Best Chooks Poems
I’ve always been restless since I was a kid,
to settle near drives me insane.
I’ll just throw together the best that I can
what I own and be gone again.
Boxes long packed I had stacked in a shed,
are obsolete, so I feel that I have
to lighten my load for my road ahead,
then discover an old photograph.
Stopped in my tracks, I sit on the bench;
I look deeply into the face.
My eyes go all misty as I travel back,
to a little old weatherboard place.
Where I remember the warmth in the kitchen,
on those cold and wet winter nights.
Hot steaming soup; the open wood fire,
and the flickering kerosene lights.
How the family was close knit together.
We hadn’t even heard of T.V.
Chatting while eating our Sunday roast;
neighbour visits for hot scones and tea.
Bare footed we ran through the paddocks,
seeking out mud or a puddle.
If we came down with an ailment,
the remedy - a kiss and a cuddle.
Patched up were my breeches and socks.
Most ‘jumpers’ were ‘hand me down’.
I was so proud of my ‘new’ clothes;
showing everyone who came around.
Rabbit was our staple diet.
Trapped in the bush at the back of our home.
‘Chooks’ we kept for the eggs;
only eaten if we killed one of our own.
Blinking, I came back to earth;
took a breath and so pleased to find,
what I believed was forgotten,
is deeply entrenched in my mind.
Dormant I wait for the moment.
Something releases memories I have.
A tear falls and darkens a spot,
on Mother’s faded photograph.
Grandpa’s a gem in the garden,
tending his sprouts and his peas,
tomatoes and onions and cabbage,
his ‘caulies’ and his broccoli’s.
I have seen plenty of gardens,
chocked full of bountiful greens,
but none the standard of grandpa’s,
with his chili’s ‘n chocko’s 'n beans.
So I believed grandpa was blessed,
with an artistic green thumb,
by his artichokes, pumpkin and corn,
and his wonderful red capsicum.
At first I mentioned to grandpa
“His garden’s as good as can be.”
Then asked him “How does it grow?”
This is how he answered me.
“I ‘foller’ chooks, horses 'n cows,
with a big shovel an’ ‘barra’,
puttin’ load after load of manure,
on silver beet, spinach and ‘marra.”
Manure! I said “Loads of manure,
that really makes plenty of sense,”
then the old ‘biddy’ from next door,
stuck her head over the fence.
“I have been listening you know,
your language belongs in the sewer,
the word that you should be using,
is fertilizer, and not manure!”
I put me hands over me ears,
expecting grandpa to ‘explete’,
with a barrage of verbal manure,
on zucchini’s and over red beet.
But before grandpa could answer,
grandma called out with a plea.
“What in the world are you saying?
Madge you just listen to me.”
“I have cajoled and pleaded and prayed.
I’m telling you there’s nothing truer,
its taken me ‘round forty years,
just to get him to call it manure.”
I'd broken down beside the highway; my poor old car's just died,
and when I lifted up the bonnet you know I could have cried.
It’s a busted water hose, and of course I don't have a spare,
so I’m stuck here with my bonnet up and no houses anywhere.
What do I do! do I leave my car; hitch-hike to get the part,
or wait for someone to come along and let that be the start.
My decision was made up for me; a bloke pulled up behind,
and introduced himself as Eric, before - "What did you find?"
"Busted hose" Eric chuckled. "You better hop in the car with me;
I'll have one somewhere in my shed; come on we'll go and see".
He drove off the highway down a track that took us to Eric's door,
I never got a word in … Eric talked and talked then talked some more.
I thought I'd discovered 'Noah's Ark' when he pulled up the car.
Animals of all descriptions ran to us from near and far;
cattle, sheep, horses; some geese; chooks and a dog sat up to beg;
two donkeys with some goats and a pig which had a wooden leg.
Every animal is tame and everyone has got a name,
and every one expects a pat; then I needed Eric to explain.
"What happened to your little pig that has got a wooden leg?"
"Poor old Doris, We-e-ll, she's lucky", then, this is what Eric said.
“For Christmas I'd just killed the chooks; took 'em inside to the wife”.
She said “What about the leg of pork?” then she handed me the knife.
