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#443961 - 27/09/2007 18:14 An Aussie Poem
Bushy Offline
Junior Member

Registered: 22/02/2007
Posts: 44
Loc: Cobar NSW
For all those who have had anything to do with sheep.I am sure you can relate to this laugh .
Well some of it anyway eek eek

An Australian poem.

The sun was hot already - it was only 8 o'clock
The cocky took off in his Ute, to go and check his stock.
He drove around the paddocks checking wethers, ewes and lambs,
The float valves in the water troughs, the windmills on the dams.

He stopped and turned a windmill on to fill a water tank
And saw a ewe down in the dam, a few yards from the bank.
"Typical bloody sheep," he thought, "they've got no common sense,
"They won't go through a gateway but they'll jump a bloody fence."

The ewe was stuck down in the mud, he knew without a doubt
She'd stay there 'til she carked it if he didn't get her out.
But when he reached the water's edge, the startled ewe broke free
And in her haste to get away, began a swimming spree.

He reckoned once her fleece was wet, the weight would drag her down
If he didn't rescue her, the stupid sod would drown.
Her style was unimpressive, her survival chances slim
He saw no other option, he would have to take a swim.

He peeled his shirt and singlet off, his trousers, boots and socks
And as he couldn't stand wet clothes, he also shed his jocks.
He jumped into the water and away that cocky swam
He caught up with her, somewhere near the middle of the dam.

The ewe was quite evasive, she kept giving him the slip
He tried to grab her sodden fleece but couldn't get a grip.
At last he got her to the bank and stopped to catch his breath
She showed him little gratitude for saving her from death.

She took off like a Bondi tram around the other side
He swore next time he caught that ewe he'd hang her bloody hide.
Then round and round the dam they ran, although he felt quite puffed
He still thought he could run her down, she must be nearly stuffed.

The local stock rep came along, to pay a call that day.
He knew this bloke was on his own, his wife had gone away
He didn't really think he'd get fresh scones for morning tea
But nor was he prepared for what he was about to see.

He rubbed his eyes in disbelief at what came into view
For running down the catchment came this frantic-looking ewe.
And on her heels in hot pursuit and wearing not a stitch
The farmer yelling wildly "Come back here, you lousy bitch!"

The stock rep didn't hang around, he took off in his car
The cocky's reputation has been damaged near and far
So bear in mind the Work Safe rule when next you check your flocks
Spot the hazard, assess the risk, and always wear your jocks!

#443962 - 28/09/2007 19:23 Re: An Aussie Poem
Goody Offline
Weather Freak

Registered: 04/08/2002
Posts: 736
Loc: Wagga District ...Where Crows ...
Hi Bushy,

Loved your poem ...It is just fantastic ! Laughed reading it some of the way through. I have done just this in the past but stayed dressed. Mind you I have some expensive White Dorper Sheep now I am breeding so I would do it without hesitation in the jocks for sure if I had to.

I know it is a sad thing to think about but I feel someone with a poetic talent should record in verse what is happening now to our farming people. I think this aspect of your talents Bushy is calling !
I will try myself here as I have thoughts of this swimming in my mind.

Well done !
Happy trails

#443963 - 28/09/2007 21:47 Re: An Aussie Poem
WelloMeteo Offline
Weatherzone Addict

Registered: 05/01/2006
Posts: 1488
Loc: Wellington Point SEQ (30km eas...
Fantastic stuff! Reminds me of an old timer (Jim Hunter) who came knocking at my door a few years back selling books of his own poems and stories he had written about life as a "bushman" in central QLD. I yarned with him for ages and bought all three books. here is a sample of his poetry:

Jim Hunter: "Uncle Charlie (Butcher")

Uncle Charlie, a butcher now,
Feeds the town on stolen cow,
His customers say his beef is fine -
Sweet and succulent - it's divine

He steals a heifer, a bullock or sheep
And that is the reason he sells meat cheap.
No over-heads, and no expenses -
He rolls the poddy calves under the fences.

That snippet doesn't really do it justice - here was a guy who had been there done that, and through the three little photo-copied books I bought from him really told it like it was - no bull*&^t. A true Aussie - hats off :cheers:

#443964 - 29/09/2007 06:39 Re: An Aussie Poem
David Simpson. Offline
Weatherzone Administrator/Moderator

Registered: 13/10/2002
Posts: 4931
Loc: Tasmania
That's hilarious! I love it, and can relate to it with my Alpacas, dogs, ducks, cows and horse...they all have a pact to share info on the worst places to get stuck and where all the fencing 'weak spots' are! Did you write that poem?

