Best Waterhole Poems
Waltzing Shearer
Out near Dagworth Station during 1894
Where the Waltzing Matilda, Swagman drowned,
Cos he liked them lamb chops nicely browned,
He was only eating the Masters sheep, scoffing em down,
Disgusting said Squatters and frowned, some more,
In 1894,
Great Shearers strike was still happening,
Burned down Dagworth shearing shed, for sure,
Firing guns were the Gun Shearers , ..shore 300 sheep a day..
Fair wages they wanted, some more,
The Shearers strike it got ugly,
The Master brought in the Army and war,
Shearers were using Phosphorous,
Delayed action fires galore,
The master and 3 coppers came along ,
They chased down a swagman, before,
He plunged in the water, the billabong,
And death did come like a whore,
So he goes no more waltzing a Jumbuck,………..…sheep
His ghost lingers still there by the shore,
Was it the Combo, waterhole,
Where he sprang and he bubbles no more.
Don Johnson 24-sep-11
Yes Vom, Gram.
nothing wrong with sweet little whores,
except unless she sometimes snores,
and forgets to pay the rent,
and death is welcome as before,
for this dim malcontent...
We are off on a long DRIVE to see the famous, re-known big FIVE,
Three hours later at the Kruger National Park we safely arrive,
And cruise among predatory country, beautiful, colorful wildlife,
Full of LIFE the two of us, my husband and his very excited WIFE.
We see a pride of LIONS, and park next to a tour bus of HAWAIIANS,
They seem ecstatic, cameras clicking, among them Uruguayans,
They follow us, as they seem to think we will know where to go,
Continue over a bridge SLOW, see crocodiles drifting with the river FLOW.
Still the tour BUS continues and winds its way whenever they see US,
We see cheetah, leopards, a herd of elephants, an absolute plus,
We stop, the tour bus stops too, at a waterhole, but leave, close by are bees,
We spot rhinos, baboons, eagles perched on TREES, a warthog on its KNEES!
The tourist’s excitement contagious and SPILLS, we come across horn BILLS,
Big birds, the secretary bird, Goliath herons, but the horn bills by the hills,
Excite them the most, we had befriended each other and my husband said,
These birds don't FLY, upon which they flew off towards the SKY, hubby so red!
POETRY CONTEST ENTRY
IN RHYMES SUBLIME POETRY CONTEST ENTRY
SPONSORED BY; JOSEPH MAY
05/11/2020
oh how cold
the drift of migrant winds
unto the strip of lawn,
their newly planted garden
now slowly blooming
with jasmines and herbs that rise
above a pile of flakes.
Will he ever know how
she tended each bud
unfurling fingers to touch the lattice
of night stars? Her pale body leans
upon a mound as she lifts her cheeks
to seek his face on a hazy twirl of lamplight;
while December’s froth scrapes her breath
melting the dew…bending her form
which drops in a waterhole of sorrow.
.
-----------------
Poem for Carol Eastman
Sumbitted 6/19/2016
Zebra stripes
you instantly know what animal it is,
Xanthic you couldn't call it
white and black are its colours.
Viewing and naming an animal
usually needs a certain knowledge
that comes through reading and observing
Stripes are more prevalent than spots on animals
Remaining beasts are mostly of one colour
Quite a number resemble the terrain it lies in.
Perfectly camouflaged,
on a hot day most animals lie in the shade.
Natures way of keeping cool is a dip in the waterhole
Many become victims of a hiding crocodile.
Lying under the water in wait for the thirsty.
Killing them in its massive jaws
Just the same for humans who take the risk,
I wouldn't be that brave.
However the young animals find
going without water a killer.
For they can't just pop a can as they need
everyday occurrence for you and I.
Dangers lurk everywhere in the bush
Careful now as you go
Beautiful beasts everywhere
Africa where danger is a way of life
Penned 2 October 2015
Waterhole of love
In the midst of boundless dune
Home of countless souls
Winter, summer, spring, or fall
All year round you stand tall
The Cooee-booroo was Irish, a migrant to this land,
who fled his native Galway and the grip of famine's hand.
For fifteen years he'd forged a life 'round Goulburn, New South Wales,
though sought his dream on Coopers Creek, out where the black man hails.
Where native Bootamurra folk for years were known to roam,
the place they called Thullung-gurra - their ancient tribal home.
Kyabra's unspoilt waterhole was home to fish and birds,
though Patsy Durack had in mind to bring his cattle herds.
