While I have written the occasional poem over the years, this is a new series of poems in ballad form. Each tells a true story.
Often when travelling either as driver or passenger, poems will formulate themselves in my head as I take in the surrounds or as I mentally wander into other territory. This series of poems started with a beautiful incident at Bouldercombe in May 2021. As I walked back to our caravan a poem began building in my mind. It very quickly made an appearance in written form. There was a brief reprieve after that and then all of a sudden my mind was being flooded with poetry. If I was driving, I would have to find somewhere to stop to transfer the poem from my mind to paper before some of it became lost in the depths of my mind. Most of these poems were written from September 2021 through November 2021.
These poems are based on true stories. Some have historical contexts, some are current stories and some play with amusement. Many are based on the region where I live in the Boyne Valley, Queensland, Australia.
Often when travelling either as driver or passenger, poems will formulate themselves in my head as I take in the surrounds or as I mentally wander into other territory. This series of poems started with a beautiful incident at Bouldercombe in May 2021. As I walked back to our caravan a poem began building in my mind. It very quickly made an appearance in written form. There was a brief reprieve after that and then all of a sudden my mind was being flooded with poetry. If I was driving, I would have to find somewhere to stop to transfer the poem from my mind to paper before some of it became lost in the depths of my mind. Most of these poems were written from September 2021 through November 2021.
These poems are based on true stories. Some have historical contexts, some are current stories and some play with amusement. Many are based on the region where I live in the Boyne Valley, Queensland, Australia.
Magpie Morning at the Bouldy Pub.
Was a cool Saturday morning,
In sleepy Bouldercombe
Off I went for a quiet walk
All on my own.
Needed some gentle exercise,
To loosen up my joints
And lose some excess pudgy weight,
Would be more to the point.
Along with the help of my friend
My dear trusty smart phone
I snapped a series of photos,
Of part of Bouldercombe.
There on the corner it waited,
Derelict and forlorn
Surrounded by weeds and bindis
Instead of lush green lawn.
A popular watering spot,
It was the Bouldy Pub.
Has been closed for quite a while now,
So, no more beer nor grub.
Not there for the community
To pull up their bar stools
And discuss the ways of the world,
Calling all the pollies fools.
Across the quiet narrow road
To a cute park I went
Flowers from the ANZAC Day Service
Adorned the monument.
Gazed across the play equipment,
Of the children’s playground
And then in the tidy gardens
I walked slowly around.
Finally, I sat for a while,
In the covered area
Such a quiet peaceful spot
To view my photos there.
And to think about what was once,
The quaint old Bouldy Pub.
Just why, oh why, can’t somebody
Come and give it some love?
Suddenly, my daydreaming thoughts
Became interrupted.
I had interesting company.
Really unexpected.
A trio of adult magpies
Joined me at the table
And warbled the most melodic,
Tunes that they were able.
They moved around to other spots,
To fully surround me
All the while singing prettily,
With absolute glory.
For a lovely space of time
I held their attention,
While finding myself mesmerised
By their gorgeous anthems.
Over the road from the Bouldy Pub
And its tale of the past
If only it could sing its songs
So, its stories would last.
Like the three black and white magpies
With glorious serenade
Memories of the Bouldy Pub
Should never ever fade.
Was a cool Saturday morning,
In sleepy Bouldercombe
Off I went for a quiet walk
All on my own.
Needed some gentle exercise,
To loosen up my joints
And lose some excess pudgy weight,
Would be more to the point.
Along with the help of my friend
My dear trusty smart phone
I snapped a series of photos,
Of part of Bouldercombe.
There on the corner it waited,
Derelict and forlorn
Surrounded by weeds and bindis
Instead of lush green lawn.
A popular watering spot,
It was the Bouldy Pub.
Has been closed for quite a while now,
So, no more beer nor grub.
Not there for the community
To pull up their bar stools
And discuss the ways of the world,
Calling all the pollies fools.
Across the quiet narrow road
To a cute park I went
Flowers from the ANZAC Day Service
Adorned the monument.
Gazed across the play equipment,
Of the children’s playground
And then in the tidy gardens
I walked slowly around.
Finally, I sat for a while,
In the covered area
Such a quiet peaceful spot
To view my photos there.
And to think about what was once,
The quaint old Bouldy Pub.
Just why, oh why, can’t somebody
Come and give it some love?
Suddenly, my daydreaming thoughts
Became interrupted.
I had interesting company.
Really unexpected.
A trio of adult magpies
Joined me at the table
And warbled the most melodic,
Tunes that they were able.
They moved around to other spots,
To fully surround me
All the while singing prettily,
With absolute glory.
For a lovely space of time
I held their attention,
While finding myself mesmerised
By their gorgeous anthems.
Over the road from the Bouldy Pub
And its tale of the past
If only it could sing its songs
So, its stories would last.
Like the three black and white magpies
With glorious serenade
Memories of the Bouldy Pub
Should never ever fade.
Ubobo Soldier Settlement
Where eucalypts and wattle grew
In Boyne valley spaces
They came to start their life anew
From faraway places.
Their short lives war had torn apart
With horrors far too real.
They were promised a fresh new start
The dust of war to peel.
They arrived any way they could
By buggy, train, or horse
Until with map in hand they stood
For their land to set course.
With wives and children by their side
Camping and clearing land
A farming life they desired
Aiming for futures grand.
The land acreage was too small
Times were extremely rough
Sometimes no good rain fell at all
And living proved too tough.
Some packed their things and moved away
And others came along
Properties amalgamated
To make their holdings strong.
Dairying, cropping, and grazing
They would try their hand
Long hours per day they were working
To cultivate their land.
Ubobo a large lease holding
Turned into many farms
A small township developing
With Soldier Settler arms.
Since that time the valley has changed
The dairies are all gone
Beef cattle, hay, and now grain
Are found along the Boyne.
Family connections current
Hold in memories strong
World War One Soldier Settlement
And Boyne Valley times gone.
Exploring the Boyne Valley Soldier Settler Blocks
Twenty nineteen Christmas now gone.
The New year’s next event
Twenty twenty Centenary
Of Soldier Settlement.
Kathy had researched the Settlers
And their leased blocks of land.
Neville who was born and bred here
Had much knowledge to hand.
With these Settler blocks calling us
To engage with their past
We earmarked a couple of days
For finding shadows cast.
With Kathy’s maps and Settler names
We set forth to explore
Saturday, December twenty first,
Tuesday thirty first for more.
The summer heat was oppressive
Hats and water a must
And to get through long busy days
We took along our lunch.
We worked our cameras overtime
To capture photographs
That pieced together the stories
From remnants from the past.
Bush lemons, mango trees and palms
Where many homes once stood
Provide us with some starting points
To search what’s underfoot.
Crumpled stove recess on one block
Old stove on another
Bottles telling of times merry
Much stuff to discover.
Sometimes house stumps stood sentinel
To their history past.
There may be an old, rusted tank
And concrete in the grass.
Kangaroos and cattle watched on
As we delved the secrets
Of falling down sheds and houses
Each with their uniqueness.
Vestiges of farm life survived.
Windmills near rusty tanks,
Hand hewn fence posts, grey and leaning,
Old farm gates made of planks.
Big brown rusted rolls of barbed wire,
Old style farm implements
And some old hand tools in dump sites
Left to the elements.
Remnants of dairies abounded.
There were cream sheds, cream cans,
Cattle yards, milking sheds and bails,
All worked with Settler hands.
The old stock route held more stories
Along the Eastern Boyne.
There were many gates to pass on through
With more blocks to enjoy.
That old cart with the tree grown through,
Once a Settler’s transport
Added to our long discussion
Of the life Settlers sought.
On one block there is an old grave
Name and death date from yore.
Solemn moment remembering
The lives that went before.
Walking the footsteps of Settlers
Each new find, small or large
Wrote their stories in our minds
Their stories of the past.
So, twenty twenty came and went
Also, twenty twenty-one
As we endured a pandemic
Covid-19 it’s known.
It is now twenty twenty-two
And Covid still torments
But celebrations go ahead
For Soldier Settlement.
Anne Huth
March 2022
Boyne Valley Gold
Where is this gold you talk about?
I’d like to try my luck.
My life to digging I’ll devote
If plenty of gold’s struck.
Please, Mrs Brennan, please tell me?
Please don’t keep it secret?
Three ounces in 1853
That’s a decent nugget.
More than ten years had passed by
And then the rush began
With the Calliope Goldfield nigh
And then the Milton.
Norton Township grew on Milton
Hotels, police, and more.
For over a thousand people
Abundant gold was sought.
Many Peaks and Glassford had their day.
And three thousand people
Travelled from far away to stay
To search for precious metal.
Hotels, a school, and hospital
With small businesses
Providing services to all
Are still in evidence.
These days just a few hundred
Live in the Boyne Valley
The mines have long been abandoned
Except just one, sadly.
Norton Goldmine though very old
Still displays some promise
With very small amounts of gold
In tonnes of dirt to sluice.
Gold is part of the history
For Queensland’s Boyne Valley
Now long-gone old folks’ memories
Guard their secrets closely.
