"This is an autobiographical poem providing background as to how/why I became an artist."
A Positive Young Country Fella
My Dodge/Chrysler Plymouth" built in '36 was not designed for carting
bricks or rabbits
One neat extra-storage trick was taking out the big back seat
But "watch out for the battery -
It could easily be shorted out, all exposed down there!"
That night's shooting with the spot light
Brought a tally of sixty one -
And - being a positive young country fella
That added up to more than twenty pair!
Or more than five dozen
If I sold them in town, skun -
For the baker's oven
But the travelling mobile freezer, God willing
Would pay twice the shilling
'Cause they could use good early winter fur
Plus - I didn't have to skin them -
Just cut, clean, gut and bring them
No questions asked and cash-in-hand
It wasn't 'til much later
We learned they were as "Dodgy" as the Chrysler Plymouth
The bloke was a greyhound baiter
And he needed all the fur on
To cover up their game -
But that's a nasty "other story"
Perhaps a bit too gory -
Maybe I could tell you all much later
But I think that's quite enough
Of that one for now
I was going well and thought I'd be there in no more than an hour
Until - a rear-wheel wound its wheel-bolts anti-clockwise -
'Cause the holes were the bolts went were worn away -
Then, before I knew it -
I was riding on the brake-drum as it started veering sideways
And ploughed the stub-axle deep into the rutted, dusty road -
It began to look like trouble
And it looked like I could be stuck out there all day!
As I've already stated, things would not be exaggerated
If I described the situation as seeming rather grim!
But - being a positive young country fella - I thought
Things can only get better -
So I planned to fix it
And continue on my way -
BUT - the jack was under all the rabbits
And just to how you how a positive young
Country fella's mind works in a crisis -
A funny thought hit me -
Did you know two jack rabbits would
Be a pair of yanked hairs?
But I digress ....
The bumping slewed the whole lot sideways
With the crank handle and the wheel-brace
And I heard the short-circuit sparking
And I tried to reach it
But I was too late
The damage was already well underway
It was then I could smell it!
It was awful - the distinctive, unpleasant stink of burning fur!
Then the smoke confirmed it -
The bottom of the pile of rabbits was ON FIRE!
Before the heat could stew them
I held my breath, reach in, grabbed and threw them
Right out into the middle of the road -
Yes, the loss looked truly awful
But - I could have lost the whole bloody car-full
And being a positive young country fella,
I counted my blessings (and the rabbits) once again
I was lucky, I'd only lost a dozen
But, as you all know -
Life is full of lessons
And I had a lot to learn - about oxygen and fires -
And how they like to breathe to make them really burn!
You see, now, without the rabbits smothering the fire
The flames could grow so freely and leap up so much higher -
And the rear of the interior began to rage
But now I know I'm lucky
'Cause along came this big, friendly truckie
A rare-enough occasion on that isolated back road - as you'd know -
Armed with fire extinguisher
He leaped out like a comic super hero
And vanquished the fiery dragon in his stride
We quickly fixed the wheel up
And reloaded all the rabbits and-
As luck would have it -
I could still get them to the freezer before nine
Well, I did, so it happens -
But I think now in hind-sight
I would have been better off staying right at home
'Cause by now, the rabbits were all fly-blown
So by the time I got there the car was full of bloody maggots!
And they wouldn't let me unload them in their yard!
