self sufficient ”, he cried delightedly, “For in this mix-
There’s bound to be half hens for laying eggs- the rest we’ll eat“
The thought of roasted chicken drove out  thoughts of other  meat.

The little fluffy yellow things all ran about in haste
We fed them crumbs and something we made up as  a paste.
After 6 weeks no difference between the  girls  and boys,
After 10 weeks  we’re  no better - deceived by chicken ploys.

At 14 weeks we realised their sexuality was plain!
Not a damned girl   in there, not a single Jane!
Fifty bloody cockerels all cock-a-doodling fit to bust
All fighting fit, all testosterone, all fighting in the dust!

Each Saturday we’d pick the biggest and off would come his head
“X”  minus 1, remaining cockerels would cheer that he was dead.
They felt no feathered ‘mateyship’ or camaraderie 
They simply cock-a-doodled as loud as it can be.

Forty nine feathered fiends went in the baking dish,
Number fifty thought he’d made it and soon he got his wish.
My father, axe in hand went out the fateful day
To find that number fifty had gone and run away.

nice one ciderman - is that a self-portrait?

A never never day
I sat in  frangipani glade
The dogs stretched out in midday haze
The seaward breeze moved gentle leaves
This never never land can freeze
 
The early morns now cool and sharp
Gone is that humid apple tart
But still the sun creeps up the sky
And by midday has drooped the eye
 
Just sit it out till twilight comes
And off shore breezes hum their tunes
The never never freeze at night
Need canvas swag till bleak sunlight
 
The welcome tinge of daylight dawns
As dew hangs heavy still not warm
The ‘billy’ lets off steam not dew
And soon cold hands have thawed anew


Broome 2010


© davo OZ

davo wrote:

nice one ciderman - is that a self-portrait?

Yes, 55 years ago! :-) It goes with....

Fairies

There are fairies at the bottom of our garden,
Living in the septic tank.
I leave a possum trap set up
Beneath the stony bank.

I hear their murmers in the night,
It’s such an awful sound,
They leave their dirty dishes out,
And litter scattered round.

They break their bottles in the grass
And make an awful mess,
I’ve put out litter bins and such,
They just don’t see, I guess!

I know a few but Malcolm would throw me off the forum.

Seems like your talents know no end Dave

thanks - well Da was a poetry writer of sorts - mainly family stuff and it seems to have passed over only through the senior child - my bros and sis have no aspirations. People sometimes comment 'oh that is so clever, wish I could, is it hard to learn?' My response is I didn't really learn it, it just comes out of the ether -  call it inspirational thought - but I do have to 'know' the people or scenes usually that I recount

I'll get a bit sad now. For my mother.

Last Song for Lilian.

The etiquette of mourning blinds the house,
Half darkened silence whispers on the stairs;
For she, who once called each and every tune
Was caught by Death alone and unaware.
I never thought that even Death would dare.
I'll grieve for you without fine manners now,
Proud, sharp tongued, talented and grey.
Who threw her youth into the fires of rage?
Who tossed her grace and happiness away?
Who blighted hearts in blossom- tore the flower?
With all the frost of eloquence and power.
I'll give your spirit an unearned release,
A ranting, roaring, glory of a grief,
I'll give you peace, my love, I'll give you peace.

beautiful ciderman - I like the raw emotion of it all - I never did a full one for mother perhaps I should one day - did one for the bros who died 3 yrs ago and da too!

sometimes my mind just goes crazy!



Reflections Across a Table

I came across intentional as he sat with Ms Maybe
I asked him why his glasses shone - my reflection beckoned me

Maybe said its accidental don't take it all to heart
He trained for taxidermy but once he went to far

There was a terrible accident when once he whirled his knife
He started with an elephant and it ended with some mice

So now he's incognito with marguerites standing by
His stare is a reflection of the blueness in the sky

He has an alto ego that swings from he to she
One minute a cool sweet boy the next a whore for free

So do not make assumptions when his knife is on high ground
I'd hate to think your taxidermy time had just come round!


© davo OZ