Where is this gold you talk about?
I’d like to try my luck.
My life to digging I’ll devote
If plenty of gold’s struck.
Please, Mrs Brennan, please tell me?
Please don’t keep it secret?
Three ounces in 1853
That’s a decent nugget.
More than ten years had passed by
And then the rush began
With the Calliope Goldfield nigh
And then the Milton.
Norton Township grew on Milton
Hotels, police, and more.
For over a thousand people
Abundant gold was sought.
Many Peaks and Glassford had their day.
And three thousand people
Travelled from far away to stay
To search for precious metal.
Hotels, a school, and hospital
With small businesses
Providing services to all
Are still in evidence.
These days just a few hundred
Live in the Boyne Valley
The mines have long been abandoned
Except just one, sadly.
Norton Goldmine though very old
Still displays some promise
With very small amounts of gold
In tonnes of dirt to sluice.
Gold is part of the history
For Queensland’s Boyne Valley
Now long-gone old folks’ memories
Guard their secrets closely.
Manna from Heaven
I would like to tell you a tale
About a walk I took
Down Norton Road to the river
With my trusty sketch book.
A road I often walk along
Looking at the long grass
Watching out for little finches
Or fairy wrens so fast.
As usual, I look around
For things of interest,
In the trees, across the paddocks
Even colours of the dust.
An orchid in a tree I see
And pretty gum tree bark,
Some interesting, round, seed pods
Spiky and rather sharp.
As I cross the little culvert
Over Black Soil gully,
Ahead of me was something strange
On the road and bulky.
A film, ‘The Gods must be Crazy’
Suddenly comes to mind.
Was this manna from the heavens?
What a strange thing to find.
There in the middle of the road
A real big lump of hay,
One of those huge rolls of lucerne
Almost blocking the way.
Landing, it had broken apart
With bits spreading out wide.
On the road it was dangerous
Too big to push aside.
Hoping whoever had lost it
Would soon come back along
To retrieve the load they had dropped,
I just walked further on.
Looking back occasionally
To see if someone cared,
Only as I returned that way
I saw the farmer there.
He brought back help to lift the hay
Onto a low trailer.
They rolled it up a sloping ramp.
Could it be a failure?
They tugged and pushed and cursed and swore
Getting the hay onboard.
Then they strapped it down securely
Before moving forward.
As they passed by, I waved to them
With a little giggle.
They looked so funny loading up
Cursing as they struggled.
Now the bulk of the hay was gone
Some lumps remaining there.
I gathered them to the road edge
Traffic not to impair.
The road was now safe to be used
Fully cleared of the hay
I checked to make sure none was missed
Then went back on my way.
I would like to tell you a tale
About a walk I took
Down Norton Road to the river
With my trusty sketch book.
A road I often walk along
Looking at the long grass
Watching out for little finches
Or fairy wrens so fast.
As usual, I look around
For things of interest,
In the trees, across the paddocks
Even colours of the dust.
An orchid in a tree I see
And pretty gum tree bark,
Some interesting, round, seed pods
Spiky and rather sharp.
As I cross the little culvert
Over Black Soil gully,
Ahead of me was something strange
On the road and bulky.
A film, ‘The Gods must be Crazy’
Suddenly comes to mind.
Was this manna from the heavens?
What a strange thing to find.
There in the middle of the road
A real big lump of hay,
One of those huge rolls of lucerne
Almost blocking the way.
Landing, it had broken apart
With bits spreading out wide.
On the road it was dangerous
Too big to push aside.
Hoping whoever had lost it
Would soon come back along
To retrieve the load they had dropped,
I just walked further on.
Looking back occasionally
To see if someone cared,
Only as I returned that way
I saw the farmer there.
He brought back help to lift the hay
Onto a low trailer.
They rolled it up a sloping ramp.
Could it be a failure?
They tugged and pushed and cursed and swore
Getting the hay onboard.
Then they strapped it down securely
Before moving forward.
As they passed by, I waved to them
With a little giggle.
They looked so funny loading up
Cursing as they struggled.
Now the bulk of the hay was gone
Some lumps remaining there.
I gathered them to the road edge
Traffic not to impair.
The road was now safe to be used
Fully cleared of the hay
I checked to make sure none was missed
Then went back on my way.
Bridge Across the Boyne
An old bridge across a river
Once standing very proud
Having solid piers and girders
Of timber strong and sound.
It stood in place for many years
On the road to the mine
Floods often caused a lot of fears
There were many over time.
A taller modern bridge was built
To take the load instead
No character to define it
Was just a bridge ahead.
The new-fangled modern structure
Gazed on the bridge below
Was it from a different culture
With its worn timber glow.
Locals came to walk across it
And picnic by its side
On its rough edges they would sit
Old times they would confide.
Floods came and went and came some more
Remaining strong and true
Even at times when the river roared
The bridge always come through.
In the flood of twenty thirteen
Both were waging battle
With the roaring river so mean
Causing a death rattle.
The newer bridge could be repaired
It was completely fixed
The old historic bridge despaired
Barely left to exist.
Now just a little bit remains
Its glory almost gone
All because of big flooding rains
Its life was now redrawn.
As it looked upon the river
It nearly met its fate
A bushfire raging with vigour
More damage did create.
With its last breath it clings to life
Above the river Boyne
On Norton Road it stays to fight
Nagoorin it adjoins.
An old bridge across a river
Once standing very proud
Having solid piers and girders
Of timber strong and sound.
It stood in place for many years
On the road to the mine
Floods often caused a lot of fears
There were many over time.
A taller modern bridge was built
To take the load instead
No character to define it
Was just a bridge ahead.
The new-fangled modern structure
Gazed on the bridge below
Was it from a different culture
With its worn timber glow.
Locals came to walk across it
And picnic by its side
On its rough edges they would sit
Old times they would confide.
Floods came and went and came some more
Remaining strong and true
Even at times when the river roared
The bridge always come through.
In the flood of twenty thirteen
Both were waging battle
With the roaring river so mean
Causing a death rattle.
The newer bridge could be repaired
It was completely fixed
The old historic bridge despaired
Barely left to exist.
Now just a little bit remains
Its glory almost gone
All because of big flooding rains
Its life was now redrawn.
As it looked upon the river
It nearly met its fate
A bushfire raging with vigour
More damage did create.
With its last breath it clings to life
Above the river Boyne
On Norton Road it stays to fight
Nagoorin it adjoins.
Boyne Valley Country Music Campout
The musicians come into town
To let their music flow
Once per year at a great event
That’s held at Ubobo.
At the discovery Centre
Hoping not to get damp
Each Autumn in early April
People set up their camp.
The Boyne Valley Country Music
Campout draws a large crowd
Performers play on for two days
With music sometimes loud.
Everyone has a great time
Relaxing to listen
To country music and rock, too
Some join in with dancing.
Food is good and beer flows freely
Sometimes the campfire is lit
And the musos enjoy some fun
Doing a little skit.
The weather can often be fine
Though sometimes it does storm
People rush to find some shelter
And musos can’t perform.
On the last day, Sunday morning
Poets come out to play
At the Lions breakfast barbie
They try to have last say.
On this day fundraising occurs
Some prizes to be won
All in aid of prostate cancer
Before the day is done.
The caravans start rolling out
The marquees are removed
Money counted and site cleaned up
The event now concludes.
The musicians come into town
To let their music flow
Once per year at a great event
That’s held at Ubobo.
At the discovery Centre
Hoping not to get damp
Each Autumn in early April
People set up their camp.
The Boyne Valley Country Music
Campout draws a large crowd
Performers play on for two days
With music sometimes loud.
Everyone has a great time
Relaxing to listen
To country music and rock, too
Some join in with dancing.
Food is good and beer flows freely
Sometimes the campfire is lit
And the musos enjoy some fun
Doing a little skit.
The weather can often be fine
Though sometimes it does storm
People rush to find some shelter
And musos can’t perform.
On the last day, Sunday morning
Poets come out to play
At the Lions breakfast barbie
They try to have last say.
On this day fundraising occurs
Some prizes to be won
All in aid of prostate cancer
Before the day is done.
The caravans start rolling out
The marquees are removed
Money counted and site cleaned up
The event now concludes.
Cyclone in the Boyne Valley
A cyclone made an appearance
One February day
Twenty fifteen it happenstance
A rarity out our way.
Marcia was its given name
Crossed the coast near Byfield
A category four it came
Much power it did yield.
It quickly moved across the land
Reaching the valley cat one
We hoped no damage was at hand
Very soon it was done.
In the light of the day, we explored
Minor damage was found
Nothing that we couldn’t restore
Some trees were on the ground.
No power and with floodwater
We did the best we could
To get our things back in order
Our safety all secured.
My husband had gone into town
Before the cyclone came
Just in case his business drowned
And stuff he had to save.
When he thought it was safe to return
He asked I check the roads
From Calliope there was concern
Then southward I supposed.
I drove with care to Ubobo
And through to the Ten Mile
Across the bridge I went nice and slow
The roads were quite a trial.
Slowly driving further on with care
To reach the river Boyne
I passed a farm near Littlemore
Its fencing now disjoined.
