Long Adventureold Poems
Long Adventureold Poems. Below are the most popular long Adventureold by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Adventureold poems by poem length and keyword.
Alone on the trail, pushing daylight,
we two pull into a small arroyo to bed down.
Nigh unto exhaustion, hot food
transcends tired old bones and the smell of sweat,
but not enough for either one of us to volunteer.
The fire, more for company than for heat
soon plays its lonely desert song into night air.
We take out our stash and roll an old fashioned
lumpy cigarette, twisting the end just so,
to hold it together till lit.
Soon we’re hanging on cliff’s edge between
the real and unreal world of guided imagination.
The dreams of holy men in ancient tribes calling
shape shifters into mental matrimony,
waiting for the merge of brain and vision.
Beating ceremonial drums and asking for grace.
They soon dig into my old rusty past that hangs
some where on the fringe of past and present.
I’m riding fiery waves in the belly of the beast.
Back draft--- watch for back draft I thought.
Back draft !! That point where temperature raises
combustion to the point of a cyclonic draft of fire.
The beast feeds on oxygen, oxygen eaten so fast
it sucks the surrounding area clean of all air.
A lucky person caught thus would be incinerated.
One unlucky would slowly roast while suffocating.
Awaking abruptly, I forgot the dream. Just a dream.
The wind had settled, in fact there was deathly quiet.
Too quiet, but nothing was giving information.
So we saddled, and headed into Big Timber, the last leg.
Big Timber—a plethora of ash, alpine, and firs of all kinds.
Only the solid wall of granite ahead, separated them and
the helicopter waiting to take them back to base camp.
He felt a harsh feeling of being stalked but didn’t know why.
Besides, he still was apprehensive about the deathly stillness.
As they wound into the narrows he tasted the distinct smell.
Fire, it was very close. Back draft he thought. The warning !!
Thank God for the tiny clearing before the final opening.
He could see the funnel reaching tree tops, deafening all.
Moving behind the outcrop again, they started to retreat.
Suddenly the silence was almost as deafening as the wind.
Moving again from behind the rocks, they were astounded.
The tornado had sucked all the oxygen away from the fire.
It was out!!!!
© 22 Dec 2010 For Tirzah
Bronco Don Johnson and Bally Watson...
Oh they speak of Bally Watson and the Dirran boys don't laugh...
Yet they tell in whispers how his ear was shot in half...
Old Bronco Don had shot him for everyone to see...
Witnesses could not be found though the coppers asked all three...
Bally he bolted, drove fast to get away...
For a bullet had his number, safer up old Mitchell way...
Yes it was in the fifties an old soldier got a win...
Don was locked up for the night for the drunken driving sin...
Don had been to Kokoda and the Middle East war too...
He was quick on the trigger mate and never missed, they knew....
A mob had come to bash him, back in nineteen forty five...
Dons down the stairs a shooting quick, they were glad to be alive...
7 years had come and gone, Bally appeared they say...
Sent word he wanted to see old Don out the Culgoa river way...
Mark John went as backup a rifle in his hand...
Mark did cover the drovers, shoot low was the command...
Bally got no permission was told to stay away...
Just bypass the town is what old Don did say...
So Bally is known throughout the west ...
the earmark worn by him...
The Sheriff really did his best ...
To make his ear hole ring...
When you get a car door slammed on your head ?..
Broken cheek bone!...
You might get tempted to shoot a man dead ...perhaps..... ..Don Johnson
Pickles met a woman in town who complained about him saying she needed a martingale to
keep her head down . (Horsemen and women will know a martingale has a connection to the
bridle to stop a horse jerking up its head sometimes possibly smacking the rider in the
nose. Also it looks better if the horse doesn't do a Giraffe impression .) So pickles
said no missus I said you would need 2 martingales to keep your head down, one just
wouldn't do the trick.
One of the Dirranbandi characters Jack Laughton was heard to utter with a grin , how
would you like that old bat to fart on your last cup of flour?
The rails always hiss and scream
a steel Woman pierces the ear
drum. We all shake, bobbing and
dancing no skill required you
all do it equally as good
Doors open and close. People
enter and leave. A metallic
ant farm we all live in
together, never ceasing always
alive and kicking, some
of us screaming our
lungs out to unresponsive
gods to unresponsive ear-
canals. We are like stale
fish in a sardine pack, the
last one on the far left,
never bothered by any random
fleshy hand. The steel snake
oozes on through the black
tunnels as we finally reach
our blazing-light destination
arriving, we climb up steel
stairways that lead to another
screaming circus. All peoples
from all places thrive like
a bee hive that a small
child with a gigantic
2X4 smacked, creating
re-energized life. Humming
and buzzing all together
as one unit of blissful
creation. We might all be
moving to different places,
that one thing unites
us all, all in one fluid
motion. Old bookstores,
sanctuaries for people like
us still open.
