Bush Poetry

Extract from “The Cattle Dog’s Revenge”

...The dog bailed out the window They said, "Oh, you little tyke"
One word from this mug, and he did exactly as he liked
And like a black and tan tornado with a brainless snarling face,
He caused an orgy of destruction 'round our peaceful country place

He flogged our poor old kelpie bitch and not content with that,
Killed six of Mum’s best laying chooks and murdered Grandma’s cat.
He chewed our poor pet possum’s tail and chased it up a tree
While this dork flicked pages in his book on "Dog Psychology".

And while the city bloke was trying to find answers out of books,
The Rottweiler, teeth gnashing, headed straight for Andy’s chooks.
Yes, young Andy's special bantams who'd won prizes at the show,
Looked just like they were going to be the next thing here to go...

Extract from “Desmond and the Dunny Cart”

Desmond finished school days and joined the working world
His aim was to go someplace where he'd meet a lot of girls,
For Desmond carried tickets on himself most people felt,
And his mind was firmly centred on concerns below his belt.

Desmond felt life in the city would much better suit his needs
Than vegetating in the country with us Hicks and Hayseeds.
That young man could see no merit in a life out in the sticks.
For him, a sports car and a penthouse and a large array of chicks.

So he'd ring us up occasionally to skite about his life –
How he'd been with several models and a politician's wife,
And how girls of every shape and size had fallen to their knees
Due to his expertise in matters that relate to birds and bees...

Extract from “Shearing in the Nudist Club”

Now, I'm really quite a shy bloke and I'd never entertain
The thought of running naked through the woodland and the plain,
But there's people who think clothes are just not needed in the scrub.
That's how I got this job of shearing in a bloody nudist club.

This ad. was in the paper for someone who could keep
A handpiece in the wool and peel about a hundred sheep.
She'd be just the thing for Saturday, or so it seemed to me.
I could cop a hundred dollars and be in the Pub by three.

I sat there by their gateway in the old ute's driver's seat
And read the sign that claimed this was a ”Naturists' Retreat".
"This must be a mob of greenies. I'll have some fun," I thought
'Cause winding up Tree Huggers is a common rural sport.

I poked down to the woolshed sitting out there on the flat.
Unpacked me gear and wondered idly where the boss was at.
"Hi there" said a voice behind me, and I started at the sound.
Boys! I nearly dropped me bundle when I flamin' turned around! ...