Across the other lane it lay
A danger on the road
Barbed wire a person sure would flay
Should a bike lose its load.
Other traffic had passed that day
But none had stopped at all
To move the fencing out the way
Nor the farmer to call.
Driving just a short distance on
To the bridge on the Boyne
As it looked safe to drive upon
To the fence I deployed.
With all the strength I could muster
I flipped the barbed wire fence
Fifty yards long to the gutter
Then back to home I went.
My husband I quickly informed
Come by Blackman’s Gap Road
If its safe to continue forward
You will make it back home.
A cyclone made an appearance
One February day
Twenty fifteen it happenstance
A rarity out our way.
Marcia was its given name
Crossed the coast near Byfield
A category four it came
Much power it did yield.
It quickly moved across the land
Reaching the valley cat one
We hoped no damage was at hand
Very soon it was done.
In the light of the day, we explored
Minor damage was found
Nothing that we couldn’t restore
Some trees were on the ground.
No power and with floodwater
We did the best we could
To get our things back in order
Our safety all secured.
My husband had gone into town
Before the cyclone came
Just in case his business drowned
And stuff he had to save.
When he thought it was safe to return
He asked I check the roads
From Calliope there was concern
Then southward I supposed.
I drove with care to Ubobo
And through to the Ten Mile
Across the bridge I went nice and slow
The roads were quite a trial.
Slowly driving further on with care
To reach the river Boyne
I passed a farm near Littlemore
Its fencing now disjoined.
Across the other lane it lay
A danger on the road
Barbed wire a person sure would flay
Should a bike lose its load.
Other traffic had passed that day
But none had stopped at all
To move the fencing out the way
Nor the farmer to call.
Driving just a short distance on
To the bridge on the Boyne
As it looked safe to drive upon
To the fence I deployed.
With all the strength I could muster
I flipped the barbed wire fence
Fifty yards long to the gutter
Then back to home I went.
My husband I quickly informed
Come by Blackman’s Gap Road
If its safe to continue forward
You will make it back home.
Logging Trucks
It’s been more than five years tally
There have been logging trucks
Day and night throughout the valley
Sometimes they were too much.
Most were courteous and drove just fine
But some drove far too fast
Sometimes hogging the centre line
And giving us a start.
Kalpower Forest logs were sought
And trucked along our road
Taking them into Gladstone Port
Ready for ships to load.
Logs were sent overseas on boats
For processing afar
Why not in Australia, folks?
We found that just bizarre.
Part of the range road was so blind
A truck you could not see
As you were driving round the bend
You did not want to meet.
If you had a two way radio
You heard the truckies call
They always let each other know
The areas they did haul.
With some rollovers over time
And one poor chap who died
Lost his life on the range decline
Going over the side.
A memorial marks the site
Forever to remind
Of the poor fellow’s final drive
And sadness of the time.
The logging trucks have now stopped
Coming down our road
The forest has been finished logged
They’ve got the mother load.
It’s been more than five years tally
There have been logging trucks
Day and night throughout the valley
Sometimes they were too much.
Most were courteous and drove just fine
But some drove far too fast
Sometimes hogging the centre line
And giving us a start.
Kalpower Forest logs were sought
And trucked along our road
Taking them into Gladstone Port
Ready for ships to load.
Logs were sent overseas on boats
For processing afar
Why not in Australia, folks?
We found that just bizarre.
Part of the range road was so blind
A truck you could not see
As you were driving round the bend
You did not want to meet.
If you had a two way radio
You heard the truckies call
They always let each other know
The areas they did haul.
With some rollovers over time
And one poor chap who died
Lost his life on the range decline
Going over the side.
A memorial marks the site
Forever to remind
Of the poor fellow’s final drive
And sadness of the time.
The logging trucks have now stopped
Coming down our road
The forest has been finished logged
They’ve got the mother load.
Gladstone Monto Road
Would you like to come drive with me
On Gladstone Monto Road,
Through the valley hills and plains
With mountains to behold?
We exit the Dawson Highway
South-west of Calliope.
We will enjoy a full day trip
With lots to do and see.
Past the camp-ground at Futter Creek
We go across the dam,
A quick view of Lake Awoonga
Before Boynedale Bush Camp.
We continued to Nagoorin
Passing the lucerne fields,
Where brolgas are seen gathering,
Foraging for their meals.
Soon we arrive at Ubobo
A Soldier Settlement town,
Then to Builyan and Many Peaks
The pub no beer to down.
Past Many Peaks Dam picnic park
We enjoy our travel.
Before too long, the bitumen ends
We are now on gravel.
The cattle grazed contentedly
On the hilly roadside.
Driving around the shadowed bends
A creek at times we spied.
There was no water in the creeks
We have been long in drought,
But when we get substantial rain
Roads flood here with no doubt.
Windmills are standing sentinel
To a past long gone.
Rusty, crumpled sheds retired.
Their service now withdrawn.
In a short time, we reach the range
Approaching the blind bend,
Thankful that a car emerges
Before we do ascend.
We passed by a memorial
With thoughts of a last drive.
A man whose truck went down the side
Sadly, did not survive.
Finally, a large sign you reach
Just by the cattle grid
The North Burnett Region greets you.
Goodbye, ascent you bid.
Now, the countryside opens out
To rolling hills, no plains
Graced by old houses, past their prime
No more to live again.
Past the turnoff to the tunnels,
Going through Kalpower,
Then by the pub at Mungungo
Which still enjoys its hour.
The rolling hills give way to plains,
Where crops of hay are grown.
Now nearing the end of our drive,
We’re soon at Monto town.
A meeting spot for rural folk
A very busy place.
The corner café is full on
Much chatter fills the space.
The Grand Hotel across the road
A facelift it enjoys.
Cattle murals on nearby walls
Share with us their stories.
As we make our way homeward bound
The old butter factory’s
Just off the side road on its own.
Long gone are the dairies.
Would you like to come drive with me
On Gladstone Monto Road,
Through the valley hills and plains
With mountains to behold?
We exit the Dawson Highway
South-west of Calliope.
We will enjoy a full day trip
With lots to do and see.
Past the camp-ground at Futter Creek
We go across the dam,
A quick view of Lake Awoonga
Before Boynedale Bush Camp.
We continued to Nagoorin
Passing the lucerne fields,
Where brolgas are seen gathering,
Foraging for their meals.
Soon we arrive at Ubobo
A Soldier Settlement town,
Then to Builyan and Many Peaks
The pub no beer to down.
Past Many Peaks Dam picnic park
We enjoy our travel.
Before too long, the bitumen ends
We are now on gravel.
The cattle grazed contentedly
On the hilly roadside.
Driving around the shadowed bends
A creek at times we spied.
There was no water in the creeks
We have been long in drought,
But when we get substantial rain
Roads flood here with no doubt.
Windmills are standing sentinel
To a past long gone.
Rusty, crumpled sheds retired.
Their service now withdrawn.
In a short time, we reach the range
Approaching the blind bend,
Thankful that a car emerges
Before we do ascend.
We passed by a memorial
With thoughts of a last drive.
A man whose truck went down the side
Sadly, did not survive.
Finally, a large sign you reach
Just by the cattle grid
The North Burnett Region greets you.
Goodbye, ascent you bid.
Now, the countryside opens out
To rolling hills, no plains
Graced by old houses, past their prime
No more to live again.
Past the turnoff to the tunnels,
Going through Kalpower,
Then by the pub at Mungungo
Which still enjoys its hour.
The rolling hills give way to plains,
Where crops of hay are grown.
Now nearing the end of our drive,
We’re soon at Monto town.
A meeting spot for rural folk
A very busy place.
The corner café is full on
Much chatter fills the space.
The Grand Hotel across the road
A facelift it enjoys.
Cattle murals on nearby walls
Share with us their stories.
As we make our way homeward bound
The old butter factory’s
Just off the side road on its own.
Long gone are the dairies.
Nagoorin to Monto
From Nagoorin, I go by car
On my way to Monto.
I will head out through Ubobo
And further on I’ll go.
Littlemore, Builyan, Many Peaks,
I will keep driving through
Past the Many Peaks Grand Hotel
No longer serving brew.
Soon, I run out of bitumen,
On gravel I must drive.
I wind my way through hilly scrub.
The creeks now all run dry.
Some new, fancy, modern culverts
Scotch thistle by their side
Having nicely tarred approaches
Flood damage to defy.
The cattle graze by the roadside
Looking for greener grass.
Old windmills spinning needlessly,
Retired from their task.
Nearing the blind bend on the range,
A car just then appears.
We both nod, glad to not have met
Where it could end in tears.
Memorial around the curve
Reminds me of the day
A truckie went over the side
A sadness there to stay.
Further on, I reach the summit.
A sign beside the grid,
Welcome to North Burnett it says.
Rolling hills, I’m amid.
Gentle hills, not plains, surround me
As I take in the views
Past the turnoff to the tunnels
Kalpower gone by, too.
Rusty, old tin sheds falling down,
Old houses past their prime
And scattered throughout the landscape
Speak of another time.
There I see the Mungungo pub
Still serving meals with beer.