He plucks away at a
classical guitar, playing
classical tunes which are
recognizable, but the name
always forgotten. Purchase
tomes of poetry, old
friends to be taken home
and put with the rest. Ever
increasing retirement home for the
artistically mad. Hughes and
Yeates are MINE, or
am I theirs? Perhaps its
a tango of verse, we lend
a hand to each other. After
much paying, and walking,
sitting and sleeping, we
return home. But what
does that mean. Home?
Home is where I put
my thoughts to paper, my
poetry to pen. Mozart
I am sure would get it
follow what I say, applaud
me with that silly laugh.
For now I'll accept you
stare with your accepting
eyes.
Gone Kanga
Stories tall and fish will do
in Aus we caught a kangaroo
put him in the outhouse neat
clean bowled old Barney off his feet
but did i mention fishing :)
been to the river an it was deep
bulldogged a Kangaroo
not a Sheep
the fish just weren’t a biting
in a chaff bag he did nicely fit
he punched and kicked
and bit a bit
so Barn he was a skiting
so down in the thunder box outhouse
down the back behind fowlhouse
lurked Barneys bloody larger mouse
not goats in there a bouncing
the door flew open in went Jack
perhaps he had a bowel attack
at 4am with language black
old Roo was there arising
old Roo he was no mouse retard
he bounded cross the flaming yard
and cleared the fence it wasn’t hard
and sprang for the horizon
Don Johnson
Yes many people have had Roos for pets and like most animals
they are lovely to have. Roos can jump over 6 foot fences when they have grown, also good at wriggleing through netting fences.
The large male is not defencless and can punch you out, also grab an attacking dog n drown him in a creek or river. They can bite pieces out of you scratch with their arms or hold you and attempt to disembowel you with their long feet toe nails. If you threaten his female mate when in season beware of placid old man roo, dangerous suddenly. And they are prolific breeders after the wet
season arrives lots more joeys appear. Many Kangaroos are killed by cars why the country has roo bars on their cars 4 protection of the car.
There are millions of Kangaroos possibly more than sheep in Australia
no fence can hold em. The orphans of the common roadside death
become the pets of tomorrow.
im sorry but this is true in Australia
Don
Rodger Beadmore
While a droving out near Bollon at about the forty mile, (1950s)
just a following sheep through the lime bushes dense.
Moving down the stock route, a feeding all the while.
By and by shortly we passed through Beadmore's boundary fence.
Old Rodger an Aboriginal soon appeared upon the route,
A character well known for charm and sense,
Yes Rodger came to keep their sheep from getting out.
And to put his strays back through their boundary fence.
The old man said to Rodger, "waters a bit light".
"How far do you reckon is it to the next boredrain?"
He knew that Rodger just couldn't read or write,
But Rodger good old Rodger, he told him just the same.
He said "Not far not far mate, big straight road all the way."
"You'll be there by and by directly later on today!"
Now he said to Rodger "Here's a gun go shoot us a roo."
So Rodger wandered off to get our dogs a feed.
But later on when he came back, said he'd seen a big roo too.
He said "I shoot him nine times and I miss him every time."
Old Beadmore in bad temper sometimes gave Rodger the sack,
but before he left the place the boss lady hired him back.
Though one might sack and send him a walking down the track ,
the other'd come and fetch him he was family this man black.
by D Johnson ...of our mate Rodger ...
Rodger as a small child had been found on a water hole in the gulf country north west
Queensland. Rodger traveled in a saddle bag on Dougal Camerons pack horse till he came to
the St George area, where the story says he was swopped for a grey horse, to Mr E
Beadmore. See soup Dougal Cameron for more....
Old Flossy
by Don Johnson
Brisbane-Australia
It was there on Sharpen station, ....(ranch)
west near Adavale i'd be.
Back in the early thirties,
worst drought you'd ever see.
Five thousand cows were dying slow,
brought from lake Nash to Adavale. ....(droving trip)
They lived on mulga bushes low, ...........(13% tree leaves drought food)
to feed their bodies frail.
I was the boy who manned the pump,
fat crows in thousands waited.
With not a blade of grass or single clump,
those crows for sure i hated.
The cattle bitsa old flossy had nine pups,
more company for me.
For i'd get a visit once a month,
yes it's then the boss i'd see.
The dead cows around the trough did lie,
and i'd snig them right away.
I'd shifted hundreds by and by,
cut and quartered where they lay.
The pups were disappearing fast,
one every day for sure.
I checked the camp and missed the last,
saw snake tracks upon the floor.
Old Mulga snake would breathe no more,
he'd had his last pup meal.
He was big as nine foot four,
when the last pup he did steal.
Old flossy fought him tooth and nail,
he'd bit her also too.
She chewed his head off didn`t fail,
was dying this she knew.
I held her dying with my arm,
her pleading eyes i saw.
She went to sleep so very calm,
passed on through death's front door.
in 1936 old yellow flossy died game!
In this lonely place with death all around you, it was tragic for young Don to lose his
dog. Aussie shepherds (cattle dogs) will defend you, camp on your doorstep.
Last line...
on him black eyes did sit........drat Cricket...Don
It didn't help his hemmaroids,
Cos I downed old Darcy Pitt.