So - I had no place to dump them
And it took me quite a while to explain
Why I couldn't drive away -
You see, I had forgotten that the truckie had jump-started
The old Plymouth just before he departed -
And I had turned off the ignition -
And now I had nothing but a burnt, half-melted battery in the car -
The case was oozing acid
And the fumes burned my nostrils
The carcasses were going rotten by the second
And would continue to do so -
For as long as it took, I reckoned
To get me mobile and moving on the road
So - reluctantly - with rags wrapped 'round
Like hankies to cover up their noses
They helped me get it started with a tow -
By now it was becoming very difficult to breathe
So, being a positive young country fella
I just wound down all the windows
And breathed through one sleeve
Of my home-made leather jacket
Which I tied onto the door frame
To make a tube -
This kept inflated like an airport air-sock by the wind
It took more than an hour
To find somewhere I could safely put them -
and I reflected on the events of the day -
Being a positive young country fella,
I realised what a blessing in disguise this all had been -
It gave me insight to what I should be doing, right away -
"Perhaps I was not cut for this sort of life" -
Battling to make a living from shooting roos and rabbits -
And coping with the strife to make it pay -
NO- I'll become an artist - I don't know how I'll do it
But being a positive young country fella, I'll find a way!
"I was invited to be guest speaker at a year of the outback squatters ball. These poems were written a week before the event to present the two differing views of a 'squatters ball' in the eyes of two social strata in a rural community."
"What is a squatter's ball?"
"Mum, - what is a "Squatter's Ball?"
"You ask me?" - Well, I'll tell you son
Every year it comes around
When money smells of fresh-shorn wool
With a sort of greasy lanolin stench
No common 'townies' are welcome
Unless prepared to be a very dumb waiter
Or a pretty serving wench -
Yes, I was one once -
That is the season of the 'toffs'
Or those who 'wanna-be'
Or that among the locals means
'Those of the 'Squattocracy'
There is upstairs, downstairs
And in-between
It depends on where you stand
With the 'landed-gentry'
But woe-betide anyone who tries
To mezzanine - you know the ones
Who aren't bred from blue-blood-squatter stock
Nor privilege-born with a silver spoon
But they'll come
And Thank God they'll go
And that can never be too soon
So let me give you some good advice
I know what's' behind your question -
I saw that funny look you gave
To that "Miss Very Winsome Whats-her-name"
Her family have a sheep station
Out the back of 'woop'
She'll break your heart
And I tell you now there's only yourself to blame
Forget her son - keep to our kind
Your very own -
We already know our station in life
Don't even think for a silly minute
That station owner's daughter
Could ever by your wife!"
Standing as tall as a Squatter
"Grand-mama - why does the Waradgery Club
Hold a "Squatters' Ball?"
And why are we called "squatters"
When we stand so tall?
Let me explain Penelope
Of course you wouldn't know
It's how our family came here
Many years ago
Not like that penal stock
Who committed crimes to gain their entry
We're from people of good breeding
Known as the "Landed-Gentry"
It was an idea of the Government
To settle and cultivate this land
And to get it started
This is what they planned
You found your own parcel
And around it drew a line
Then said "That's where I'll build my castle"
All that land is mine!
It pleased everyone no end
Especially those with money
They simply had to fence their claim
It was the land of milk and honey
Of course we had to spend a lot
On property improvement and stock
But we're proud to look back now
It's a credit to your dad's father
You can see what the family built
Even though I'd rather
It was not still in hock
And to think it all began
From Grand-dad's family jewels
Concealed beneath his tartan kilt
When he did the Atlantic crossing
Then wool collapsed
The whole business became pathetic
We sold stud-breeding rams
To the Russians in the Baltic
But the strangest yarn of all
Is how we were strangled by synthetics
It all became so difficult
It is still a constant battle
Some even tried growing crops
Others went into cattle
I still believe the seasons ahead
Will turn out to be "bumper"
Because refined ladies
Do not want to be showered
In cheap electrostatic sparks
Each time they remove their jumper!
No-no it's wool they need
It's becoming finer and finer
It will reclaim it's rightful place
Against that dreadful fibre
Being imported right now
From China
Mark my word
There'll be a day
Regardless of what you've heard
When synthetics fall out of favour
Demand for fine-fleece will return
And it will be our saviour
We will all be riding high
On the good sheep's back
So the ball my dear Penelope
Is our annual celebration
Of surviving for another year
Supporting the proud out-back
And our even prouder nation
"God save the Queen".