A popular place to gather
Many old tales to hear.
The hills have given way to plains.
The fields are growing hay.
Closer to my destination,
Monto not far away.
Past the cemeteries I drive.
I notice on my right
An old-time butter factory
No dairies now in sight.
In Monto’s main street, I am parked
A coffee I now seek
A café over from a pub
Is beckoning to me.
Some rural folk are meeting there
Loud chatter fills the space.
The corner café is quite large,
A very busy place.
Coffee finished, outside I go
To wander down the street
Cattle murals I do admire
My visit now complete.
From Nagoorin, I go by car
On my way to Monto.
I will head out through Ubobo
And further on I’ll go.
Littlemore, Builyan, Many Peaks,
I will keep driving through
Past the Many Peaks Grand Hotel
No longer serving brew.
Soon, I run out of bitumen,
On gravel I must drive.
I wind my way through hilly scrub.
The creeks now all run dry.
Some new, fancy, modern culverts
Scotch thistle by their side
Having nicely tarred approaches
Flood damage to defy.
The cattle graze by the roadside
Looking for greener grass.
Old windmills spinning needlessly,
Retired from their task.
Nearing the blind bend on the range,
A car just then appears.
We both nod, glad to not have met
Where it could end in tears.
Memorial around the curve
Reminds me of the day
A truckie went over the side
A sadness there to stay.
Further on, I reach the summit.
A sign beside the grid,
Welcome to North Burnett it says.
Rolling hills, I’m amid.
Gentle hills, not plains, surround me
As I take in the views
Past the turnoff to the tunnels
Kalpower gone by, too.
Rusty, old tin sheds falling down,
Old houses past their prime
And scattered throughout the landscape
Speak of another time.
There I see the Mungungo pub
Still serving meals with beer.
A popular place to gather
Many old tales to hear.
The hills have given way to plains.
The fields are growing hay.
Closer to my destination,
Monto not far away.
Past the cemeteries I drive.
I notice on my right
An old-time butter factory
No dairies now in sight.
In Monto’s main street, I am parked
A coffee I now seek
A café over from a pub
Is beckoning to me.
Some rural folk are meeting there
Loud chatter fills the space.
The corner café is quite large,
A very busy place.
Coffee finished, outside I go
To wander down the street
Cattle murals I do admire
My visit now complete.
Dawes Range Historic Tunnels
Together, let’s head out for a walk
To see the scenery
We will relax while we talk
As we stroll leisurely.
A camera we will carry
To capture our best shot
We will not need to hurry
Let’s hope it’s not too hot.
There is much talk about tunnels
Might be good to explore
We shouldn’t find it too much trouble
Let’s go and find out more.
We drive to Barrimoon Siding
Not far from Kalpower
Green bikes mark the start for hiking
Might be back by happy hour.
How far the tunnels were away
The signs did not tell us
Sunset in less than half a day
Was something to discuss.
Setting off along the rail trail
Hoping not very far
As we looked across hill and dale
Wondering where they are.
About a kilometre or so
Was the first tunnel
And as comfortable hiking goes
It wasn’t a struggle.
Hogback sleepers in the tunnel
With existing iron rail
Surrounded by lots of rubble
Having no torch was a fail.
Bit tricky to negotiate
The stones along the sides
We needed to beware our gait
Without a light to guide.
The next tunnel’s clearly in sight
While stumbling through the first
Toward the welcome light
Then tunnel one traversed.
The track through tunnel two is smooth
With no sleepers or rail
A better walk to tell the truth
Though dark like in a whale.
Next awaiting us is tunnel three
A smooth and shorter one
No torch needed to see our feet
We could almost run.
Three tunnels conquered were enough
We turned and went back through
Remembering tunnel one is rough
Care, not to trip, we knew.
We both enjoyed our pleasant walk
Through the historic tunnels
Photographs taken and much talk
Of building with shovels.
Thanks to all the hours of hard work
Giving the tunnels new life
By the men and women of BBIRT
Their stamina we admire.
Together, let’s head out for a walk
To see the scenery
We will relax while we talk
As we stroll leisurely.
A camera we will carry
To capture our best shot
We will not need to hurry
Let’s hope it’s not too hot.
There is much talk about tunnels
Might be good to explore
We shouldn’t find it too much trouble
Let’s go and find out more.
We drive to Barrimoon Siding
Not far from Kalpower
Green bikes mark the start for hiking
Might be back by happy hour.
How far the tunnels were away
The signs did not tell us
Sunset in less than half a day
Was something to discuss.
Setting off along the rail trail
Hoping not very far
As we looked across hill and dale
Wondering where they are.
About a kilometre or so
Was the first tunnel
And as comfortable hiking goes
It wasn’t a struggle.
Hogback sleepers in the tunnel
With existing iron rail
Surrounded by lots of rubble
Having no torch was a fail.
Bit tricky to negotiate
The stones along the sides
We needed to beware our gait
Without a light to guide.
The next tunnel’s clearly in sight
While stumbling through the first
Toward the welcome light
Then tunnel one traversed.
The track through tunnel two is smooth
With no sleepers or rail
A better walk to tell the truth
Though dark like in a whale.
Next awaiting us is tunnel three
A smooth and shorter one
No torch needed to see our feet
We could almost run.
Three tunnels conquered were enough
We turned and went back through
Remembering tunnel one is rough
Care, not to trip, we knew.
We both enjoyed our pleasant walk
Through the historic tunnels
Photographs taken and much talk
Of building with shovels.
Thanks to all the hours of hard work
Giving the tunnels new life
By the men and women of BBIRT
Their stamina we admire.
Monto Cemeteries
Today, I visited Monto
Books dropped off for audit.
After I enjoyed my coffee
Old graves sites I sought out.
First, Cemetery Number Two
I went to look about.
I am intrigued by names of people
Coming from nearby routes.
Most of their names I did not know,
None were from my family.
If, to me some were related,
Who Knows? Yes, possibly.
On leaving, I spied some markers,
Very interesting.
Outside the gates they came in view.
Emotions they did bring.
Around the edges of the verge
Were a series of plaques,
With names of men who died at war.
Remember them we ask.
Thirty-seven from World War Two,
Then two from Vietnam,
One lone soldier from Korea,
And one without a name.
Then Cemetery Number One
I went to see some more.
Going back to nineteen twenties,
No sites there from before.
I soon stopped looking at the names.
Something else caught my eye,
From the early nineteen forties.
I felt like I could cry.
There were many children’s grave sites,
From forty-one to three.
Terrible sadness to be borne
By loving families.
Again, early nineteen fifties,
From fifty-one to four,
Far too many children had died.
Really could take no more.
In such a small cemetery,
I did not want to stay,
To see the number of children
Who sadly passed away.
Many tears welled up in my eyes,
As I walked out the gate,
And then retreated to my car,
Still pondering their fate.
Today, I visited Monto
Books dropped off for audit.
After I enjoyed my coffee
Old graves sites I sought out.
First, Cemetery Number Two
I went to look about.
I am intrigued by names of people
Coming from nearby routes.
Most of their names I did not know,
None were from my family.
If, to me some were related,
Who Knows? Yes, possibly.
On leaving, I spied some markers,
Very interesting.
Outside the gates they came in view.
Emotions they did bring.
Around the edges of the verge
Were a series of plaques,
With names of men who died at war.
Remember them we ask.
Thirty-seven from World War Two,
Then two from Vietnam,
One lone soldier from Korea,
And one without a name.
Then Cemetery Number One
I went to see some more.
Going back to nineteen twenties,
No sites there from before.
I soon stopped looking at the names.
Something else caught my eye,
From the early nineteen forties.
I felt like I could cry.
There were many children’s grave sites,
From forty-one to three.
Terrible sadness to be borne
By loving families.
Again, early nineteen fifties,
From fifty-one to four,
Far too many children had died.
Really could take no more.
In such a small cemetery,
I did not want to stay,
To see the number of children
Who sadly passed away.
Many tears welled up in my eyes,
As I walked out the gate,
And then retreated to my car,
Still pondering their fate.
Old School Friends
Our elder years approaching fast,
As through time we look back.
Did you say it was fifty years
Since from school we set track?
We spent so much time together
For our education.
We studied, we played and we laughed
Toward graduation.
Sometimes we drove our teachers mad.
Sometimes we made them proud.
We were once lively teenagers,
So brash and bold and loud.
We were friends who helped each other,
When we felt there was need.
If the learning became too hard,
Someone would take a lead.
Now my friends together again,
We will relive the fun,
With the stories that we will tell,
Some tales to be unspun.
We will also share our journeys,
All of our lives since then,
Arriving to where we are now,
Older men and women.
Did we achieve what we wanted
To make our lives complete?
Did we suffer grief and sorrow?
Things we had to defeat.
Sadly, we are not all present.
Some have now departed.
Their life we hope was full of joy,
On the course they charted
Our elder years approaching fast,
As through time we look back.
Did you say it was fifty years
Since from school we set track?
We spent so much time together
For our education.
We studied, we played and we laughed
Toward graduation.
Sometimes we drove our teachers mad.
Sometimes we made them proud.
