I was only six years old when Jillie came to me,

she was a border collie and was gentle as can be.

She'd spent her life on Warraween; was known from near and far,

the best with sheep they'd ever seen, they said she had no par.

She'd never known a loving hand; the warmth of homestead life,

for she was chained with other dogs to keep her out of strife.

For it was known that station dogs, if left unchained at night,

would go on forays killing sheep; a truly awful sight.

Her kennel was a petrol drum lined with a hessian sack;

her food a lump of mutton, or a bone or two to crack.

One day her owner came to Dad and said “My dog's packed up.

I cannot bear to put her down for I think she's with pup.

She's got a full blown pedigree; she'll make a lovely pet.

I'm hoping that you'll take her on; she'll breed a few years yet.

You'll make a packet from her pups; they've always sold real well.

If you could give my dog a home, well, that would be real swell.”

Dad really wasn't keen at all; more dogs he didn't need,

but he turned round and said to me: “She's yours to love and feed.”

I put my arms around her neck; she licked my face and ears.

I swear when I looked in her eyes, they brimmed with grateful tears.

At first she'd slink into the house expecting to be cursed.

She'd cringe when I bent down to pat; subservience rehearsed.

Her role was as a working dog; she knew no other way,

and when I threw a ball at her, she would not stop and play.

Too well she knew the crack of whip; the sting of pelted stone;

the loneliness of evening hours, chained up and all alone.

But came the time she followed me; the distance shorter grew,

and as the weeks went drifting past, her self assurance grew.

No longer did she stare across th paddocks bleak and bare,

or check down at the shearing shed if she was needed there.

It took a while for her to learn that life was different now;

she had to guard a lonely child and keep her safe somehow.

And soon she stuck through thick and thin, my faithful, hairy friend;

from crack of day till sunset's glow, her duty did not end.

Then came the day she needed me, ten puppies came along.

They were a robust, hungry brood; demanding loud and strong.

Poor Jillie didn't have the milk to satisfy each one,

so Mum taught me to help her out. It was a lot of fun.

Some pups would clamber over me; the rest would nuzzle Jill,

and then they'd huddle round their dam when they had had their fill.

In time we left the station life and moved into a town.

I'd go away to school each day, Jill wouldn't settle down.

She'd hang around the front wire gate and check each passer by.

Mum said it almost broke her heart to hear that collie cry.

She knew when it was half past three, and paced along the fence,

and when she saw me on the road, she'd lose all common sense.

She'd jump about and twirl around and bark like all let out;

her absolute devotion she thus proved without a doubt.

On weekends, with my newfound friends, we'd head down to the creek,

and Jill would bound across the flats, adventures new to seek.

We'd swim in muddy billabongs, and climb the highest trees,

while Jillie whined her warnings as I hung from vine trapeze.

We'd stone bob-tailed goannas; frighten 'roos from shady rest;

chase emus over stony flats, and then our courage test

by teasing snakes whose bites could kill within a minute flat,

and even now I shudder when I think of things like that.

One day, upon a stupid dare, I tried to grab a black

that stared at me and flicked its tongue, but I would not move back.

Next minute Jill was standing there 'tween me and certain death;

then luckily, the snake backed down, and I drew thankful breath.

So many stories I could tell about my canine mate.

I often wonder, without her, what would have been my fate?

We'd venture to the quarry where we weren't allowed to go,

to balance on a crumbling ledge, our bravery to show.

I always had to be on top, I always had to win;

I'd teeter there upon my heels, so scared that I'd fall in.

The other kids would urge me on, though they had failed the test,

and I would feign bravado, hoping I would be the best.

Then just in time, as gravel rolled down to the quarry floor,

a high shrill bark would break my trance, and sanity restore.

I went away to college then; down in the city's clime,

and mother said that Jillie whined and whimpered all the time.

She'd lie there on my counterpane and stare with saddened eyes;

she wouldn't eat or leave my room, and grieved with endless sighs.

One day my teacher called me in, and handed me the phone,

then quietly she slipped away to leave me there alone.

