Last Updates - Jan 16 Poem Added 

A Thousand Miles to Catch a Dream

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Infectious Plebiscitis

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 It Happened 

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MY BEST MATE – POSSUM

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Now Look 'Ere

Now when you cuss or make a fuss
Is often because you just seek an outlet.
'Cos some plan you had in mind, comes unstuck and then you find
Pure frustration only leads to further upset!

And if you find you're in a bind
Keep your head and try to stay above it
'Cos solution will be near, if you keep your vision clear
And not kick the dog or not tell us where to shove it.

So remember it is folly, to ever lose your "lolly"
Be reminded you are made of better stuff
Do not see "bloody red", Just stop and scratch your head
For a clearer head (and a head thet's free of dandruff).

(c) Hadley Provis  Oct 00

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 On Old Albany Road

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Pre-Cooked Meals

I'm quite amazed at what I see
When, with a shopping cart
I wander down the freezer aisles
Inside the super-mart

There's packs and packs of frozen meals
For each and every taste
They're boneless and they're skinless
So there's very little waste

There's Chinese, Thai, Italian too
And good old Aussie pies
There's honey mustard chicken breasts
And spicy curried thighs

There's roast lamb with some veg'tables
There's sweet and sour fish
There's something there for everyone
There's everything you'd wish

And they're not all that expensive
For if you buy them when
The're on the super special list
Which happens now and then

They only cost about two thirds
The average going price
And so it's cost effective and
They're also very nice

So now I am the cook at home
This once quite useless geezer
Each day I cook a different meal
I get it from the freezer

No need to spend an hour or two
preparing beef or mutton
I pop it 'em the microwave
And press the re-heat button

(c) Brian Langley 22 Feb 2007

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The Beauty of A Saddle for a Throne

I’ve never driven cattle herds across the great outback
nor sat astride a favoured mare along a bushmans track.
I’ve never picked a guiding star above the fire at night,
enjoyed the wonder of the sounds so far beyond my sight.

I’ve never watched the morning sun rise up to meet the sky
to bake the hardy Spinifex that just refused to die.
and never saw the evening glow drape over dusty plain
to cloud me in a velvet cloak as darkness fell again.

My life was filled with city streets and choking traffic fumes,
with non-descript, square, boxy homes, and tiny little rooms;
I looked upon a plain brick wall outside my windowpane
and hated all the muddy mess  that followed winter rain.

I worked behind a desk all day with walls two feet away;
and answered phones and typed out words to earn my weekly pay.
I sat alone within my car on crowded freeway lanes
then, once at home I’d hide behind the strength of lock and chains.

But often when the days were fine, I’d wander to the park
and there I’d find my solace underneath a paperbark.
A book of verse by Ogilvie called Saddle for a Throne
would take my mind to places that I only wish I’d known.

I drifted with the souls that lie in lonely graves out west
and gently placed a single bloom upon their place of rest.
I felt the strength and power of the racing Rosalind
as we sought to greet the rising sun against the morning wind.

I rode beside the cattlemen and joined their lonely camp
and snuggled under canvas when the night was cold and damp.
I felt the silent magic of a chilly outback dawn
and watched her ride the Rebel as another tale was born.

My mind was filled with wonder as I read that treasured verse
and took a special journey through a country so diverse.
So thank you Will for sharing all the places you have known
as I recall the beauty of ‘A Saddle for A Throne’.

(c)   Irene Conner  11/05/06

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The Old Timer

Across the lonely common room I see you sitting there,
a shrunken ghost of younger days, no family to care.
I see the wrinkled skin that tears with ev’ry careless grip,
the useless hand, the twisted leg; the endless dribbling lip.

 I watch you in your silent world as people come and go
and sorrow for the loss of tales that now we’ll never know.
You cannot speak to ask for help, nor tell us how you feel
but underneath the outward wreck, who knows what you conceal?

I’ve seen the well worn hat that sits upon your greying hair;
the moleskins folded in your room you never get to wear.
I’ve seen your battered riding boots that once adorned your feet;
the calloused hands that tell of work in dust, and dirt and heat.

I’d love to sit and hold your hand and talk to you awhile
and let you know that someone cares enough to make you smile.
I’d love to listen to the yarns you’ve gathered through the years;
to know the stories that have fed your laughter and your tears.

Were you among the drovers who would travel dusty plains,
who slept beneath the canvas in the midst of winter rains;
a cattleman who did it hard, from sunrise through to dusk,
a man who never wasted words – aloof and sometimes brusque?

Perhaps you were a horseman who was known throughout the land
for skill within the saddle, and a gentle, kindly hand.
A man who raced with brumbys over mountainside and plain,
who held his pony steady with the lightest touch of rein.

