Heartbreak Harry From Humptydoo

Mick Martin

© Mick Martin

We’ll call him heartbreak Harry though his name is really Pete.
A rugged, handsome fellow and his nature really sweet.

Now people think this yarns a stretch but others say its true
That Harry loved a shiela who lived out in Humpydoo.

But Harry was not lucky,

The Rebel Rides

Manfred Vijars

The rider burst on to the open road
and into the lifting mist;
But settled soon to the piston’s pull
with a twist of the resolute wrist,

Leaned into each curve with the ease of silk
as it slides across a board;

I tried to write some poetry but it wasn’t going well.
The time was dragging on and on and nothing seemed to gel.
Well…things were looking mighty bleak, my future wasn’t bright
when someone said, “I think a MUSE is all you need to write”.

“Aha,” I thought,

The One Thirty Rooster

Mick Martin

© Mick Martin

The one thirty rooster has broken his clock
He starts every morning, the farmer to mock
He takes a huge breath then he huffs and he blows
He wakes up the guard dog which adds to their woes

Rediscovery

Manfred Vijars

Once more I travel dusty roads
and head for my serenity
with my young Mate. A grandson, dear
Who once bounced happily on my knee.

Fulfillment

Manfred Vijars

Beloved country of the Dreamtime
Desert stars like eyes ablaze
night-time beaming, glowing, warming
You continue to amaze.

Solitude in wide expanses
Red and green and blue imbued
As I travel through this country
May I reverently intrude?

In your Cathedral of Horizons
is contentment,

Duplicate

Kay Gorring

©Kay Gorring

I drive a common car and there are lots of them about,
yet still, I keep things simple, I’m not into standing out;
but now, I’m reconsidering my wisdom on that score
in light of what just happened at the local corner store.

I parked the car right out the front,

The Bellbirds Of Anzac Cove

Mick Martin

© Mick Martin

Do I hear the bell birds calling?
Tinging, tinging night time falling
Tortured mind, I halt in hearing
Slowly now my fog is clearing
Tinging, tinging still I’m hearing … tinging

Leaving trenches constant shelling
Cold and dark in fear compelling
Still I hear it,

Ritual

Manfred Vijars

Green canvas bundle on the ground, a coat of morning dew
the bundle shakes, something’s inside – a head comes into view
A long low sigh, intake of breath; a stretch and then he moans.
Covers cast, he sits upright rubs his back and groans.

The Urge to DIY

Doc Bland

© Doc Bland

The urge to DIY is strong among the older blokes
who think they are as agile as when they were younger folks.
Their every day activities pervade the air with noise,
those DIY exponents playing with their grown-up toys.
Their tool belts filled with hammers,

WE LOVE THOSE BRISBANE STORMS

Linley Kennedy

If you live in Brisbane, you have got to love the storms.

The heat’s oppressive with no breeze. The ground is bare and dry,
and Brisbane-ites plead for relief from curdled leaden sky.
Heat rises from the pavement and our bodies exude sweat.

THE VERY POLITE BUSHRANGER

Doc Bland

A career in finance has, for some folk, long been a sure way of making it to the top.
*Note: any resemblance to Prime Ministers past or present is entirely coincidental.

The stagecoach turned a corner near the creek at Wangaroo
To be bailed up by a bushranger who called out “How d’yer do!

THE STOCKMAN’S CHOICE

Kay Gorring

As the first settlers arrived in Australia, they also brought livestock. Among them were various breeds of horse. They were bred on vast and mostly unfenced tracts of land and became known as a Walers (short for New South Wales). They were strong, sure-footed and could go great distances with poor quality feed and little water.

SHE – ODE TO THE WIND

Mal Beveridge

The wind drives our weather and creates the good seasons and the bad and is always with us.

She waltzes the breeze with a tickle and tease
past maidens who dance in the late summer’s heat
and shimmers and glistens in streets as she listens
through devils who whirl in the dust at her feet.

MATES AT THE GATE

Mick Martin

The bank had loaned him thousands
And he signed as farmers do
To keep from going under
And the interest would accrue.

The years of drought had pushed him
To the edge of dark despair
His family loved this station
But the bankers would not care.

KANCHANABURI

Dot Schwenke

The Kanchanaburi War Cemetery is located 4km from the bridge over the River Kwai. It sums up the tragedy and cost of the Thai-Burma Rail and each headstone documents a sacrifice and our loss.

I read it on a headstone,
It was on the Burma rail,

North Pine Bush Poets

Poems