My mother said I must come home; she'd booked me on the plane,

but doubted if I'd ever see my dear old friend again.

I wept a multitude of tears upon that awful flight,

and prayed with all the strength I had: “God! Don't take her tonight!”

She knew that I was coming, and she just would not give in.

I tell you, when I rushed inside, she raised a feeble grin.

I held her tightly in my arms and wept in dire distress;

she licked my face and wagged her tail, then died with happiness.

The time has come for us to meet again in Heaven's clime.

I know she'll greet me at the Gate, and we'll go back in time

to when I was a lonely child, and she'd been cast aside;

again we'll share that life we knew and roam the countryside.

I've lived a very happy life, and do not fear the end,

because I'll spend eternity with Jill, my dearest friend.

V.P. Read.    ©   

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2nd Place  -  Open

A Chat between Two Old Mates

They were just two lonely stockmen drinking lager from the keg;

Jim, sitting in a wheelchair, David with a wooden leg.

They were talking of the old days when they followed rodeo,

and drew the famous ‘Rebel’ who was murder on the go.

“By strewth! ‘E nearly killed me! Nearly snapped me back in two!”

“I know,” his old mate muttered, “for I know what he could do.”

They were quiet for a moment as they sipped their icy beer,

then David scrubbed his eyeball to remove a straying tear.

“This world’s a bloody mess, Jim ‘cause we’ve mucked it up fer sure,

An’ pollies couldn’t give a stuff about things anymore.

I wish we ‘ad some smart pills. That’d get ‘em orf their arse!

It’s make the barstids ‘onest. As if that’d come to pass!”

Jim wiped the froth from his moustache and rolled his eyes around.

“I’d give yer all I’ve got, ol’ mate, if ‘onest ones are found.

They’re crooked, mate. They’re bent, yer know. Could not lie straight in bed.

That they won’t get their rise in pay is all our pollies dread.

It makes me flamin’ blood boil when I ‘ear they’re on the make

While Aussie battlers suffer ‘cause those barstids get the cake!”

“I give me mother tribute, Dave,” Jim said with wistful sigh.

“She taught me ‘give a man a go’ and, blimey, mate, I try.

But I ferget ‘er preachin’ when I see the mess we’re in;

I tell yer mate, they’ll rot in ‘ell for all their lies and sin.

I wish that I wuz younger, mate, I’d shake ‘em up fer sure,

They’d wish they’d nivver ‘eard the name o’ Jimmy J. McGraw.”

Dave saw his mate was restless so he tried another tack,

"I've jist come back from Darwin, mate, and that place is Outback!

I tell yer, mate, yer've nivver seen the grog those blokes can slurp!

The one who holds the record there is jist a little twerp.

A skinny, bony bloke 'e is.  A runt, an' that's fer sure,

but 'e wuz still upon 'is feet when I wuz on the floor.

"Yer should 'ave seen their footy team!  Such big and burly blokes!

Some black, some white, some in-between.  An' boy!  They give some pokes!

A referee got laid out flat.  I thought that 'e wuz dead,

'cause 'e fell flat upon the field and nivver moved 'is 'ead.

An' did they stop ter 'ave a look ter see if e's okay?

Not on yer life! They carried on, an' there wuz 'ell to pay.

"They fed 'em up on noodles, mate, and kegs an' kegs uv beer.

If yer should meet one in the dark, yer 'eart'll bust with fear.

Their sheilas are much better, Jim.  Big girls with flashin' eyes.

I met a beauty in the pub, and it wuz paradise.

I tell yer, it wuz dinkum mate,. I nearly bent me knee.

Thank Gawd I sobered up in time, I'm used ter bein' free.

Did yer 'ear about the stockman, Dave, who went ter city climes?

'E thought 'e'd live it up a bit, an' dreamt uv real good times

"E wuzn't in the place a week, before 'e came back 'ome.

"It's 'ell, just 'ell," 'e said ter me.  "No more I'm gunna roam.