'Twas here he met young Burrakin, a figure barely clad,
who claimed the man ... Boonari now ... to this young native lad.
Though Patsy called him Pumpkin ... much easier in the end
and like the humble vegetable he proved the bushman's friend.
For that proud Bootamurra youth, a whole new life began,
as Pumpkin loved the Durack folk and claimed them as his clan.
He watched them build their empire through the good times and the bleak;
for sixteen years he helped them build grass castles on the Creek.
When Patsy finally left the run to try the city’s fare,
he left old Pumpkin as head man and thought him better there.
Then Durack planned to build a run up in the Kimberleys:
an empire for his two young sons, a kind of legacy.
But Pumpkin yearned the company of Patsy, his dear friend
and left his old Kyabra home to join him in the end.
He stood by Patsy Durack till the old man passed away,
though stayed to keep the dream alive and rests there to this day.
These two Australian pioneers did leave a legacy-
the meaning of true brotherhood - as you can plainly see.
So whether you be white or black, do copy if you can,
the Cooee-booroo from Ireland and that Bootamurra man.
I have always enjoyed reading the early history of our Australian pioneers and the Durack
family certainly played their part in opening up this vast country. Sometimes the
seemingly minor characters, who become an integral part of that history, tend to fade
into insignificance with the passing of time. Characters such as Burrakin [Pumpkin] of
the Bootamurra people, whose life was completely changed by the coming of the Durack
family to Kyabra Ck. Burrakin's outstanding display of loyalty to his white brother,
Patsy Durack, is well worth remembering. My tribute to both men
Warm sun glided across the dewy sky
Guns ready the Maharaja astride his horse
The green forest spread his vast arms
Beckoning hunters from far and wide
The prize, a tiger in his prime
Nerves tingling the men ventured forth
Deep within the heart stood the waterhole
Silence broken by an occasional monkey call
The tiger watched their progress with interest
The jittery deer ran around the glade
Yellow eyes followed the Maharaja
Sambhar alerted the hunters of his mighty presence
Guns ready the men advanced
The tiger glided amid the bamboo
Shots ranged all over the jungle
The yellow eyes looked into the brown
The maharaja silently turned away
The tiger lived to see another day
Orchard Boulevard
Heavy traffic;
Congested minds
Orchard Road crowd
Seeking diversions;
After hours delight
Beer guzzling cliques
Evening waterhole;
Downtown gathering
Shopping mall ambience
Restaurants fully booked;
Long queues waiting
Shopping spree
Bargain hunting;
Well-earned bonus
Baby boomers
Grey hairlines dyed;
Cluster to chit-chat
Evening stroll
Two old lovers;
Talking in silence
TV dinner recipe
Fruits and salad;
Crash diet plan
Ordinary moments
Triumph of simplicity;
Nothing to lose
Bills come
Regular as debt;
Payment requests
Old man,
Old woman;
Aged like brandy
Fleeting passage
Echoes in the wind;
Evening sanctuary
Write and ink
Poetic wonders;
New revelations
Blank canvas
Splash of paint strokes;
New art form
Wander far
Yet not lost;
Wonder dictates
Music strains
Piano nocturne;
Classical wit
Muse now amused
Flinging outburst;
Word-pictures spring
Relax and listen
Ink flow records;
Haiku prospects
Leon Enriquez
06 Mar 2014
Singapore
Bunyip
Old Bunyip lurked in the billabong
He had a calf like face
Had the body of a seal
strong magic in this place
Native fishermen caught small Bunyip
One thought to carry it home
Dream time legend says
Mother came riding a wall of water
So baby wouldn’t be alone
Now water swirled round his feet
He looked at the girl beside him
Saw a black bird so sweet
Black swans the tribe abide in
Stay away from the billabong……..Aboriginal waterhole
Bad magic there resides
Don’t be a foolish plurry nong
Black swans there be your guide
A safari, in an open jeep with an open mind,
To unravel the secrets of the Kanha forest reserve,
Midst the tall sal trees, our eyes scoured to find,
The elusive majestic striped cat, we've strived to conserve.
Through the bauhinia canopies with copious white flowers,
Behind black rocks where the Bagheera once slouched,
We rumbled to the plain grasslands midst light showers,
To the tall golden grasses where the predator crouched,
Before lunging forth on the camouflaged grazer that cowers,
That's his first kill for the day, his hunger doused?