#443965 - 13/10/2007 16:28 Re: An Aussie Poem
Bushy Offline
Junior Member

Registered: 22/02/2007
Posts: 44
Loc: Cobar NSW
Thanks for the kind words but alas I didn't write that poem .
It was a great laugh though laugh laugh

#443966 - 16/10/2007 08:19 Re: An Aussie Poem
Gabby Offline
Weatherzone Addict

Registered: 23/03/2002
Posts: 2851
Loc: Yarrawonga/Mulwala on the Murr...
Loved the poem Do you know who wrote it?
How about some more poems of the great Australian bush folk lore?

#443967 - 19/10/2007 07:37 Re: An Aussie Poem
Bushy Offline
Junior Member

Registered: 22/02/2007
Posts: 44
Loc: Cobar NSW
by John O'Brien

"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
In accents most forlorn,
Outside the church, ere Mass began,
One frosty Sunday morn.

The congregation stood about,
Coat-collars to the ears,
And talked of stock, and crops, and drought,
As it had done for years.

"It's lookin' crook," said Daniel Croke;
"Bedad, it's cruke, me lad,
For never since the banks went broke
Has seasons been so bad."

"It's dry, all right," said young O'Neil,
With which astute remark
He squatted down upon his heel
And chewed a piece of bark.

And so around the chorus ran
"It's keepin' dry, no doubt."
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out.

"The crops are done; ye'll have your work
To save one bag of grain;
From here way out to Back-o'-Bourke
They're singin' out for rain.

"They're singin' out for rain," he said,
"And all the tanks are dry."
The congregation scratched its head,
And gazed around the sky.

"There won't be grass, in any case,
Enough to feed an ass;
There's not a blade on Casey's place
As I came down to Mass."

"If rain don't come this month," said Dan,
And cleared his throat to speak--
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"If rain don't come this week."

A heavy silence seemed to steal
On all at this remark;
And each man squatted on his heel,
And chewed a piece of bark.

"We want a inch of rain, we do,"
O'Neil observed at last;
But Croke "maintained" we wanted two
To put the danger past.

"If we don't get three inches, man,
Or four to break this drought,
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out."

In God's good time down came the rain;
And all the afternoon
On iron roof and window-pane
It drummed a homely tune.

And through the night it pattered still,
And lightsome, gladsome elves
On dripping spout and window-sill
Kept talking to themselves.

It pelted, pelted all day long,
A-singing at its work,
Till every heart took up the song
Way out to Back-o'Bourke.

And every creek a banker ran,
And dams filled overtop;
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"If this rain doesn't stop."

And stop it did, in God's good time;
And spring came in to fold
A mantle o'er the hills sublime
Of green and pink and gold.

And days went by on dancing feet,
With harvest-hopes immense,
And laughing eyes beheld the wheat
Nid-nodding o'er the fence.

And, oh, the smiles on every face,
As happy lad and lass
Through grass knee-deep on Casey's place
Went riding down to Mass.

While round the church in clothes genteel
Discoursed the men of mark,
And each man squatted on his heel,
And chewed his piece of bark.

"There'll be bush-fires for sure, me man,
There will, without a doubt;
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out."

John O'Brien

#443968 - 19/10/2007 08:37 Re: An Aussie Poem
Adam Ant Offline
Weatherzone Addict

Registered: 28/10/2003
Posts: 1049
Loc: West Toowoomba
Hi folks, Murray Hartin is one of my favourite Aussie poets, he has a nice way of capturing the essence of the Australian way of life. Murray was asked to pen something by the Salvos to highlight rural suicide. He has somehow hit the nail on the head. For anyone living on the farm, this poem is a must read.

Murray Hartin
February 21, 2007

His cattle didn't get a bid, they were fairly bloody poor,
What was he going to do? He couldn't feed them anymore,
The dams were all but dry, hay was thirteen bucks a bale,
Last month's talk of rain was just a fairytale,
His credit had run out, no chance to pay what's owed,
Bad thoughts ran through his head as he drove down Gully Road
"Geez, great grandad bought the place back in 1898,
"Now I'm such a useless bastard, I'll have to shut the gate.
"Can't support my wife and kids, not like dad and those before,
"Christ, Grandma kept it going while Pop fought in the war."
With depression now his master, he abandoned what was right,
There's no place in life for failures, he'd end it all tonight.