I dunno why I went down there.  I 'ate the flamin' place.

They up an' threw me out the pub 'cause I wuz orf me face."

"Right 'ere's the place fer me," said Dave.  'ere's where I wanna die:

where I can smell the flowerin' gums an' 'ear the curlews cry;

where I can go in ter the bush, an' light meself a fire,

an' listen to the breezes sigh.  Mate, that's how I'll expire.

I tell yer Jim, I've seen strange things out there upon the track;

'eard chantin' an' the didgeridoos; put shivers up me back."

"Yer gettin' soft!  Yer goin' daft!  Yer spoutin' poetry!

The grog 'as got yer, Dave, ol' mate; let's both go 'ome fer tea.

Yer've got me thinkin' of the past when I wuz just a kid;

me mother givin' me a bash fer somethin' bad i did.

Me father givin' me a wink.  'E wuz a good ol' bloke.

I nivver told me dear ol' mum 'e'd told the dirty joke.

"'E used ter take me down the creek an' we'd lie in the sun;

we'd catch a fish an' 'ave a swim, an' e a lot uv fun.

On stormy nights I'd 'ear a shriek that caused me blood ter chill;

I'd see a twisted, evil shape, out on me winder sill.

There'd be strange shadders on the wall; for sure, the devil's spawn,

an' they were out to get me mate, as sure as I wuz born.

I used ter call out fer me mum;she's come an' tuck me in,

an' sit with me throughout the storm that mad a dreadful din.

"It's just the windmill, Jim," she'd say, "a tree branch on the pane,"

But I would nivver be consoled an' couldn't stand the rain.

I've seen a lot uv things since then, an' done a lot uv wrong,

but when I'm feelin' down and out , I 'ear me mother's song.

"Remember my sweet Dotty, Dave?  Oh, 'ow I loved that girl.

those lovely eyes an' gentle ways; 'er blond 'air all acurl.

Fer forty years we two were wed.  She outdid all the rest.

At fencin' she was champion; at cleanin' dams, the best.

Sometimes at night, she comes ter me an' whispers in me ear

an' sometimes, when I'm feelin' low, I know she's somewhere near."

Dave downed a beer and wiped his eyes:  "I carried on the farm

an nivver learned the gift o' gab, an nivver learnt to charm.

I tell yer, things were bliddy 'ard; I often grabbed the gun,

then Dad's gruff voice'ld fill the room;  Lad, that's not 'ow it's done!

Jist put yer faith in God 'an pray that things'll turn out right.

Me Dad 'ad died ten years before.  It sure gave me a fright.

"I've led a long an' lonely life, I've got no kith an' kin,

but I can tell yer, Jim old mate, I've 'ad me share uv sin.

There's times when things got really bad, I'd 'ead off  up ter Broome

An' watch the Stairway ter the Stars, in early evenin's gloom.

I'd listen ter the people laugh, an' watch the children play;

I'd lie there on the silver sand beneath the Milky Way.

"The ocean waves 'ld tell me tales uv days long gone before,

an' I would see the pearlin' ships a mile out from the shore

where ghosts would brave the icy depths to find the gleaming pearls;

some only kids, about fifteen, an' lovely Asian girls.

As night wrapped round the gleamin' beach I 'ear 'em callin' me 

until I fell ter sleep at last, me spirit roamin' free

“Black velvet shadders kissed me face, tergether we took flight;

We laughed and ran along the sand ; made love all through the night.

At dawn, I’d chat with fishermen who came down every day,

An’ later on the camel train would plod along its way.

I tell yer, Jim, it keeps me sane. It kept me ‘ead on straight

I’d go back ‘ome and face the farm; accept me flamin' fate

“Gawd, Dave, yer really lay it on. Yer sure can ‘andle words.

Yer reckon yer no good at charm; that talk’d pull the birds.

I wouldn’t tell another, Dave, ‘cause they’d think I’m a siss,

But when yer get nostalgic, mate, I reckon it’s sheer bliss.