Doris ran to me with trusting eyes; right then I knew somehow,
as I placed the knife against her throat - I couldn’t kill this sow".
I was driving down Webb road, with the thoughts I’ve had all week,
And that is upon the crayfish that I net in Shady Creek,
Webb road is not a long one, but it’s narrow and it winds,
And scrub that’s clinging to the edge is thick and often blinds.
That’s why I guess a cat is squashed upon the edging of the road,
Because pedestrians don’t stand a chance with cars in travelling mode
Where they fly around the corners at a speed that’s way too fast,
But who cares about a flattened cat when they are driving past.
When I parked me car beside the bridge, with the Shady flowing under,
I thought about the lifeless cat, and how I could have made a blunder,
The bait I have is mainly bone, with bits of meat to lure me prey,
When knowing that the meat of cats, is loved better by a cray.
I laid me nets out on the grass, while in me mind there is debate,
Should I use the bones or take a drive, and grab the better bait.
It will take a short ten minutes; therefore the cat will bear the load,
So I’m changing gears back in me car, when driving down Webb road.
With the cat upon me mind, and driving past a farmers home,
The last thing that I expected was a rooster on the roam,
I felt the bird go underneath, and through my mirror at the rear,
All I could see was flying feathers and the Rooster on its ear.
That buggered up me day alright, I’m fishing on this farmer’s place,
He’ll probably mention ‘shot gun’ when I tell him face to face,
So apprehensively I tapped his door and when he stood in front of me,
I said “I’ve got news you will not like. Your rooster’s a fatality”.
He stared at me with misty eyes; I thought he found it hard to face it,
So I shrugged me shoulders and I said, “Look, allow me to replace it”.
I was nervous waiting his response, and then he threw me right off track…
When he shrugged and answered, “Suit yourself. The chooks are ‘round the back”.
CHRISTMAS PORK
I'd broken down beside the highway; my poor old car's just died,
and when I lifted up the bonnet, you know I could have cried.
It’s a busted water hose, and of course I don't have a spare,
so I’m stuck here with my bonnet up, and no houses anywhere.
What do I do! do I leave my car; hitch-hike to get the part,
or wait for someone to come along, and let that be the start.
My decision was made up for me; a bloke pulled up behind,
and introduced himself as Eric, before - "What did you find?"
"Busted hose" Eric chuckled. "You better hop in the car with me,
I'll have one somewhere in my shed, come on we'll go and see".
He drove off the highway down a track, that took us to Eric's door,
I never got a word in … Eric talked and talked then talked some more.
I thought I'd discovered 'Noah's Ark', when he pulled up the car.
Animals of all descriptions, ran to us from near and far,
cattle, sheep, horses; some geese; chooks and a dog sat up to beg,
two donkeys with some goats, and a pig which had a wooden leg.
Every animal is tame, and everyone has got a name,
and every one expects a pat; then I needed Eric to explain.
"What happened to your little pig that has got a wooden leg?"
"Poor old Doris, We-e-ll, she's lucky", then, this is what Eric said.
“For Christmas I'd just killed the chooks, took 'em inside to the wife”.
She said “What about the leg of pork?” then she handed me the knife.
Doris ran to me with trusting eyes; right then I knew somehow,
as I placed the knife against her throat, I couldn’t kill this sow".
Mate I reckin’ I get some real ding bats visiting me
I’m fed up to the teeth and pissed off as can be
Streuth I swear that last one was one big big drama Queen
Her Type you’ll meet in the outback makin’ one hell of a scene
As she parades around with her la de dah airs and graces
Carrying on like a rat bag when a rattle snake she faces
Now it’s not my fault if a Koala goes and pisses on her dress
But she goes all ***** like and cries out in distress
And when she encounters a real beaut crocodile
She actually goes bonkers and acts all infantile
Now the blokes around her perve and act without restraint
Flies she cannot tolerate, the heat it makes her faint
I tell you mate that chooks a real flamin’ garbor
Especially when she takes a gander at big cockie on the floor
Yep mate I reckon’ on nature that sheila’s not real keen
And to top it off a real flamin’ arty-fartie drama Queen!