We were once lively teenagers,
So brash and bold and loud.
We were friends who helped each other,
When we felt there was need.
If the learning became too hard,
Someone would take a lead.
Now my friends together again,
We will relive the fun,
With the stories that we will tell,
Some tales to be unspun.
We will also share our journeys,
All of our lives since then,
Arriving to where we are now,
Older men and women.
Did we achieve what we wanted
To make our lives complete?
Did we suffer grief and sorrow?
Things we had to defeat.
Sadly, we are not all present.
Some have now departed.
Their life we hope was full of joy,
On the course they charted
Tap Leaking in the Night
Already having gone to bed
The water pump I heard
Swearing, when from my bed I stepped
Not really in the mood.
A tap left on I had to find
Such a bloody nuisance
With only deep sleep on our mind
Such things don’t amuse us.
No drips were found within the house
Outside I’d have to go
A bit further I would have to browse
Looking for drips to show.
Remembering a sprinkler used
Out front in the garden
I grabbed the closest pair of shoes
Some thongs, not Doc Martins.
Now, not far outside our front door
A security light
Hardly ever works anymore
And it was now midnight.
As I reached the tap to turn it
On came that bloody light
Bending over there stark naked
Was not a pretty sight.
If I had mooned my poor neighbours
I do not want to know
Back through the welcoming front door
I was quite quick to go.
Already having gone to bed
The water pump I heard
Swearing, when from my bed I stepped
Not really in the mood.
A tap left on I had to find
Such a bloody nuisance
With only deep sleep on our mind
Such things don’t amuse us.
No drips were found within the house
Outside I’d have to go
A bit further I would have to browse
Looking for drips to show.
Remembering a sprinkler used
Out front in the garden
I grabbed the closest pair of shoes
Some thongs, not Doc Martins.
Now, not far outside our front door
A security light
Hardly ever works anymore
And it was now midnight.
As I reached the tap to turn it
On came that bloody light
Bending over there stark naked
Was not a pretty sight.
If I had mooned my poor neighbours
I do not want to know
Back through the welcoming front door
I was quite quick to go.
Bloody Poetry
My head is full of poetry
Ballads to be precise
What the hell has happened to me
To suffer this demise.
In the space of my head they roamed
They were never written down
Many, many, different poems
Just going round and round.
Now, I’m scribbling random verses
All through the day and night
Who on me has put their curses
It surely is a blight.
My passion is visual arts
Not writing bloody poems
Drawing and painting is my part
I post them to my phone.
Who is it screwing with my mind
To make me waste my time
For new special words to find
To make a rhyming line.
Most poems before stayed in my head
On paper not to exist
Now even when I relax in bed
I scribble what comes next.
My brain the words it turns and churns
Until I write them down
In my day a big hole it burns
I don’t have time for nouns.
Stopping to interrupt the flow
To scribble onto paper
Where do some of those damn words go
To be looked for later.
Wish my laptop could read my mind
As words come when I rest
No pencil and paper to find
When words are flowing best.
Please save me from this dilemma
I don’t know what to do
For when my words I remember
I can share them with you.
My head is full of poetry
Ballads to be precise
What the hell has happened to me
To suffer this demise.
In the space of my head they roamed
They were never written down
Many, many, different poems
Just going round and round.
Now, I’m scribbling random verses
All through the day and night
Who on me has put their curses
It surely is a blight.
My passion is visual arts
Not writing bloody poems
Drawing and painting is my part
I post them to my phone.
Who is it screwing with my mind
To make me waste my time
For new special words to find
To make a rhyming line.
Most poems before stayed in my head
On paper not to exist
Now even when I relax in bed
I scribble what comes next.
My brain the words it turns and churns
Until I write them down
In my day a big hole it burns
I don’t have time for nouns.
Stopping to interrupt the flow
To scribble onto paper
Where do some of those damn words go
To be looked for later.
Wish my laptop could read my mind
As words come when I rest
No pencil and paper to find
When words are flowing best.
Please save me from this dilemma
I don’t know what to do
For when my words I remember
I can share them with you.
Computers
Sitting here staring at my screen
Many shortcut icons
Floating on a blue water scene
It’s Word that I click on.
Poetry is coming to me
Of a different time
And a future we did not see
When from our cots we climbed.
With no modern technology
Distracting us from play
Our life was full of quality
We just enjoyed our day.
We would spend our day exploring
In our nearby terrain
Our day was not ever boring
Much knowledge we did gain.
We had toys and bikes to play with
And puzzle games to solve
Making our own fun was pure bliss
Playing pretend with dolls.
We grew and off to school we went.
Now little did we know
That changing times were evident
Past ways we would forgo.
In the background hidden away
Were some clever people
Working throughout the night and day
On a tech upheaval.
Computers being developed
Huge things that filled a room
By these info science zealots
Their time it did consume.
Most people could not understand
How these danged things would work.
Before too long throughout the land
They sat on desks of clerks.
Now sitting looking at my screen
Thinking of children today
For whom computers are routine
They now take place of play.
Sitting here staring at my screen
Many shortcut icons
Floating on a blue water scene
It’s Word that I click on.
Poetry is coming to me
Of a different time
And a future we did not see
When from our cots we climbed.
With no modern technology
Distracting us from play
Our life was full of quality
We just enjoyed our day.
We would spend our day exploring
In our nearby terrain
Our day was not ever boring
Much knowledge we did gain.
We had toys and bikes to play with
And puzzle games to solve
Making our own fun was pure bliss
Playing pretend with dolls.
We grew and off to school we went.
Now little did we know
That changing times were evident
Past ways we would forgo.
In the background hidden away
Were some clever people
Working throughout the night and day
On a tech upheaval.
Computers being developed
Huge things that filled a room
By these info science zealots
Their time it did consume.
Most people could not understand
How these danged things would work.
Before too long throughout the land
They sat on desks of clerks.
Now sitting looking at my screen
Thinking of children today
For whom computers are routine
They now take place of play.
The Blue Mirror
Sitting in an art gallery
Drinking superb coffee
With a piece of delicious cake
In a lounge so comfy.
There is artwork all around us
On walls, benches and floor.
Great talent is being displayed
As you come through the door.
There is peaceful music playing
You’re instantly relaxed
As in your lounge chair you sit back
Your mind no longer taxed.
With nothing else to disturb you
You gaze around the room
At the many precious art works
With coffee on till noon.
I speak of The Blue Mirror.
You must come take a look.
Tom and Helen and lovely staff
And yummy cake they cook.
Sitting in an art gallery
Drinking superb coffee
With a piece of delicious cake
In a lounge so comfy.
There is artwork all around us
On walls, benches and floor.
Great talent is being displayed
As you come through the door.
There is peaceful music playing
You’re instantly relaxed
As in your lounge chair you sit back
Your mind no longer taxed.
With nothing else to disturb you
You gaze around the room
At the many precious art works
With coffee on till noon.
I speak of The Blue Mirror.
You must come take a look.
Tom and Helen and lovely staff
And yummy cake they cook.
Ancestors
Though we may have found our own way
From other guiding stars
Many ancestors shaped our lives
They made us who we are.
Our genetics, our DNA
From our ancestors past
Influence many of our traits
A long shadow they cast.
We are we because they were they
In our eyes we see them
Our skin, our hair, our shape, our face
There are glimpses again.
Could we be our own ancestors
Mixed into one being?
A bit from here, a bit from there
We just keep on giving.
Do we still hold our beginnings
From start of life on Earth?
Little traces of DNA
Millions of years from birth.
Through a millennia we came
Generations rolled by
Mixing and matching many traits
Mutations not denied.
Our lives may now be different
Our knowledge more advanced
Though our mirror shows the changes
Ancestors we still glance.
Though we may have found our own way
From other guiding stars
Many ancestors shaped our lives
They made us who we are.
Our genetics, our DNA
From our ancestors past
Influence many of our traits
A long shadow they cast.
We are we because they were they
In our eyes we see them
Our skin, our hair, our shape, our face
There are glimpses again.
Could we be our own ancestors
Mixed into one being?
A bit from here, a bit from there
We just keep on giving.
Do we still hold our beginnings
From start of life on Earth?
Little traces of DNA
Millions of years from birth.
Through a millennia we came
Generations rolled by
Mixing and matching many traits
Mutations not denied.
Our lives may now be different
Our knowledge more advanced
Though our mirror shows the changes
Ancestors we still glance.
Rain
Lying down in the caravan
Listening to the rain
Watching rain drops on the window
Such lovely rain again.
After many long years of drought
When grass was dead and brown
And everything looked hopeless
Now there’s green all around.
The humidity I don’t like
Though rain is most welcome
Will we see the river in flood
Confining us to home?
Once Awoonga Dam overflows
Rivers and creeks can rise
Cutting roads for several days
Damaging what underlies.
As long as our pantries are full
And our gennies have fuel
We’re okay til roads re-open
Kids might not go to school.
But at the moment we’re not home
Camping at a rellies
No great concern that roads will flood
Have food for full bellies.
Awoonga Dam is not yet full
We will still get back home
And if creeks and gullies run high
They will quickly go down.