I tell yer, mate, sometimes yer make the tears come ter me eyes;

No one can spruik as good as you. Gawd, mate, yer take the prize!

“We’ve ‘ad a ‘appy life, fer sure; we’ve ‘ad a real good time,

But now I reckon we’d best leave because yer sproutin’ rhyme.

The barman’s givin’ us the nod; it’s time ter pack it in;

If I’m not ‘ome by ten o’clock me dog’ll make a din.

So, see yer , mate, termorrer night. We’ll chew the fat agen.

Now, keep yer chin up. Don’t ferget, keep breathin until then.

 (c)    V.P. Read  

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3rd Place  -  Open 

John Crothers

I never did meet you, John Crothers, old son,
But reading your headstone, you had a good run .
You passed to your maker at age eighty three,
A battling forgotten Bush poet, like me.
I doubt if your language was full of respect;
I doubt if your grammar was always correct;
You camped in the bush so were most likely broke;
At risk of upsetting, I wouldn’t mind betting
You wrote how you spoke.

 

I never did meet you, John Crothers, old boy.
I wish I had some of your verse to enjoy.
I bet it was chock full of rhythm and rhyme,
With wonderful stories to capture the time.
Those hard working days in the mustering camps,
The rough riding ringers, the wandering tramps,
The diggers, the doggers, the gamblers, the crooks,
The mining surveyors, the drunken bait layers
Who called themselves cooks

 

The good looking sheilas, the black and the white,
The teachers, the preachers, good mates in a fight,
The walkers, the talkers, the foolish, the smart,
In tales of the outback each one played a part.
God bless those old bushmen who gave it their best
And now they’ve been peacefully laid down to rest.
I never did meet you, John Crothers, old lad
For time is a miser, but as I grow wiser,
I wish that I had.

(c)  Keith Lethbridge     

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The following three poems all received  "Highly Commended" 

More Care for Esperance

Ghost trains came in the dead of night and the phantom trains by day

They carried freight from the mining field to the Port of Esperance Bay

And their rumbling sound through the town, became a sound of dread

As dust that fell from the kibble trucks was carbonate of lead

Spilled on the tracks and through the town, while ocean by the quay

Was polluted by the overflow, of the mining industry

While the people worked throughout the day and slept all through the night

A film of dust cloaked many homes in secret silent flight

When it rained and it surely did from clouds of depression low

That film of lethal dust was washed into water tanks below

It lay in its deadly dormant form while gathering toxic power

As came those trains, the dust and rains, by year, by week, by hour

When cargo ships from China came to fill their holds with lead

Did an inspector supervise the loading from the shed?

Some dust escaped from storage bins and sailed across the sea

But eyes were closed and lips were sealed to impending tragedy

Those who knew, and some surely did, failing duty to perform

It was all hush-hush in this coastal town, in the calm before the storm

Then out of the blue, one summer’s day birds fell from the sky

In schoolyard, on path and road, four thousand were to die

There was fear in many households and concern in every word

Protest from this community was throughout our nation heard

When Health and Conservation were asked questions by the press

They said with Port Authorities, there were problems to address

Does the boom of industry promote the rocky road to wealth?

Which may impair environment and risk the public’s health

Are we occupants of apathy or residents in need

For the children of our children, laws of nature we must heed

What will happen to those persons invisibly affected?

Will each one be compensated, or will they be neglected

They say an odour is emitting from the Esperance pier

The stench has been reported but no one seems to hear

Or do nothing to rectify this unsavoury situation

Do they deny responsibility for this contamination

If the birds had not fallen from the summer sky that day

I wonder how many people would be poisoned by today?