I wonder if you’d tell of droughts that wither scrub and grass,
of cattle that lay dying on the tracks o’er which you pass,
of waterholes that shrink beneath the harsh relentless sun;
the dying throes of wildlife you must silence with your gun.

Or have you fought the waters of a raging, swirling flood
that left your land beneath a coat of slowly drying mud;
that took away your livelihood – your crops and all your sheep
and forced a change of life so you could try to earn your keep?

Perhaps you travelled outback trails with wagon, kids and wife,
or maybe you could tell us of a lonely swaggies life.
And have you lost a family for whom you’ll always care?
It seems I’ll always wonder as I see you sitting there.

Copyright I Conner 20/01/07

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The following poems are the winning entries in the WABP / Melville City Junior Written Poetry Competition Held in July 2007

1st Place

Joshua  (Age 9)

Van Diemen’s Land

When masters cruel and owners vile,
Cause their slaves to curse and rile,
The servants tend to steal and rob,
And gather in an angry mob.

 But all these rebels as they stand,
Are shipped off to Van Diemen’s Land.
Because they never understood,
That stealing isn’t ever good.

 Some are turned to bandit thieves,
And only gold their mind relieves,
For their hearts are full of strife,
As hard as stone and sharp as knife.

 So they are sent to deathly fate,
To save them, it is far too late,
Now that their lives are dead and done,
They live no more under the sun.

For now their bones are grey and dull
Like the bottom of an old ship’s rotting hull,
While others were put into dank jails,
With iron bars and metal rails.

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2nd Place

Hanna  (Age 11)

In Search of a Mine

 One winter morn on a cold cold day,
Met two old bushmen on their way
With shovels high and thumping feet
They walked along the dusty street.

Noon time came and noon time went,
Now the day was almost spent
And still no sight of that treasured mine
That is, until they saw a sign.

 With whoops of joy, they began to race
Both bushmen to their destined place.
For this finally was their precious mine
Of silver, gold and tourmaline.

Ant thus with excitement they pitched their tents
And quickly to bed they both did went.
Finally the day dawned bright and clear,
And the chance of a find seemed very near.

After having eaten their fill,
They walked joyfully up the hill,
To enter their most precious mine,
Of silver, gold and tourmaline.

With picks and axes and shovels and pans,
The two old bushmen quickly ran.
Into the black mine they did go,
How the wind did howl and blow.

At evening tide both men came back,
They dug all day till both turned black.
But merry they were despite all that,
Because their gold looked big and fat.

This mining affair continued, for four and twenty days
And finally their money bills could soon all be repaid
They came home lugging a heavy load of gem,
And everyone cried “Just take a look at them!”

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3rd Place

Alanna (Age 11)

The Anzac Poem

The smoke billowed down from the cannons
In a strong and mighty roar,
We drank water in large gallons,
And our clothes are all a tore.

 Most of us are scared,
Although some are quite brave,
But no matter the courage you bared,
You would still end in a grave.

 Most of my friends have died,
But I may still make it through,
For many nights I have cried,
And do not know what to do.

 The war was soon done
I had written a letter to my wife
But then I saw the gun,
That would shortly take my life.

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4th place was shared by two poems, both by the same young lady  

Ee Faye   (Age 11)

Australia’s Awesome Arrange of Animals

Australia’s many a native beast
Quokkas and wallabies are not the least
Much like hedgehogs and porcupines
The marsupial echidna has many spines.

Sleepy koalas sit in their trees
Munching on eucalyptus leaves.
All platypi have slick brown fur
A male platypus has a poison spur.

 The emu is a bird with no flight
But to see it running is quite a sight.
The roo’s strong legs let it hop around
The tail keeps it balanced to leap and bound.

 The waddling wombat is slow and big
Its powerful paws help it dig.
 This is a part of our great Aussie array
Now go and meet them to say ‘G’day!’

Bushfire Alert

In Australia’s summer, in the bush
Bushfires smoulder, often and long
Delicate, natural plants it will crush
Firemen help to right that wrong.

Fire, fire, sirens ringing
Bushland aflame with a terrible light
Fire, fire, people screaming
Volunteers rush to begin the fight.

 Through the trees the fire rages
Turning majestic plants to ashes
The sparking flames, so contagious
Among the twigs and leaves it dashes.

 Fire, fire, animals fleeing
From their bright and perilous foe
Fire, fire, animals escaping
From their charred and burnt down homes.

 The Bushfire’s calmed; it will no longer roam
But it turned plants brittle and black
No more are the bushes rooted in loam
The damage is done – they wont come back.

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Copyright  ©  2004-2007 WA BUSH POETS AND YARN SPINNERS INC.
Original website design by Lyn Mitchell, Modifications and maintenance by Brian Langley.  
Photography by Roy Duperouzel and Lyn Mitchell.

Last Modified  Sep 8th 2007