There were still some things to do, he'd have to shoot the cattle
Of all the jobs he'd ever done, that would be the worst.
He'd have a shower, watch the news, then they'd all sit down for tea
Read his kids a bedtime story, watch some more TV,
Kiss his wife goodnight, say he was off to shoot some roos
Then in a paddock far away he'd blow away the blues.
But he drove in the gate and stopped - as he always had
To check the roadside mailbox - and found a letter from his Dad.
Now his dad was not a writer, Mum did all the cards and mail
But he knew the style from the notebooks that he used at cattle sales,
He sensed the nature of its contents, felt moisture in his eyes,
Just the fact his dad had written was enough to make him cry.

"Son, I know it's bloody tough, it's a cruel and twisted game,
"This life upon the land when you're screaming out for rain,
"There's no candle in the darkness, not a single speck of light
"But don't let the demon get you, you have to do what's right,
"I don't know what's in your head but push the bad thoughts well away
"See, you'll always have your family at the back end of the day
"You have to talk to someone, and yes I know I rarely did
"But you have to think about Fiona and think about the kids.
"I'm worried about you son, you haven't rung for quite a while,
"I know the road you're on 'cause I've walked every bloody mile.
"The date? December 7 back in 1983,
"Behind the shed I had the shotgun rested in the brigalow tree.

"See, I'd borrowed way too much to buy the Johnson place
"Then it didn't rain for years and we got bombed by interest rates,
"The bank was at the door, I didn't think I had a choice,
"I began to squeeze the trigger - that's when I heard your voice.
"You said 'Where are you Daddy? It's time to play our game'
"' I've got Squatter all set up, you might get General Rain.'
"It really was that close, you're the one that stopped me son,
"And you're the one that taught me there's no answer in a gun.
"Just remember people love you, good friends won't let you down.
"Look, you might have to swallow pride and get a job in town,
"Just 'til things come good, son, you've always got a choice
"And when you get this letter ring me, 'cause I'd love to hear your

Well he cried and laughed and shook his head then put the truck in
Shut his eyes and hugged his dad in a vision that was clear,
Dropped the cattle at the yards, put the truck away
Filled the troughs the best he could and fed his last ten bales of hay.
Then he strode towards the homestead, shoulders back and head held
He still knew the road was tough but there was purpose in his eye.
He called for his wife and children, who'd lived through all his pain,
Hugs said more than words - he'd come back to them again,
They talked of silver linings, how good times always follow bad,
Then he walked towards the phone, picked it up and rang his Dad.
And while the kids set up the Squatter, he hugged his wife again,
Then they heard the roll of thunder and they smelt the smell of rain.

Murray Hartin
February 21, 2007

Cheers, Adam

#443969 - 19/10/2007 09:05 Re: An Aussie Poem
ant Offline
Meteorological Motor Mouth

Registered: 05/10/2002
Posts: 9063
Loc: Overlooking ACT at 848m
Originally posted by Adam Ant:
Murray Hartin is one of my favourite Aussie poets, he has a nice way of capturing the essence of the Australian way of life.
I understand what you mean, but to be pedantic, if you were to go by numbers, the Australian way of life is to get on a Tangara train in the Western Suburbs of Sydney and travel to one's job closer to the centre of Sydney, buying a coffee in a throwaway cup on the way, at lunch buy a plastic container of asian food, and on weekends drive to Bing Lee/Ikea/Harvey Normans to plan the next aspirational purchase!

Not my way of life, thank god, but if you really want to scare yourself, have a look at an electoral map of Australia (there's on on the AEC website) and see how many electorates are in Sydney, then look at Western NSW or WA.

Anyway, now I've rooned your day, back to the pomes.

#443970 - 19/10/2007 09:24 Re: An Aussie Poem
Matt Pearce Offline
Weatherzone Addict

Registered: 26/01/2001
Posts: 4437
Loc: Kariong, NSW
That's a great poem Adam...very emotive.

Thanks for sharing it.

#443971 - 20/10/2007 07:54 Re: An Aussie Poem
Gabby Offline
Weatherzone Addict

Registered: 23/03/2002
Posts: 2851
Loc: Yarrawonga/Mulwala on the Murr...
Good to read some more Aussie poems. Hanrahan is an old favorite and "Rain from Nowhere" is a look at what farmers are going through today. certainly brings a tear to the eye. How about some more funny ones?