It’s quieter on the quay tonight for the export trade is down

And it’s time for restoration of this West Australian town

Where inland kids found Charity while at the Fresh Air League

And dusted miners lived in Hope for their last days of reprieve

With the tides of change and change of times old folk recall the day

When the air was pure and water clear in the coves of Esperance Bay

An enquiry is in progress; as enquiries there must be

It’s deemed as going through the motions in a democracy

There’s a chime of bitter feeling in the lines of my lament

While expressing silent protest of the people’s discontent

But whatever is the outcome of this unprincipled affair

There may be a few who know the truth, and fewer still that care

When questioned under oath, then truth in total should be told

Though culprits may plead ignorance and quibble as of old

When the final draft is printed and ink on paper dries

Readers may debate it as the truth, or a paltry pack of lies

But the public know from knowledge gained in cold light of the day

Whatever verdict’s handed down, the community will pay.

© John Hayes

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Lamboo Station

By a street light in the city stands a home of brick and tile,

With a garden, prim and pretty, in the neat suburban style.

It's a place of peace and comfort, with three good meals a day,

But I can't forget the folk I met in the outback, far away.

The old dog licks my fingers so I scratch behind his ears;

An evening shadow lingers as the daylight disappears,

Then I feel that old sensation and my faded memory strays

To a creek at Lamboo Station where the shorthorn cattle graze.

I can see old Charlie counting all the bullocks in the yard,

With the numbers slowly mounting and the ringers working hard,

Young Robin drafts the weaners while Georgina cooks a stew,

In blazing sun the work gets done in the muster at Lamboo.

I remember kite hawks flying lazy circles in the sky,

And there's little use denying this teardrop in my eye,

Then I get that inclination just to spend a few more days,

By a creek at Lamboo Station where the shorthorn cattle graze.

We were all invited over to a station barbecue,

Every saddle-tramp and drover, with their wives and children too.

Bail up "The Late " Ron Evans and I'm certain he'll agree,

We were all well fed on steak and bread, washed down by billy tea.

Our swags were ready for us but we had no rush to go,

So we sang another chorus by the dying campfire glow;

Then a lively recitation from the Henry Lawson days,

By a creek at Lamboo Station where the shorthorn cattle graze.

Now the city lights are shining so it's time to wash my hands,

And prepare myself for dining, as protocol demands,

But in the bathroom mirror there's a stark reality,

Looking old and grey and far away from the man he used to be,

So I trade my boundary riding for a stroll around the square,

And spend my days deciding where to place my rocking chair,

In dreamy rumination of the hot and dusty days,

By a creek at Lamboo Station where the shorthorn cattle graze.

It's great to be retired, doing nothing round the clock,

But you can't remain inspired on a quarter acre block;

Just a lack of motivation so there's nothing left to do,

But to sit and smile and dream a while of the old days at Lamboo,

With its rugged, broken ranges and those hardy, reckless men,

So before the season changes, I'll be heading north again,

To a land of God's creation, to spend my final days,

By a creek at Lamboo Station where the shorthorn cattle graze.

(c)  Keith Lethbridge

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Grievances of a Babbling Brook

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Junior Under 13    1st Place

The Tigers Tale

Once in Tasmania’s past,

On the flourishing island of green,

Found where the bush was vast,

Lived the famous Thylacine.

When the English settlers came,

They reduced the bush they roam

Then they had the tigers slain,

And farmed upon their home.

Tigers vanished from the isle,

Until a few were left,

The tigers were dumped in a pile

With Benjamin bereft.

In the end, they captured her,

And put her in a cage

They’d tease her and they'd poke her fur

To get her in a rage.

Soon she was the only one

In her cage forlorn,

When she died, there were left none,

And for their deaths we mourn.

So maybe if we stop and think

And try to change our way,

Our creatures might not go extinct,

And may be here to stay.

Note     “Benjamin”  was the last Thylacine in captivity. She died in a Hobart Zoo in 1936 -
see www.naturalworlds.org/thylacine/index.htm Ed

Alanna van Mierlo.    ©   

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Junior U13  -  2nd Place

The Prime Ministers of Australia

 Before the Federation of this land,

Hannah Th'ng.    ©   

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Junior U13     3rd Place 

Robert & The Gold Rush Bunyip

In Turon, where the bunyips are, 

Beneath the rivers cold, 

Lies metal like a shim'ring star,

What most people call gold

When gold was found in Turon's streams,

And men flocked there to find,

The essence of their fortune dreams,

They quickly panned and mined.

