PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I was yarnin’ to an ol’ mate o’ mine,

About our vast and distant land,

The golden beaches sporadically lined,

Between rocky coasts and gritty sand.



And he notioned about the surrounding  oceans,

Pacific, Indian and Southern too,

That at times blow a gale quite ferocious,

That well could be harnessed as a fuel.



Then we wound around the coastal towns,

From Bunbury to Mallacoota and above,

And recounted boundless hills and downs,

That inland can’t be found enough,

But sunlight burns on the inland trail,

That could by some set alight a flannel

And by Jeez you’d think we’d learn,

To install a few of them solar panels.



With the harsh dry centre, miles from the coast,

It’s the city man who don’t show a ghost,

Of a chance if he were lead away,

To pioneer like in olden days.



But instead the young’uns all leave the rural,

Spreads themselves found cold and cruel,

And head for social life bright in urban dwell’,

Of centrally located and heated, with city smells.



And the land is becoming dry and drier,

As the sanies of civilisation suck the youthful fire,

From the country once so rich and brown,

Now filled with silenced, empty towns.



‘Does tear the hearts of many Ozzies old,

Who once sat with pride and beauty bold,

At tables at harvest or Christmas cheer,

But now ‘seems consumption and excitement dear,



That calls the people from the land,

Of plains, hills, scrub and river flat,

Once the backbone of our primary production,

Now governed by global and mechanical concoctions.





And wherebe the steel that we did know,

From the enduring times that once did shine,

A hard but rich life in fire and show,

Is now comfortably housed and constantly refined?



But all in all, said Krackery Jack,

Who now be just a Bundunderry bum,

There were many who were left on the track,

And many who simply came undone.

So perhaps in time, in our own way,

There will be return to the country life,

And people will eventually stray,

From the infringing fringe of city strife,

And instead of running with the pack,

Shall stand themselves proud in efforts earnt,

And stride home triumphantly down the track,

With knowledge gaveled and country learnt.



©R.H.Elliott 2001