#443972 - 21/10/2007 14:49 Re: An Aussie Poem
DNO Offline
Weather Freak

Registered: 09/02/2003
Posts: 496
Loc: Ellesmere, Qld
Here's another Murray Hartin classic poem.

Here's a tale of Billy Hays from out near Alice Springs
A wild young fellow, he'd done some crazy things
He'd bucked bulls over fences, rode a colt up Ayres Rock
See his legs weren't made for walking they were made for riding stock

A legend round the rodeo from Allaroon to Broome
An untried horse at 6am was saddle broke by noon
No form of equine foolery he wasn't game to try
Only one thing ever spooked him,
He was so scared to fly.

Well if I was meant to fly he said
I'd have feathers and a beak,
You fly and waste a day and I'll drive and waste a week
I hear they're safe as houses and mechanically they're sound
But I don't see no rope or bridle so I'm staying on the ground

One day Bill got a call from his mate in Adelaide,
He'd got his girl in trouble and the wedding cards were played
He said, Mate I don't care how you do it you can beg or steel or borrow
But Mate you're gunna have to catch the plane, coz the big day is tomorrow.

Billy cursed and spat it "That dopey bloody coot!
He knows I'll jump on anything that's coming out a chute
I've caught stallions that'd kill you, caught bulls gone off their brain
But I never thought there'd come a day I'd have to catch a plane!"

Bill legged it to the airport and thought "Well this is it"
The lady at the counter asked "Where would you like to sit?"
He said "You know that black box thing they always seem to find
"Well you can stick me right in side it if you wouldn't bloody mind"

She gave a friendly smile and "Sir I'll just take your bag"
He said "I don't bloody think so, 'n by the way it's called a swag."
Bill was sweatin' buckets when they finally cleared the strip
He had his seatbelt on that tight he was bleedin' from the hip

But then they levelled out he stopped shakin at the knees
Looked around , relaxed 'n thought "This flyin' game's a breeze"
We clipped his belt undone, stretched out in his seat
Well he couldn't stretch that much 'cause his swag was at his feet.

Then the captain crackled something, Bill asked the hostess what was said
"Sir you'd better buckle up there's some turbulence ahead:
Turbulence - what's that?" "Sir it's pockets caused by heat
"And when it gets severe it can throw you from your seat."

"Throw me, I'll be buggered," Bill pushed his seat right back,
Wrapped his legs around his swag and stuck his left hand through the strap
He jammed down his Akubra, he was ready now to ride
Then things got pretty bumpy and Billy yelled "Outside!"

The plane she dropped a thousand feet, bounced up five hundred more
When his head hit the roof, his backside hit the floor!
"I've rode all through the Territory and never come unstuck
So give me all you've got big bird - buck you bastard buck!"

And while the passengers were screaming in fear of certain death
Billy whooped and hollered 'til he near ran out of breath
You would' thought that canvas swag was welded to his ass
And before the ringer knew it he's bucked up to business class

There seemed no way to tame this creature, it had ten gears and reverse
But that didn't worry Billy, he just bucked on through to first
He did somersaults with twists on this mongrel mount from hell
He yelled out to the pilot "for Christ sake ring the bell!"

Bill was bleeding from the bugle, he had cuts above both eyes
If you weren't there on the spot ya probably think I'm tellin' lies
He'd been upside down and inside out, done flips and triple spins
Ya might a' seen some great rides in your time but hands down Billy wins

The flight returned to normal, Bill was flat out on the deck
Still stuck to his swag but he looked a bloody wreck
He pulled himself together, stood up straight and raised his hat
He said "I've had some tough trips in me day but never one like that."

"an eight-second spin in Alice proves your made of sturdy stuff
But I was on there a near a minute and I reckon that's enough."
The first class folk were dumbstruck at this crazy ringer's feat
but Bill just grabbed a XXXX beer and walked back to his seat.

Now years have passed and Bill's long give the buckin' game away
Too many breaks and dusty miles for far too little pay
Now plane's are not a worry, in fact he'd rather fly than ride
"N when you talk about his maiden voyage his chest puffs out with pride

"You can talk about your Rocky Neds or that old Chainsaw bloke
I'd ride 'em both without a rope and roll a bloody smoke
There's cowboys 'round who think they're hot, well they aint tasted heat
"Til they've ridden time on Turbulence at 30,000 feet."