The news of gold spread through the town,

And straight to Rob that bloke,

His spirits were not up but down,

Because poor Rob was broke.

Then seeing bushmen live in wealth,

From panning gold from streams,

Where bunyips creep and stalk in stealth,

Those men found gold it  seems.

So young Robert made up his mind,

To then try out hi luck,

And in the stream, there seek to find,

The gold beneath the muck.

Then taking with him his big pan,

He marched there all the way,

And panning like the other men,

Knew not for him lay.

After some time, which seemed like days,

Robert resolved to quit,

For he could not find 'gold that pays',

But then Rob's face was lit.

Elated, Rob screamed in delight,

"I've struck a ton of gold!"

But then his joy was put to flight,

The pan he could not hold.

With a great heave, the pan he grasped

"It's weight beyond my grip!"

Then with a shock, young Rob, he gasped,

He'd pulled a big bunyip.

It's terrible hideous head,

Had frills around it's throat!

With its frightful eyes glowing red,

It paused o'er Rob to gloat.

And in that split second young Rob

Gave the bunyip a blow,

The bruise leaving a huge black knob

Made by a thick tree bough.

Then Robert with his bough in hand,

Hit the bunyip again.

It groaned and crashed down on the sand,

Perishing in great pain.

Unfortunately out of fright,

No gold did Robert seek,

But makes his wealth from tales of fright,

"With Bunyips of the Creek!"

(c)     Joshua Th'ng  (Age 9)      

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Junior 13  -  17  1st Place

Ballad to the Soldier crabs

You watch one as it scuttles past

And walks in sideways steps

Watching you with it’s wary eyes

His pincers out full stretch

And as you watch it on its way

You see another few

But as you look up far past him

You see them all ‘round you

Whole armies of red and purple

Creeping across the sand

You then find yourself surrounded

With little space to stand

So far across the soldiers march

It’s hard to see the ground

They conquer so much golden earth

With barely any sound

You wonder how you’ll get across

And slowly make your way

Back past the little soldier crabs

Across the sunlit bay

Then suddenly they all stop still

Just as you were upon

Your refuge, then they circle and

In seconds, they are gone.

© Violet McDonald   

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Junior 13  -  17  2nd Place

Akubras on a Windy Day

The ‘burra’s calling out this morn,

Been up since half past five,

To milk the cows will be a task

The shearers all will strive.

The heat is coming down in rays,

Of searing red hot sun,

And since it’s only six it will

Increase ‘til day is done.

The grass is burnt, it’s left the weeds

To fill its vacant place

The workers feel they just might melt

But tasks must keep their pace.

The cattle stand by lone gum trees

In race to find the shade

No clouds create lasting relief,

As all of them will fade.

But suddenly the wind picks up

And sways crops in their beds.

It picks up workers spirits and

Akubras from their heads.

© Violet McDonald   

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Junior 13  -  17   3rd Place

Cyclone Leslie

I was walking home from my paper round

The weather, it was baking

It was just as it had been before

When the ground it started shaking

I looked up at the horizon

And I saw the spinning beast

I never thought the talk was true

And I ran like lightning greased

I was in the middle of nowhere

No place for me to hide

I saw the concrete drainpipe

And thought I’d fit inside

I threw my satchel off my shoulder

As the cyclone held a tree

I slid inside the pipe legs first

Only one inch bigger than me

Surely the cyclone would find me soon

And spin me around in the skies

I wondered what it was like in there

And tried to keep shut my eyes

I heard the incredible noise ease down

The wind it moved away

IO looked out at cyclone Leslie

As she was leaving with her prey

I slowly crawled out of the drainpipe

Seeing debris that lay all around

The tallest gums I’d ever known

Lay broken on the ground

Later locals picked up the pieces

Things they could still recognise

The cyclone took the town away

But our spirit can only rise

© Celine McDonald   

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