So I’ll just lie back and enjoy
Gentle pitter patter
Of the rain on the caravan
Watching steers get fatter.
The heavy rain has gone for now
And so has the thunder
The air-con expels the moist heat
Relaxed my mind wanders.
In comfort I enjoy the rain
No-one here to disturb
My quiet thinking processes
Set free without reserve.
Lying down in the caravan
Listening to the rain
Watching rain drops on the window
Such lovely rain again.
After many long years of drought
When grass was dead and brown
And everything looked hopeless
Now there’s green all around.
The humidity I don’t like
Though rain is most welcome
Will we see the river in flood
Confining us to home?
Once Awoonga Dam overflows
Rivers and creeks can rise
Cutting roads for several days
Damaging what underlies.
As long as our pantries are full
And our gennies have fuel
We’re okay til roads re-open
Kids might not go to school.
But at the moment we’re not home
Camping at a rellies
No great concern that roads will flood
Have food for full bellies.
Awoonga Dam is not yet full
We will still get back home
And if creeks and gullies run high
They will quickly go down.
So I’ll just lie back and enjoy
Gentle pitter patter
Of the rain on the caravan
Watching steers get fatter.
The heavy rain has gone for now
And so has the thunder
The air-con expels the moist heat
Relaxed my mind wanders.
In comfort I enjoy the rain
No-one here to disturb
My quiet thinking processes
Set free without reserve.
The Dunny
Going back in time to my youth
In distant memories
Some things I am glad have now gone
The old outback dunnies.
Those of you who grew up back then
Will probably agree
There were often some surprises
When you went for a pee.
Night visits could fill you with dread
You need a torch to see.
Even more horrors were waiting
For those who sat to pee.
Let me share with you a story
Of the outback dunny.
The earth closet down the back yard
That smelled rather yucky.
After dark I decide to go
The torch is forgotten.
Was that a snake under my foot?
Just a hose I trod on.
Then I’m given a sudden fright.
A toad jumps on my foot.
What else could there be in my path?
And an owl goes “Hoot! Hoot!”
Finally, I step through the door
Straight in a spider web.
My arms flail automatically.
A spider on my head.
Spider now gone, I take a breath
As I’m closing the door.
Bloody hell! A humungus moth
Gives me a fright once more.
Breathe! Just breathe! You are nearly there.
Now gently take a seat.
Something wet and cold squawks loudly.
A bloody frog I meet.
Okay let’s try again to sit.
I’ve had enough of this.
Almost about to wet myself
I really need to piss.
Another surprise awaits me.
Slimy stuff my bum meets.
Oh no! No! The can is overfull.
Shocked, I pee on the seat.
Going back in time to my youth
In distant memories
Some things I am glad have now gone
The old outback dunnies.
Those of you who grew up back then
Will probably agree
There were often some surprises
When you went for a pee.
Night visits could fill you with dread
You need a torch to see.
Even more horrors were waiting
For those who sat to pee.
Let me share with you a story
Of the outback dunny.
The earth closet down the back yard
That smelled rather yucky.
After dark I decide to go
The torch is forgotten.
Was that a snake under my foot?
Just a hose I trod on.
Then I’m given a sudden fright.
A toad jumps on my foot.
What else could there be in my path?
And an owl goes “Hoot! Hoot!”
Finally, I step through the door
Straight in a spider web.
My arms flail automatically.
A spider on my head.
Spider now gone, I take a breath
As I’m closing the door.
Bloody hell! A humungus moth
Gives me a fright once more.
Breathe! Just breathe! You are nearly there.
Now gently take a seat.
Something wet and cold squawks loudly.
A bloody frog I meet.
Okay let’s try again to sit.
I’ve had enough of this.
Almost about to wet myself
I really need to piss.
Another surprise awaits me.
Slimy stuff my bum meets.
Oh no! No! The can is overfull.
Shocked, I pee on the seat.
Dentist
Today to the dentist I go
Not my favourite place
Childhood memories still haunt me
Difficult to erase
So much pain without a needle
Just a little decay
Not too deep to drill, clean and fill
The damn dentist would say
Well, that is your opinion
Listen when I tell you
That’s a nerve you are hitting there
You take me for a fool
Just sit still a little longer
I am just about there
Aaargh, holy shit that bloody hurts
Nearly jumped out the chair
Open your mouth is the demand
No, I am begging you
Please do not go any further
The pain must be subdued
Okay, now that you’ve asked for it
Said in menacing tone
Dentist grabs a massive needle
And rams it into bone
With barely time to take effect
The drilling starts again
Filled and done now go pay the bill
Next time do not complain
Today to the dentist I go
Not my favourite place
Childhood memories still haunt me
Difficult to erase
So much pain without a needle
Just a little decay
Not too deep to drill, clean and fill
The damn dentist would say
Well, that is your opinion
Listen when I tell you
That’s a nerve you are hitting there
You take me for a fool
Just sit still a little longer
I am just about there
Aaargh, holy shit that bloody hurts
Nearly jumped out the chair
Open your mouth is the demand
No, I am begging you
Please do not go any further
The pain must be subdued
Okay, now that you’ve asked for it
Said in menacing tone
Dentist grabs a massive needle
And rams it into bone
With barely time to take effect
The drilling starts again
Filled and done now go pay the bill
Next time do not complain
Mice
Be careful where I step at home
To not step on a skink
On the walls many geckos crawl
Unlike mice they don’t stink
Plague of mice descended on us
End of summer twenty two
In the paddocks and in our homes
Everything they chew
They poo and pee everywhere
And make a bloody mess
Nesting behind the furniture
Nothing but flaming pests
They are cheeky little bastards
Scurrying in plain sight
Way too fast for us to catch them
Some people get a fright
In our house we do not have pets
So laid out many baits
Dead mice we bag and put in bin
Those found in open space
Some die behind the furniture
Creating an awful stench
The bloody little mongrel things
Certainly not my friends
Be careful where I step at home
To not step on a skink
On the walls many geckos crawl
Unlike mice they don’t stink
Plague of mice descended on us
End of summer twenty two
In the paddocks and in our homes
Everything they chew
They poo and pee everywhere
And make a bloody mess
Nesting behind the furniture
Nothing but flaming pests
They are cheeky little bastards
Scurrying in plain sight
Way too fast for us to catch them
Some people get a fright
In our house we do not have pets
So laid out many baits
Dead mice we bag and put in bin
Those found in open space
Some die behind the furniture
Creating an awful stench
The bloody little mongrel things
Certainly not my friends
Paper Cut
I was being really careful
While sorting paper sheets
I did not want to mix them up
I needed them complete.
Ffff’asterisk’ing paper cut
That made my finger bleed
All over the fresh white paper
On which I typed my creed.
Now, I’m really, very cranky
And bloody, pooping peeved.
Have to start all over again
With nice clean paper sheets.
I was being really careful
While sorting paper sheets
I did not want to mix them up
I needed them complete.
Ffff’asterisk’ing paper cut
That made my finger bleed
All over the fresh white paper
On which I typed my creed.
Now, I’m really, very cranky
And bloody, pooping peeved.
Have to start all over again
With nice clean paper sheets.
Ruddy Printers
That big print job I need to do
Is calling out to me
I’ll get it done out of the way
Then have a cup of tea.
With document ready to print
The printer waits its turn
I set up the print instructions
Then go turn on the urn.
Clicking, clanking then a loud beep
Printer’s out of paper
Paper’s filled and restart is pressed
I’ll check on it later.
Back to making a cup of tea.
The urn’s boiling ready.
A slice of cake would go down nice.
I’ll sit somewhere airy.
No noise coming from the printer.
Why has the printing stopped?
There on the screen is the answer.
Out of yellow ink I spot.
I look to find a replacement.
Yes, I have another.
Surely now I can go relax
Without further bother.
As I enjoy my tea and cake
And let my mind wander
I am disturbed by a strange noise.
What could be the matter?
“Paper jam” says my printer.
Now I’m getting cranky.
I wish the printer would behave.
Stop its hanky panky.
With the printing now recommenced
Back to my tea and cake
My half cup of tea is now cold
And cake is hard as slate.
I’ll just have a drink of water
And dream of yummy stuff.
Maybe a glass of wine later
Will make up for the rough.
Is the paper ready to turn
To print the other side?
I shall go and check the progress
So I don’t get behind.
Yes, it is ready to be flipped
And off it goes again.
Then another ink change called for.
This time it is cyan.
Won’t be long and it will be done
Ready for collating
Then when it’s stapled together
The day will be fading.
The last page about to come through
And out of ink it says.
This time it is the matt black ink.
There’s no more. I despair.
I force it to use the last drop.
Yes, the page prints okay.
No more ink but prining is done.
That is it for today.
I retrieve the pile of printing
Separating bundles.
First batch with cover and staples
Then realise a blunder.
Turning to print the other side
I flipped the sheets around
And stuffed it up completely
And printed upside down.
So, now I have to start again
When I buy more black ink.
Ah! Now where’s that bottle of wine
I really need a drink.
That big print job I need to do
Is calling out to me
I’ll get it done out of the way
Then have a cup of tea.