#443973 - 21/10/2007 16:04 Re: An Aussie Poem
Gabby Offline
Weatherzone Addict

Registered: 23/03/2002
Posts: 2851
Loc: Yarrawonga/Mulwala on the Murr...
Murray Hartin sure writes well!

#443974 - 21/10/2007 16:41 Re: An Aussie Poem
DNO Offline
Weather Freak

Registered: 09/02/2003
Posts: 496
Loc: Ellesmere, Qld
He is a great entertainer as well as a gifted poet.
Here is a great poem by Graham Jenkin.
The Ballad of the Bushmans Club
Now theres a joint across in Sydney, I suppose you jokers know,
Where the hardest-riding stockmen and the great gun shearers go,
And its something of a lovers den and something of a pub,
And its known to Sydneysiders as "That flamin’ bushmans club".
Its the most tremendous place on which I’ve ever cast me eye,
Including Mac’s at Broken Hill where we used to spin the swy,
For the grog flows by the bucketful, and the women - strike me blue -
They’re all of ’em dressed like Cloey, and they’re twice as pretty too,
For this is a place of worship of that noble little push,
Who comprise the famous Brotherhood of Bludgers from the bush,
Their noble, high and lofty aim to fight for all things freer,
And strive for the Two Great Freedoms: free women and free beer.
And valiantly they carry on their noble cause to fight;
They start right at the crack o’ dawn and rollick on through the night,
With revelry and sport galore and girls and grog and song -
No wonder that the waiting list is half a mile long.

So to keep the place exclusive, so they only get the best,
Each budding, would-be brother has to pass a little test.
You have to shear three hundred sheep a day with either hand,
Ans duff a thousand bullocks on your own and change the brand,
And drove ’em down the Birdsville when the Cooper’s on her way,
Then sink a well through granite rock at fifty feet a day;
And cut a mile of mulga posts and sink the bludgers down,
And break a dozen killer-colts and ride ’em into town,
And live for a year on damper which you make from weevil flour,
Then drink a keg of Bundaberg - in just a half an hour,
And many another little skill that only the best can do –
I passed them all with credit and a top distinction too.
But the last examination is some yarns you have to tell –
They must be lies, original, and you have to spin ’em well.

Well, I stood before the Panel, in a highly nervous state
And began to tell my story from a very early date:
I told ’em how, at the age of twelve, I dug that excavation,
For the Government, which is now called the Great Artesian Basin;
How, when I’d dug the mullock out, I carted it aside,
And nowadays people call that heap o’ dirt The Great Divide.
I told ’em how I swum the old Pacific in a gale,
And made the homeward journey in a bath-tub with a sail;
How I used to work the windmills in a calm, for my old man,
By running like a lumber-jack on top o’ the flamin fan;
But I fell from a Southern Cross one day with a tin in me pocket here -
I’ve still got "Capstan Fine Cut" printed firmly on my rear!
’Twas me alone who finally rode Old Curio and her brother
While I done the flash with one hand, rolled a querlie in the other.
And once I won the Melbourne Cup on an untamed brumby mare,
But they went and took it orf me - ridin’ backwards wasn’t fair!
And I was the bloke who tried to ride to Tassie on a bike,
Lost me bearings, got a puncture on a ruddy coral spike,
Missed the Apple Isle completely, so I almost met me death,
But I surfaced in New Zealand - very nearly out of breath!

And I once flew to Canberra when me mate the P. M. wired,
And I would have flowen back here, but me flamin’ arms were tired;
I lost Victoria River in a crooked two-up school
And I boozed me other stations in a fortnight - what a fool!
But ’twas me who floored Carruthers in the fifty-second round,
Of a private little battle for half a million pound,
And I ran the mile, two minutes flat, but I never staked me claim,
"Cause I’m not the sort of bloke who likes to brag and climb to fame.
And I could have gone forever reminiscing to the Board,
But at last they yelled, "No more! Shut up! You’re in!" - And I was floored.

You can just imagine the tears of joy one sheds at a time like this,
When you’ve passed the test to paradise - and near-eternal bliss -
Then think what an awful shock it was, when I’d been there just a week,
And one of the Elder Brothers comes and grabs me by the cheek
And says to me, "The Panel rules that you will have to go;
You bluffed us on that final test." And what he said was so.
For though at other bushy skills no stockman e’er ranked higher,
I never was or will be worth a cracker as a liar.
I dunno how they done it, ’less one of the panel knew,
But somehow they discovered that all of me yarns were true!