The clear pond reflected the skies blue burst,
The pond named Shravan Taal, the great watering hole,
Where Pumba and deers of all sizes quenched their thirst,
And a woodpecker's relentless pecking, felled a branch whole,
A peacock danced with full plumage in a spectacular outburst,
An igret looked for a fish in the pond, went on a troll!
Never was there a dull moment in Kanha for me,
Every silence, tweet or hoot carried a message,
A langur's alarm call, then a deer's bark, alerted us to see,
As we returned through the same passage,
At the waterhole, there was indeed the majestic Tiger resting,
Nonchalantly, chilled out in cool environs, without stirring,
Indifferent to the probing cameras that were flashing,
In Kanha, he's the undoubted King!
Lush green, ochre to straw, the ageing colours of maturity,
Love or enmity, all's out in the open, without any pretence,
Tough is the life of the jungle, the fittest'll survive its severity,
The golden sunset against the Lendia at Kanha, a labyrinth so intense!
15th May, 2017
To Understand
by Odin Roark
How unrelenting the quest
To seek the waterhole
Beyond the mirage
Where the persistent ethereal holds court
Determining survival
Either to perish
Or suspend the next step
Perhaps to understand
Such stumbles the imperceptible
That quixotic hold
Our unknown resolve embraces
Shackling the moment
Seductive anticipation for few
Suffering for many
Foreplay for some
Climactic anticipation for most
How provocative
This lure to comprehend
Yet upon acquired answers
Surges the letdown
Some might speculate
There is no finite knowledge
Only the appetite to pursue
Our curiosity driven acceptance
Savoring intellectual small portions
Emotional gorging
Mindful drunkenness
Exhausted deliverance
Knowing it is but an interim
To the day’s darkening horizon
Perhaps what we choose to believe
Some hold as refutable comprehension
Is simply that which struggles beyond
The empirical benchmark of science
The surreal thus far not witnessed
A sunrise coming
A thrilling haul to the waterhole
His chronic thirst to quench
In his favourite crystal bowl
The herd enjoying the cooling of the splash
Caught head down
Couldn’t see what was to come next
Relaxing his high alert
The hooded shadow swooped down
Owning the skies like a dark cloud
Surveying the land on a glide
Silent as a pocket of air
Screening below for remote subtleties
On the prowl
For the night owl
A crash landing - a crush so foul
A high five of sharp claws
A chilling howl so fowl
A half prayer – choking on fear
Owing to his piercing eyes
The end in a flash on a pendulum swing
Under the shade of a guillotine
Of bloodlust and flesh tearing fest
Of escaping the savouring of one’s own gorge
In the brutal setting of the killing ground
To live to tell the tale
Of the fluff of his feathery tail
Slipping from the clutches of death
The scent of his life choking breath
THE WATERHOLE
Two elephants merge
at the waterhole ~
entanglement of trunks
one emerges as
the gray-fountain leader ~
heavyweight of the dusty road
two images wane
in monotone gloaming ~
wispy clouds of dust
8/27/2017
Behind the waterfalls
is where they go to die.
To dip their ivory hearts
in water gems and rainbow mist
one last time....
Remembering,once upon an ancient path
when great gray trumpets walked a line
from waterhole to waterhole.
Nothing to fear
but the season of dry.
Raising young
like the sun lifts the sky
so strong- so lovingly.
Her last thought,
when she was a sprite,
light-footed bright, amber eyed.
Playing tag amidst the pillars of her life
trunk snapping the wind.
Hymns of the ancients, tickling veined ears.
living forever, beyond the waterfalls.
It’s a beautiful landscape of Serengeti animal refuge,
Near a parched savannah with skeleton trees, lies a water hole,
You see a beautiful picture of animal kingdom paradise,
Elephants, zebras, Giraffes, birds, and blue wildebeests, all taking a sip.
With the sky overcast with roaming grey clouds,
The receding grass land looks yellow and dry,
Wildebeests crowd the waterhole, as elephants patiently wait their turn,
It’s the lesson for human kind, how to live with others in harmony.
Wildebeest migrate every rainy season to dry grass lands,
Crossing rivers and lakes, some of them die of drowning,
Some are eaten by crocodiles, some fell prey to tigers and lions,
Their tenacity of migration, gives us the spirit to survive in hard journeys of life.
Wildebeest knows how to share the resources wisely,
They let zebras eat the hard grass top, and they eat the soft part underneath,
They also migrate in numbers, never forgetting their friendly zebras,
Showing us that group effort with friends and family triumphs over solo journeys.