Best Bushland Poems
There's a breed of Aussie hero who has served this nation well
and they don a yellow uniform to face the fires of hell.
When day temperatures are soaring and the high winds blow a gust,
and our bushland is ignited it's in them we place our trust.
Yes, you're all somebody's daughter and you're all somebody's son;
you are mothers and you’re fathers. Hard hat heroes everyone.
When their mates are in the hot seat and they need a helping hand,
they will volunteer their services from stations 'cross this land.
Whether country towns or cities or a bush fire brigade;
they will gladly throw their hats in and will offer their mates aide.
Yes, you're all somebody's daughter and you're all somebody's son;
you are mothers and you’re fathers. Hard hat heroes everyone.
Do you owe your home or property, your very lives perhaps,
to the selfless, sincere efforts of these bold fire-fighting chaps?
Or still sadly you lost everything, but proudly can attest
to their fierce determination as each brave soul did their best.
Yes, you're all somebody's daughter and you're all somebody's son;
you are mothers and you’re fathers. Hard hat heroes everyone.
So I ask you all to join me as we stand and raise a glass
to the courage and the spirit of this fire fighting, class;
and I'm sure you'd love to join me as this message we impart,
"You're such true blue hard hat heroes and we thank you from the heart."
Yes, you're all somebody's daughter and you're all somebody's son;
you are mothers and you’re fathers. Hard hat heroes everyone.
Excitement filled the bushland as December was near
Every creature had been waiting for Christmas time - all year.
Wallabies hung their stockings on a gumtree branch with care
Just as all nice children do – everywhere.
Meanwhile those more up to date logged on the internet
sending E mails to Santa to see what they could get
Koalas draped high treetops with shiny garlands green
And furry possums lined their dens in golden glitter sheen
Wallabies joined in with bright balloons hung on their tails
All the crows tied streamers, cascading from the rails.
Kookaburras’ laughter changed to Christmas songs
While magpies and peewees piped along in throngs.
A wombat and a bandicoot made honeysuckle punch
The parrots came too early and drank’ til they got drunk
And when the’ Magic Pudding’ came to help with Christmas Dinner
His taste was so delicious he left a trifle thinner.
With a Kangaroo as Santa, his pouch stuffed full of cheer
hopping ‘round the outback in the hottest time of year
Just guess what all the drovers got- lots of ice-cold beer.
Suzanne Delaney
For Children's Christmas Poem Contest for Carol Eastman
At daybreak,
I approach the beach across a soft hill of clover,
past sleeping Pandanus palms,
and down a small sand dune.
I am enveloped by sea wind.
I look up to a flight of swallows - symbol of returning.
They occupy the airspace of seagulls.
A kookaburra laughs, somewhere to land-ward,
bringing fond memories of far off bushland.
A Malamute passes beside me,
pulling a woman on a long leash.
If she had a small sled she could mush
along this perfect white beach.
Tall lady pines grace the shoreline
their skirts just out of reach of sea water.
Seagulls sit in small conventions pecking free donuts.
They queue up for cups of coffee; I imagine
their grey wings tucked through Aloha shirts.
A German shepherd lopes, wolf-like, scatters them,
they swoop out to sea, laughing.
They'll be telling the folks back home
of their close call.
Now the sun's rays have reached the high rises,
awakening diamond fires from glass windows.
On the horizon, sunbeams reach down in straight lines
like sun-pictures from a child's storybook.
My imagination runs wild but my walk has ended,
as I climb the wooden ramp - back to the street,
alive for what my day holds.
The Long Drought
A raging drought is running, causing pain
Beneath the scorching sun, the barren plain
The river’s gone, she’s ceased her mighty flow
And bushland trees no longer thrive nor grow
The dams are low and dry, it pains my heart
Our town will slowly die and friends depart
No bales of straw or hay for starving stock
As more succumb each day, my dying flock
From hills of broom and land of dark”ning strife
He came to find a better way of life
The call of peaceful bush like magnet drew
In this sweet place my father’s dream came true
Beside a spread of bright and golden grain
A link was forged anew in our strong chain
Where ‘roos abound among the fields of corn
On this fair land, it’s here that I was born.
Work started for me at only fourteen
Became a sheep drover, still wiry lean
The days long an’ hard, the burden was light
The soil rich and dark, the future so bright
The farm became mine when my father died
Then came the dry clime, lost all of my pride
Long years of hard graft while still holding trust
Til lack of good rain turned soil into dust
The bank took our farm, I wished I were dead
Dark thoughts of self harm flood into my head
But senses prevail, I see them so clear
My darling wife, my young son very dear
I give you my hand, long time cobber mine
Take care of this land, it’s your dreaming time
Adieu my friends, for my time here is done
I'll pray for you all as the drought rages on.
I’m a very early riser - the first settler’s
alarm clock you might say-
If you haven’t heard my native name
Wiradjuri guuguubarr- That’s OK
you would know me as a Kookaburra.
You’ll often hear me laughing with my kinsfolk
from treetops to greet the morning
Then at day’s end we bid it a fond goodbye-
with a jovial, raucous chorus.
You could mistake it for human laughter
but it isn’t imitation- we’ve been laughing this way
since the beginning of creation.
I have a diet that will often make people shudder.
I can eat a 3 foot snake and then go looking for another.