____________________
ding bat: slightly mad
ratbag: person who acts foolishly
beaut: good, great
bonkers: Of unsound mind
chook: slang woman
perve: look at with admiration
gander: look at
cockie: cockroach
sheila: woman
arty-fartie: type of put down of a person
When living in the Australia outback it is always a surprise when
A new comer visits and does somewhat over react when meeting unexpectedly for the first time some of our beloved Australia native animals, insects and reptiles
Some get the talent,
Some get the good looks,
An some buy raffel tickets,
To win frozen chooks.
Some get the good luck,
Some get their true love,
An some get the cards the're delt,
And a soul they can sell.
Others get what's just not enough,
What's a road if the road's not rough,
Others get somewhat, Some what of whatever they may choose,
What to choose?
A pair of shoes,
To smooth the road ahead.
Some they get their fairy tales,
Some may get a yacht to sail,
But what i've got she calls me dad,
With all that love entales.
She hugs me tight,
I'll guard her through the night,
An soon she will be sleeping,
Happy as I am right here in this moment,
Just exceeds whatever's worth dreaming
1930s Dirranbandi as mum Nelly says
In the town of Dirranbandi near the Cubbie cotton farm
was sea of Wilga trees with their dark green leafy charm
the Goats ate green Wilga standing on their back legs
( trees trimmed neatly underneath )
the horses were in hobbles , washing on the Wilga pegged
the Bumble tree would give you fruit for morning jam
Snottygobbles were sucked down fast as you can (mistletoe)
Napans and Quandong were wild growing fruit trees
Piemelon was a bit tartry jam, add sugar if you please
How it was in 1930 where the Claypan dances flowed
On the flat near Charlies Brummell's where a hundred Wilgas growed
The Devils claw might grab a sheep, and goat heads spiked your foot
And Sand goannas did their best to suck eggs out of chooks...
Old Dirran has gone south a bit from when we had it all
Back in the days of Feather chook who sometimes rode so tall (pushbike)
Boomi Jack has a sheep down, come and get the gall fat Harry
And lamb chops were had for breakfast cos old Boomi never married
(Boomi was partial to Harry's sheep)
Green frogs were in the rainwater tank, tasted froggy too
Rain water with a touch of bird dropping to make strong tea for you
The houses had dirt floors the kitchen wore some soot
Look sideways at a Copper, your butt would get his boot
Don Johnson
Dirranbandi Aggie
Agnes was a local lady, slight,
who had a different view,
Didn’t trust no lectric light,
might just burn her eyeballs too,
fat lamp a bubbling.
yes she lived in a ole brown house,
built yes for her, by her soldier husband,
2 pommy ladies offered to paint her roof, (english)
Silver frost paint on the iron did land,
Yes McGovern. (old Aubrey, me mate)
So she asked about the walls,
Cheapest was the silver frost,
Shining in the blazing sun,
Knock ya eyeballs flat, the cost,
Burnt eyeball loving?
Sheep head soup, was on the menu,
Eyeballs swimming in the soup,
In the rainwater tanks were a sleeping,
Chooks n rellies, in a group, (relatives)
They was stubborn. (coots)
corrugated igloos held galoots,
eggs sometimes found an lost,
long as the rooster got the boot,
bit fowl if he was crossed,
cook him in the old wood stove oven…
Don Johnson
DROUGHT
Yes i've wandered cross the country
where the Roo's can die of thirst
and the rivers often dry up
and the ground cracks like a curse
where you watch the storms a coming
but they don't bring bloody rain
the wind has treetops humming
left to scratch yer head again
Oh the years they pass so slowly
without the hiss of rain
though you listen to the tin roof
will it ever rain again?
a Willy Willy passes through
about 100 yards across
sheets of iron in the twister too
just our roof says the boss
2 years of drought and the rain it comes
and buckets down for days
fills up all the empty drums
in this grey and murky haze
oh the rivers coming down old mate
get the stock to the higher ground
they'll drown in the bottom paddock, great!
put em on the sand hill clown!
now flood does bring mosquito
in the millions they'll be found
and the sand flies eat the eyes out of the chooks...fowls
upon the ground
so we light the smoke fires in the hope
some smoke can help a beast
for the horses are a trotting
while the mossies have their feast
Mulga bush was thick out there (13% protein stock food)
Back in the long ago
Useless fellows bulldozed out
And the topsoil off did flow
And the stock do die in thousands
Where the Mulga tree did grow
Their bones do bleach on bare red soil
Where there aint no grass to mow
Don Johnson
Too much water lately, a lot of the trees gone in Indonesia
Maybe the monsoon came south?