With document ready to print
The printer waits its turn
I set up the print instructions
Then go turn on the urn.
Clicking, clanking then a loud beep
Printer’s out of paper
Paper’s filled and restart is pressed
I’ll check on it later.
Back to making a cup of tea.
The urn’s boiling ready.
A slice of cake would go down nice.
I’ll sit somewhere airy.
No noise coming from the printer.
Why has the printing stopped?
There on the screen is the answer.
Out of yellow ink I spot.
I look to find a replacement.
Yes, I have another.
Surely now I can go relax
Without further bother.
As I enjoy my tea and cake
And let my mind wander
I am disturbed by a strange noise.
What could be the matter?
“Paper jam” says my printer.
Now I’m getting cranky.
I wish the printer would behave.
Stop its hanky panky.
With the printing now recommenced
Back to my tea and cake
My half cup of tea is now cold
And cake is hard as slate.
I’ll just have a drink of water
And dream of yummy stuff.
Maybe a glass of wine later
Will make up for the rough.
Is the paper ready to turn
To print the other side?
I shall go and check the progress
So I don’t get behind.
Yes, it is ready to be flipped
And off it goes again.
Then another ink change called for.
This time it is cyan.
Won’t be long and it will be done
Ready for collating
Then when it’s stapled together
The day will be fading.
The last page about to come through
And out of ink it says.
This time it is the matt black ink.
There’s no more. I despair.
I force it to use the last drop.
Yes, the page prints okay.
No more ink but prining is done.
That is it for today.
I retrieve the pile of printing
Separating bundles.
First batch with cover and staples
Then realise a blunder.
Turning to print the other side
I flipped the sheets around
And stuffed it up completely
And printed upside down.
So, now I have to start again
When I buy more black ink.
Ah! Now where’s that bottle of wine
I really need a drink.
The Dreaded Colonoscopy
Please make doctor’s appointment.
We have your test results.
Can you come into the clinic
For a doctor’s consult?
I am now worried I’ll admit.
A test is back for me.
Ahhh, that one where they test your shit.
Something’s not right you see.
I arrive and wait for my turn.
Maybe it’s only piles
And nothing to create concern
Nor really cramp my style.
A colonoscopy I heard
My doctor say to me.
It’s best to check he reassured
We’ll just have a look see.
Probably just my haemorrhoids
I was quick to express.
But we need to investigate.
Doc tells me not to guess.
Please present at day surgery.
Here is your script for prep.
The nurse will give you instructions.
Please follow them in depth.
Three days before, you start your prep.
Limit your food to these.
The day before, commence just fluids
Keeping to the list, please.
Later that day take the first prep
To start cleaning you out.
Three hours later take the next batch.
Your toilet you will mount.
Please try to get a good night’s sleep.
In the early morning
You need to drink the final brew.
The loo you’ll be warming.
Then make your way to surgery
Where they’ll get you ready.
You’re not alone, there’ll be others
For colonoscopy.
You won’t remember what happens
When they probe with the scope.
Don’t go feeling all embarrassed
They check out lots of folk.
When you wake and get dressed again
They’ll bring you drink and food
Then someone can take you back home.
Don’t drive yourself, now dude.
But I don’t have someone to drive.
Then overnight you’ll stay
Cos you can’t get behind the wheel
Until later next day.
Can I go back to my motel
And get my car next day?
Not unless someone is with you
For overnight to stay.
I stayed in hospital that night
And had a lovely meal.
They watched over me ‘til morning
When I was free to leave.
Please make doctor’s appointment.
We have your test results.
Can you come into the clinic
For a doctor’s consult?
I am now worried I’ll admit.
A test is back for me.
Ahhh, that one where they test your shit.
Something’s not right you see.
I arrive and wait for my turn.
Maybe it’s only piles
And nothing to create concern
Nor really cramp my style.
A colonoscopy I heard
My doctor say to me.
It’s best to check he reassured
We’ll just have a look see.
Probably just my haemorrhoids
I was quick to express.
But we need to investigate.
Doc tells me not to guess.
Please present at day surgery.
Here is your script for prep.
The nurse will give you instructions.
Please follow them in depth.
Three days before, you start your prep.
Limit your food to these.
The day before, commence just fluids
Keeping to the list, please.
Later that day take the first prep
To start cleaning you out.
Three hours later take the next batch.
Your toilet you will mount.
Please try to get a good night’s sleep.
In the early morning
You need to drink the final brew.
The loo you’ll be warming.
Then make your way to surgery
Where they’ll get you ready.
You’re not alone, there’ll be others
For colonoscopy.
You won’t remember what happens
When they probe with the scope.
Don’t go feeling all embarrassed
They check out lots of folk.
When you wake and get dressed again
They’ll bring you drink and food
Then someone can take you back home.
Don’t drive yourself, now dude.
But I don’t have someone to drive.
Then overnight you’ll stay
Cos you can’t get behind the wheel
Until later next day.
Can I go back to my motel
And get my car next day?
Not unless someone is with you
For overnight to stay.
I stayed in hospital that night
And had a lovely meal.
They watched over me ‘til morning
When I was free to leave.
COVID
One fine day in mid July
Covid came to visit.
My husband brought it home from work
After becoming sick.
The result came back positive
When checked with a RAT.
“Stay away from me,” I said
“You need to isolate.”
“Who have you hugged and kissed?” I asked
“You’ve caught it from someone.”
“Your employees all better test.”
“They may need to stay home.”
Well, he complained as some men do,
“I need to go to work.”
“I’m sorry there’s no work for you
Seven days at home to lurk.”
He ached and coughed and sneezed and slept.
The first day passed on by.
Next day the aching subsided.
Fatigue was on the rise.
As he started to feel better
He begged to go to work.
“Seven days of isolation
For other’s health don’t shirk.”
Keeping him at distance from me
Was proving hard to do.
Four days for me to become ill.
My turn for Sars Cov 2.
Thankfully, the infection’s mild.
Hayfever with asthma
Is my level of suffering
Plus lethargy so far.
Minor dizziness comes and goes
From inflamed ear canals.
Otherwise not feeling too bad.
Vaxes saved us from hell.
One fine day in mid July
Covid came to visit.
My husband brought it home from work
After becoming sick.
The result came back positive
When checked with a RAT.
“Stay away from me,” I said
“You need to isolate.”
“Who have you hugged and kissed?” I asked
“You’ve caught it from someone.”
“Your employees all better test.”
“They may need to stay home.”
Well, he complained as some men do,
“I need to go to work.”
“I’m sorry there’s no work for you
Seven days at home to lurk.”
He ached and coughed and sneezed and slept.
The first day passed on by.
Next day the aching subsided.
Fatigue was on the rise.
As he started to feel better
He begged to go to work.
“Seven days of isolation
For other’s health don’t shirk.”
Keeping him at distance from me
Was proving hard to do.
Four days for me to become ill.
My turn for Sars Cov 2.
Thankfully, the infection’s mild.
Hayfever with asthma
Is my level of suffering
Plus lethargy so far.
Minor dizziness comes and goes
From inflamed ear canals.
Otherwise not feeling too bad.
Vaxes saved us from hell.
Our DNA
You, yes you sitting over there
This stuff called DNA
Which you received from your mother
And from Dad with his name.
Of course, Your grandies were involved
And their grandparents, too.
How much have you thought about It?
Have you thought it right through?
Now, if I should mention pussies
Along with bananas
You might think I am being crude
Devoid of good manners.
But what about a zebrafish
Cabbage or honey bee
Even the lovely daffodil
Possibly even fleas?
Yes, they share our DNA, too.
Not one hundred percent
But enough to get us thinking
What could be its effect?
Are you slippery like an eel
Or are you just a pig?
Maybe you are a big chicken
Or, wow, a sexy chick.
Memory of an elephant?
How about eagle-eyed?
Of course, you may be barking mad.
Sly fox! Now that’s unkind.
Ahhh! Stop squawking like a parrot
You’re not a rare diamond.
Those flies you keep swatting away
You share a common bond.
We think in this world we’re unique
But no, that is not so.
All living plants and animals
Share common DNA.
You, yes you sitting over there
This stuff called DNA
Which you received from your mother
And from Dad with his name.
Of course, Your grandies were involved
And their grandparents, too.
How much have you thought about It?
Have you thought it right through?
Now, if I should mention pussies
Along with bananas
You might think I am being crude
Devoid of good manners.
But what about a zebrafish
Cabbage or honey bee
Even the lovely daffodil
Possibly even fleas?
Yes, they share our DNA, too.
Not one hundred percent
But enough to get us thinking
What could be its effect?
Are you slippery like an eel
Or are you just a pig?
Maybe you are a big chicken
Or, wow, a sexy chick.
Memory of an elephant?
How about eagle-eyed?
Of course, you may be barking mad.
Sly fox! Now that’s unkind.
Ahhh! Stop squawking like a parrot
You’re not a rare diamond.
Those flies you keep swatting away
You share a common bond.
We think in this world we’re unique
But no, that is not so.
All living plants and animals
Share common DNA.