I stun it first by dropping it — then whack it on a tree
And then, believe me — I swallow it — carefully.
I blend in well with the bushland
bark brown and dappled shades
You can’t see me in the gumtrees—that is
until my laughter gives me away.
I am the bushland dawning
in the stillness of the morning
I am the sunlit plains
and the mighty river's flow
I'm the drought and I'm the flood
I'm the earth and I'm the blood
I'm the breezes ever blowing
where the wild pandanas grow
I'm the stockman and the drover
and I've walked this land all over
and I share forgotten secrets
that the wild ones only know
I'm the dust of outback trails
I'm the wind that fills the sails
I'm the city and the country
and the first high mountain snow
I'm the Murray River flowing
and the cattle softly lowing
I'm the kangaroo and emu
and the sunset's orange glow
I'm the Southern Cross at night
the explorer's guiding light
I'm the place that tells the traveller
that it's better to go slow
I am Banjo and I'm Lawson
I am Kelly and I'm Mawson
I am the Melbourne Cup
and the Sydney Easter Show
I am wild and still untamed
and there's beauty in my name
I am the land Australia
where the lucky people go.
From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"
free-roaming feral
Australian mob of brumbies-
Snowy River man
I passed by Old Man Banksia, a wonderfully gnarled tree,
While trekking through the Jamison, a bushland pedigree,
I saw the broad leaf of the Geebung, with its yelow frill,
The distant sounds of Katoomba Falls with its water spill.
Suddenly excitement grew, new noise, a whipping sound,
Its shrilled call pierced the air, the unbelievable was found,
A lyrebird with all its beauty, elusiveness personified,
Stood before me tail flared,my mouth was open wide.
It was clawing in the leaf litter, with insects being found,
Its ornate, opaque tail swished on to the ground,
It hopped around in the mulch, paused then moved on,
I was waiting in anticipation for another whipping song.
My encounter was a brief one, for as soon as I got near,
It decided to fossick elsewhere without the risk of fear,
But I had seen this ancient animal with vocal chords unique,
The world's greatest mimic, its repertoire so complete.
Screeching cockatoos
Laughing young Kookaburras
Summer’s wild flowers
To take the time to dream awhile
By winding rivers and bushland trails
Lacy ferns line rivers edge
And reeds grow tall to cast a hedge
The sun filled hours of a summers day
Makes me feel so happy and gay
With the smell of the fragrant balmy air
And the cooling breeze blowing through my hair
So take the time to wander down memory lane
When you take time to dream again
Oh to observe the world in all its beauty
Just for a moment to ignore what is wrong
And all we do that is wrong and all that should be
To see to observe, to treasure,to glimpse and to embrace
Flowers all their different colours shapes and beauty
Roses, waterlilies, orchids, daffodils, tulips, sweet pea
Glorious trees that soar way up, up, up into the sky
Providing such beauty, shelter and home to so many
Birds flying in the air, regal animals roaming the land
Blue skies, sunrises, the gentle rain, the mystery of a rainbow
Lovers embracing walking along a beach hand in hand
Waves lapping on shore, blue lakes and gentle streams
Waterfalls, flowing rivers, bushland, desert and cities tall
Children so eager playing dancing laughing through life
Singers singing their songs, musicians playing such sounds
All around is such beauty all around is thrilling life
Stars twinkling in the heavens, the moon shining down
Paintings, movies, wonderful dancers performing on a stage
Musical productions that leave us breathless in awe and wonder
Young men and young women filled with youth and vitality
Older people that time has touched, every wrinkle a life lived
Smiling faces you observe that thrill you to the very core
Sunsets that simply takes this mortal’s breath away
But most of all in this wonderful extraordinary world I see
There is you and this sight it fills my heart to overflowing.
You cause my breath to still
Arachne.
Your handiwork of splendid intricacy
Suspended from the armpits of nature,
vividly displayed through the unfolding mist,
holds me in this moment.
Adornments of the ancient bushland,
Your labour of survival, purposefully created,
Surpass any mortal attempts of mimicry.
Mocking Minerva’s intention of entrapment
You continue triumphantly
Weaving delicate decorations,
Catching acclamation afresh.
Jo Cook
.
Out in the bushland, no street lights around
No sheltering tent, we lay on the ground
Close by a green pool and Kurrajong tree
Alone by ourselves, just Willow and me
The bushland at night is dark as black tar
A million bright twinkles, each one a star
The moon, just a sliver, riding up high
No clouds to obscure, and rain a far cry
Way off in the distance low eerie moans
Raised hairs on my neck, a chill in my bones
But Willow just snuffled, curled in a ball
No fright in her hackles, no fear at all
Slow dying embers, a lone dingo’s cry
A night in the bushland under the sky
Have you walked the bushland trails?
With Banksias all around
And whiffed the scent of rotting leaves
All scattered on the ground
Have you walked with sand beneath your toes?
Amidst the seashells lining beach
Your hair all blowing in the wind
As salty air your mouth does reach
Have you lifted up your face?
And felt the snow-flakes on your skin
The feel of this is oh, so great
As Autumn dies, winter comes in
Isn't it great to be alive?
With so much beauty on this earth
To smell the flowers in the morn
As new day it comes to birth
Bumblebee
b u m b l e s
bushland
Second Place Contest Winner
Written: July 7, 2021
In Just A Few Words 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May