For P.D.s Rain contest
Last Saturday, my husband and I went for a ride,
To enjoy the sunshine and the countryside.
First, we stopped to eat:
What a treat...
The place we chose was not posh,
You could not find much better nosh.
Homegrown salad greens sold there,
Homemade Pies, excellent fare,
New laid eggs from their chooks
I think Paree is where they get their cooks.
Not a sign of show or glitter,
And you would not need a babysitter,
Children are welcome with open arms,
This place is full of ambience and charm,
It is also a fodder store
And an old Post office and there is much more
To this rustic retreat.
It has history and character,
That would be hard to beat.
Friendly staff, efficient too.
Their priority is looking after you.
All-natural, wholesome and clean,
Somethings today that is seldom seen
Charlie and Arthur Johnson are not milking cows no more,
they’re running beef and sheep along with free-range chooks galore.
Their hobby now is ‘trotters’ (most were those you wouldn’t back)
They built a set of stables plus a full size-trotting track.
Their farm was on the edge of town, within walking distance.
Opportunity was always there to give everyone the chance,
to bring their own equipment; whatever that may be,
to cart the muck away for their flowers or a ‘veggie’.
Mostly I walk everywhere, for I’ve never owned a car,
so when I go to get manure I take my old wheelbarra’.
Some days I’d gather twenty loads; stacked high and I did find,
the odour that’s attached to me I didn’t really mind.
One morning with a steaming load I wheeled along the way,
Mickey Vickers pulled me up (he was four years old I’d say)
Screwing up his little nose at the stench now wheeling past,
he smiled ‘hello’ before across the load his eyes were cast.
“What’s that in ‘yer’ ‘barra’ mister that makes that awful stink?”
“Why Mickey its horse ‘poo’ and straw”. This made Mickey think.
“What are you doing with it?” He continued questionin’.
“I put them on my strawberries” - Mickey gaped and dropped his chin.
“You put that on your strawberries!” Little Mickey’s eyebrows lifted.
With concern he frowned his face; his eyes they quickly shifted,
and called his Mother at the door who walked over from the house …
“He puts that on his strawberries - I’m glad you put cream on ours!”
Anarchy vs Utopia
Anarchy divides the world,
the greedy overtake!
The greedy dross of hell is twirled,
thought nastiness, partakes,
computer connected is the world,
every nation has this quirk,
Facebook, Twitter mindset swirl,
lets vote on how it works,
humanity tires of the constant greed,
lets use the world wide web,
all for every one in need,
the corporations' Dread,
5 billion poor have this need,
a balance of the books,
a smile on every dial the deed,
and don't forget the Chooks (fowls)
Don Johnson SHARE
The chook house was found in disarray;
eggs were broken in a manic affray,
there were playboys galore;
drunk chooks on the floor -
the police are suspecting foul play.
Old,
Alone,
Crippled,
Husband died, left her side.
Old,
Alone,
Crippled,
Beauty lost, feelings frost.
Old,
Alone,
Crippled,
Jealous looks, stolen chooks.
Old,
Alone,
Crippled,
Illness lurks, Devil’s work.
Old,
Alone,
Crippled,
Unexplained, someone blamed.
Old,
Alone,
Crippled,
House of clay, easy prey.
Old,
Alone,
Crippled,
See her frown, hunt her down.
Old,
Alone,
Crippled,
Pitchfork, fire, bring the squire.
Old,
Alone,
Crippled,
Find his mark, all things dark.
Old,
Alone,
Crippled,
Greatest sin, duck her in.
Old,
Alone,
Crippled,
No more breathes, Devil leaves.
Old,
Alone,
Crippled,
Breathing still, we shall kill.
Old…
Alone…
And crippled…