Past Present Future
One hundred years from now
I will be long gone
My great great grandkids
Will be getting old
How life will be
I do not know
I hope that it is good
That for them we surely owe.
Whatever the future brings
They will look back at the past
And wonder how we lived
Was life really hard?
Just as we read stories
About our forebears
They will read about us
And imagine being there.
We look at old photos
Of ancestors past
Clothes so very different
Hairdos that didn’t last
Is that how they will see us
When gazing on our portraits?
Our clothes and hair intriguing
And fashions so out of date.
We visit museums
To look at artifacts
Appliances and tools
And imagine life far back.
These to make life easy
Still seemed to be hard work
Compared to modern technology
To which we resort.
One hundred years in the future
Tools and technology
Not yet visualized
Will probably exist.
The tools and tech from our time
Will be in their museums.
Maybe in physical form
Or just digital impressions.
Our life right now
We do our way
Our many ancestors
Did the same
The future generations
Will be no different
Their life their time
Will be their own.
One hundred years from now
I will be long gone
My great great grandkids
Will be getting old
How life will be
I do not know
I hope that it is good
That for them we surely owe.
Whatever the future brings
They will look back at the past
And wonder how we lived
Was life really hard?
Just as we read stories
About our forebears
They will read about us
And imagine being there.
We look at old photos
Of ancestors past
Clothes so very different
Hairdos that didn’t last
Is that how they will see us
When gazing on our portraits?
Our clothes and hair intriguing
And fashions so out of date.
We visit museums
To look at artifacts
Appliances and tools
And imagine life far back.
These to make life easy
Still seemed to be hard work
Compared to modern technology
To which we resort.
One hundred years in the future
Tools and technology
Not yet visualized
Will probably exist.
The tools and tech from our time
Will be in their museums.
Maybe in physical form
Or just digital impressions.
Our life right now
We do our way
Our many ancestors
Did the same
The future generations
Will be no different
Their life their time
Will be their own.
Some friends have a band called the Dropbears. As I was driving home from town one day I had a poem come to me about their band. This poem comes complete with a chorus.
The Drop Bears
Hey! Hey! We’re the Monkees!
Oh no! We’re bloody not!
We are the almighty Drop Bears.
No manufactured pop.
Don’t do opera or hip hop.
Mozart’s another time.
We play sixties to nineties rock.
Our music is sublime.
We’ll play our music all night long
And you can sing and dance
With a refreshment here and there
To lubricate our chants.
Hey! Hey! We’re the Monkees.
Oh no! We’re bloody not!
We are the almighty Drop Bears.
No manufactured pop.
Sometimes we might forget our words
We’re not all young like you.
We’ll find them hiding in our mind
And then we’ll stumble through.
Ask us to play your favourite.
We will try to oblige
As long as someone knows the tune
And the words we can find.
Hey! Hey! We’re the Monkees!
Oh no! We’re bloody not!
We are the almighty Drop Bears
No manufactured pop.
With drums, guitars plus our voices
And there is a keyboard too
We will transport you back in time
Your vigour we’ll renew.
We want you all to have some fun
Because we surely will
Music holds our lives together
Until our time stands still.
Hey! Hey! We’re the Monkees!
Oh no! We’re bloody not!
We are the almighty Drop Bears.
No manufactured pop.
Hey! Hey! We’re the Monkees!
Oh no! We’re bloody not!
We are the almighty Drop Bears.
No manufactured pop.
Don’t do opera or hip hop.
Mozart’s another time.
We play sixties to nineties rock.
Our music is sublime.
We’ll play our music all night long
And you can sing and dance
With a refreshment here and there
To lubricate our chants.
Hey! Hey! We’re the Monkees.
Oh no! We’re bloody not!
We are the almighty Drop Bears.
No manufactured pop.
Sometimes we might forget our words
We’re not all young like you.
We’ll find them hiding in our mind
And then we’ll stumble through.
Ask us to play your favourite.
We will try to oblige
As long as someone knows the tune
And the words we can find.
Hey! Hey! We’re the Monkees!
Oh no! We’re bloody not!
We are the almighty Drop Bears
No manufactured pop.
With drums, guitars plus our voices
And there is a keyboard too
We will transport you back in time
Your vigour we’ll renew.
We want you all to have some fun
Because we surely will
Music holds our lives together
Until our time stands still.
Hey! Hey! We’re the Monkees!
Oh no! We’re bloody not!
We are the almighty Drop Bears.
No manufactured pop.
These are some poems I wrote after the death of my first husband, Herb. Herb died from a heart attack in 2007. I wrote the poems in from 2007 to 2009. Yes, they are very personal and I have never shared until now. Despite a few issues addressed in the poems, I loved him very much.
The last Goodbye
It’s been awhile since we kissed each other
And said see you later, take care.
We didn’t know it would be the last time.
That fate would intervene
Taking you from me forever more.
Never to speak to you again.
Never to hear your voice say I love you.
No more cuddles or held hands.
Just my final goodbye tearfully said
As I kissed you on the cheek.
The Future
The future once so carefully planned
Has suddenly been destroyed.
My future was so cruelly taken away
When fate took a hand
And took you forever away from me.
Our future was so entwined
That without you it was now gone.
How do I look forward
When there is nothing to look forward to?
How do you change your plans
When you don’t know what direction to go?
When all you see is loneliness
And emptiness in the scary times ahead.
Memories
When you went you took
So many of our memories with you.
Some memories were so personal
That only we could share.
Some so special
That no-one else could understand
The feelings of romance and love
They gave to us.
Other memories
You held close in your possession
Occasionally re-awakening them in me
When reminiscing.
This is all gone.
Who now can I reminisce with
And re-live our special memories?
Lost
Suddenly I am no longer controlled
By your jealous love.
I am free to go where I please
Or stay at home.
But I did not choose for you to go
Or for my life to change.
I struggle with my newfound freedom
To decide for myself.
I never learnt to make my own decisions
As you always overruled me.
New Love
Since you left me so suddenly
And left me in shock.
I have had to look for a new life
And a new future
Not previously in our plans.
I was very lonely
And did not want to move forward
Without a companion
To spend my new future with.
So please accept
That I have found a new love
A friend and companion
To accompany me in my new life.
Freedom
You gave me the freedom to choose again
When you departed so suddenly.
At first I felt such terrible loss and shock,
Although you were not always kind,
As I loved you for the goodness within you.
Life with you was at times difficult
But mostly life was happy and full of fun.
Now, though, I no longer fear
When your mood will suddenly change
And you will say things cruel.
I have a new life and newfound freedom
With someone caring and kind
Who never says or does things to hurt me
Or tries to track my every move.
The terrible soul destroying jealousy has gone.
Our Life
We married young
Had two daughters
And a good life
We worked hard
To provide for our future
We laughed with friends
Celebrated with family
Welcomed six grandsons
And helped our daughters
To establish themselves.
All done with love.
Now you are gone
I look back with pride
On our achievements together.
It’s been awhile since we kissed each other
And said see you later, take care.
We didn’t know it would be the last time.
That fate would intervene
Taking you from me forever more.
Never to speak to you again.
Never to hear your voice say I love you.
No more cuddles or held hands.
Just my final goodbye tearfully said
As I kissed you on the cheek.
The Future
The future once so carefully planned
Has suddenly been destroyed.
My future was so cruelly taken away
When fate took a hand
And took you forever away from me.
Our future was so entwined
That without you it was now gone.
How do I look forward
When there is nothing to look forward to?
How do you change your plans
When you don’t know what direction to go?
When all you see is loneliness
And emptiness in the scary times ahead.
Memories
When you went you took
So many of our memories with you.
Some memories were so personal
That only we could share.
Some so special
That no-one else could understand
The feelings of romance and love
They gave to us.
Other memories
You held close in your possession
Occasionally re-awakening them in me
When reminiscing.
This is all gone.
Who now can I reminisce with
And re-live our special memories?
Lost
Suddenly I am no longer controlled
By your jealous love.
I am free to go where I please
Or stay at home.
But I did not choose for you to go
Or for my life to change.
I struggle with my newfound freedom
To decide for myself.
I never learnt to make my own decisions
As you always overruled me.
New Love
Since you left me so suddenly
And left me in shock.
I have had to look for a new life
And a new future
Not previously in our plans.
I was very lonely
And did not want to move forward
Without a companion
To spend my new future with.
So please accept
That I have found a new love
A friend and companion
To accompany me in my new life.
Freedom
You gave me the freedom to choose again
When you departed so suddenly.
At first I felt such terrible loss and shock,
Although you were not always kind,
As I loved you for the goodness within you.
Life with you was at times difficult
But mostly life was happy and full of fun.
Now, though, I no longer fear
When your mood will suddenly change
And you will say things cruel.
I have a new life and newfound freedom
With someone caring and kind
Who never says or does things to hurt me
Or tries to track my every move.
The terrible soul destroying jealousy has gone.
Our Life
We married young
Had two daughters
And a good life
We worked hard
To provide for our future
We laughed with friends
Celebrated with family
Welcomed six grandsons
And helped our daughters
To establish themselves.
All done with love.
Now you are gone
I look back with pride
On our achievements together.