© Graham Jenkin

#443975 - 22/10/2007 07:40 Re: An Aussie Poem
Bushy Offline
Junior Member

Registered: 22/02/2007
Posts: 44
Loc: Cobar NSW
This is great keep them coming :cheers:

The Plains
A land, as far as the eye can see, where the waving grasses grow
Or the plains are blackened and burnt and bare, where the false mirages go
Like shifting symbols of hope deferred - land where you never know.

Land of the plenty or land of want, where the grey Companions dance,
Feast or famine, or hope or fear, and in all things land of chance,
Where Nature pampers or Nature slays, in her ruthless, red, romance.

And we catch a sound of a fairy's song, as the wind goes whipping by,
Or a scent like incense drifts along from the herbage ripe and dry
- Or the dust storms dance on their ballroom floor, where the bones of the cattle lie.

#443976 - 25/10/2007 05:28 Re: An Aussie Poem
David Simpson. Offline
Weatherzone Administrator/Moderator

Registered: 13/10/2002
Posts: 4931
Loc: Tasmania
Keep them coming, I love an Aussie ballad or yarn, great stuff!

#443977 - 25/10/2007 22:29 Re: An Aussie Poem
DNO Offline
Weather Freak

Registered: 09/02/2003
Posts: 496
Loc: Ellesmere, Qld
I found this site which includes several poems by Banjo Paterson, Henry Lawson and others, written during 'The Bush Controversy'. Apparently the poets orchestrated the "fued" between themselves in order to get more space in The Bulletin newspaper and thereby earning more money.

#443978 - 26/10/2007 08:01 Re: An Aussie Poem
Bushy Offline
Junior Member

Registered: 22/02/2007
Posts: 44
Loc: Cobar NSW
The Swagman's Rest
by A. B. "Banjo" Paterson

We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave
At the foot of the Eaglehawk;
We fashioned a cross on the old man's grave
For fear that his ghost might walk;
We carved his name on a bloodwood tree
With the date of his sad decease
And in place of "Died from effects of spree"
We wrote "May he rest in peace".

For Bob was known on the Overland,
A regular old bush wag,
Tramping along in the dust and sand,
Humping his well-worn swag.
He would camp for days in the river-bed,
And loiter and "fish for whales".
"I'm into the swagman's yard," he said.
"And I never shall find the rails."

But he found the rails on that summer night
For a better place -- or worse,
As we watched by turns in the flickering light
With an old black gin for nurse.
The breeze came in with the scent of pine,
The river sounded clear,
When a change came on, and we saw the sign
That told us the end was near.

He spoke in a cultured voice and low --
"I fancy they've 'sent the route';
I once was an army man, you know,
Though now I'm a drunken brute;
But bury me out where the bloodwoods wave,
And, if ever you're fairly stuck,
Just take and shovel me out of the grave
And, maybe, I'll bring you luck.

"For I've always heard --" here his voice grew weak,
His strength was wellnigh sped,
He gasped and struggled and tried to speak,
Then fell in a moment -- dead.
Thus ended a wasted life and hard,
Of energies misapplied --
Old Bob was out of the "swagman's yard"
And over the Great Divide.

The drought came down on the field and flock,
And never a raindrop fell,
Though the tortured moans of the starving stock
Might soften a fiend from hell.
And we thought of the hint that the swagman gave
When he went to the Great Unseen --
We shovelled the skeleton out of the grave
To see what his hint might mean.

We dug where the cross and the grave posts were,
We shovelled away the mould,
When sudden a vein of quartz lay bare
All gleaming with yellow gold.
'Twas a reef with never a fault nor baulk
That ran from the range's crest,
And the richest mine on the Eaglehawk
Is known as "The Swagman's Rest".

#443979 - 26/10/2007 22:51 Re: An Aussie Poem
Tan Offline
Weatherzone Addict

Registered: 15/09/2003
Posts: 2783
Loc: Barringha/Woodstock, Qld
Great thread guys!

Where can I get a copy of a collection of Murray Hartin? His poems are awesome!

#443980 - 27/10/2007 00:57 Re: An Aussie Poem
DNO Offline
Weather Freak

Registered: 09/02/2003
Posts: 496
Loc: Ellesmere, Qld
Look at his website
There's a few poems there and probably has CD's for sale.
He comes up this way occasionally Tan. I heard he had a show in Charters Towers this year and has been to Richmond a couple of times.

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