They wouldn't let me bowl,
the nasty game of Cricket.
an out you go hows that!
twisty ball gets ya wicket,
sneaky buggers round the bat,
the spinners you don't love,
Not a sport for pussycats,
inside the old gloves.
And the broken fingers,
He'll dig you out of bed!
Or Tommos got the blood up,
when you're belted in the head,
It can be a bloodsport,
screaming cross the paddock," Frigate. Frigate Frigate" (almost swear word)
Alf he then reared up just a bit,
16 brown snakes fell upon him, if you please!
Old Alf got cured when in the DTs,
Linda-Marie
South Africa you’ll meet!
Srya Lanka fights the battle,
And Pakistan and India are bloody hard to beat,
Bouncing brain protector power.
Why we took to helmets,
A hundred mile an hour,
Aussie Tommo bowling cricket balls,
Could put you in a spin……(or a coffin)
Joel Garner of the Windies,
against the Poms or West Indians,
Did you ever play the Cricket,
The little creep .
Blocked him back,
He said I got a brownie, (brownsnake nasty Aussie)
At em he did sweep.
Were bouncing round him,
Hard cricket balls ,
But the D.T.s in did sneak.
And he started playing Cricket ,
For about a plurry week,
Old Alf had been a drinking
!st Line....
The Gentle men’s game hey…Don Johnson
I'll tell you a tale
of our own Devil's Island
and the demonic crash
of the waves in the swell.
The smell and the taste
of the ball breaking weather;
the ghosts that deliver
poor sailors to Hell.
We were out in the water
in the Magdalens
the wind plucked the ropes
of our rigging at sea.
We looked for a port
and saw many lights flashing
"That's old Devil's Island,"
said the skipper to me.
Tongues began hurling
their fierce imprecations
"to come to the island
safe landfall to thee."
But the skipper turned round
the ship with a vengeance,
"That old Devil's Island
will never get me."
I thought he was mad
to be scared of a legend
it was my first time
in a storm on the sea
and two men washed over
to Davey Jones locker
"God bless 'em, they'll rest now,"
the skip said to me.
Protesting the treatment
of two forlorn sailors
I said to the skipper,
"It's not very well."
"It's better," he said,
"that they're resting in Heaven
than entering into
the portals of Hell."
The wind lasted the night
then the voices did falter
the lights blinkered out
and I saw very well
so many rocks, jagged
just waiting to smash us
the Devil's Isle gateways
await in the swell.
If you're on a ship
and the voices of demons
come tell you it's safe
in their harbor a lee
remember the shoreline
at old Devil's Island
then turn the ship seaward
and gracelessly flee.
So I’m building a spaceship,
But where should I start?
When the spaceship I’m building
Is made out of art
Books for the seats
And paintings for the walls
Cause this type of spaceship
Goes nowhere at all
I do not want it to
Why should it go?
To travel to space,
Where I do not know?
When in my own room
There’s mystery and tale
In pages of books
In pictures on nails
I will set up two chairs
Connect them by sheets
Webster can help me
With good wordy seats
I will need a good staff
I will need a good crew
To narrate our path
To guide us all through
Virgil can help
He’s a good guide
He knows the maps
Of the spiritual side
And there’s only one doctor
I could put to good use
The greatest of time
The old Dr. Seuss
A friend of Ernest
Our pilot to be
An old timey sailor
A man from the sea
A hatch I will make
Of a copied Van Gogh
The stars through the door
Oh how they will glow
Our ship will be waterproof
So that’s no concern
But in case there’s a problem
I will bring Jules Verne
A clock I have seen
That hung in the hall
Created by Dali
Will make up a wall
I believe that is it
That’s all I will need
I’ve got my good paintings
I’m ready to read
Oh no but wait
I almost forgot
Shakespeare, get in
We’re about to take off!
And away we go
On a journey tonight
To return tomorrow
At mornings light
Dirranbandi plonking
27Australians and a shearer came to bash Bronco Don in 1945
He was just back from Kokoda killing Japs to stay alive
Some carried beer bottles and others 2 handed sticks
I was in hospital being born while Don he got his kicks
It was enough to put a bull camel off his dinner camp
And the richosheying bullets hummed and wizzed and danced
Down the high stairs he came laughing with old threoh shooting quick
10 shots amongst the bashers the goona it was thick (faeces)
Much screaming as they left the yard running up the gravel road
Reloading he bounced bullets between a shearer and the toad.
The locals thought he celebrated the birth of a son
Others thought the war was almost being won
But in the pub the gravel rash was checked for bullet holes
And the boys sucked and drank old fourex got a priest to save their souls.
Don Johnson 2.45 am 14-march-2011
Don Johnson enjoyed fisticuffs And In the forties
The Goodooga footballers came to Dirran for a boxing match, Old Jack McKay would poke em into line with a billiard cue while Bronco Don and Bushman Hoath fought em one at a time. The day of the shooting
with the shearer Don had knocked out 6 men and piled the up in a heap. The copper said “what are you doing with them”. “I’ll burn them” said Don “Too green to burn said the copper”reinforcements and revenge that night, perhaps? Don Johnson