Home » Poems » Best » Marc Glasby » Best Marc Glasby Poems

Best Poems Written by Marc Glasby

Below are the all-time best Marc Glasby poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Marc Glasby Poem

The Old Dog

At a point where the old road meets the hill
and runs down the other side
There's an old tin shed that's standing, still
and a grave where the old dog died

He surely had seen better days
when our paths chanced to cross
As I lit up a fire and laid out my swag
he got up and wandered across

I could see from the look in the old dog's eye
that his race was almost run
but he sat by my side and offered his paw
So I gave him a pat and a bun

I cooked up some meat and he chewed on a bone
then he rested his head on my swag
We sat and we watched as the stars all came out 
and his tail did a slow steady wag

We fell fast asleep and I woke with the sun 
to find the old dog passed away
So I gathered him up and I buried him deep
and sadly I went on my way

It was later that morning I stopped at a farm 
to ask about work round about
and I happened to see a new litter of pups
one turned and came waddling out

He sat on the ground and he offered his paw
and I saw a strange glint in his eye
Had the old dog returned? Was he telling me now 
that I shouldn't be sad that he'd died?

Well I picked him right up and his warm puppy tongue
quickly licked off the tear from my cheek
I couldn't think straight, I was stunned and choked up
and found my knees going all weak

So I bought him right there and I gathered him up 
He settled right down in my swag
As I walked down the road I could feel the odd thump
as his tail did a slow steady wag.


From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"

Details | Marc Glasby Poem

Murphy's Rules

When everything seems peaceful
and all is going well
you'll find out that Murphy's rules
will grab you like a spell

When you build your money up
a bundle in the bank
and trouble strikes at every turn
then you'll know who to thank

The car you just had serviced
is spewing smoke and oil
the fridge just out of warranty
now watch that good food spoil

Just when you least expect it
Old Murphy will appear
He's cruel enough to make you spill
your last mouthful of beer

At every turn he's waiting
until you think you're safe
the shoes that fit well yesterday
today will make you chafe

Your wallet's in your pocket
at least that's what you think
until its time to pay the bill
then feel your light heart sink

You glide along life's easy way
it's such an easy dance
Until old Murphy comes along
and kicks you in the pants

From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"

Details | Marc Glasby Poem

Farewell To the Anzacs

All the Anzacs have faded back into the past
And the old men now rest with their mates
We can hope they play 2 up and still have a beer
Now they’ve entered the heavenly gates

We have cause to remember the men who died young
How they fought to ensure we live free
How they looked back at home for the very last time
As their ships pulled away from the quay

They went for adventure, for country and King
Their country still mourns for their loss
They died in the trenches and on the barbed wire
So far from the great Southern Cross

They couldn’t have known as they sailed far from home
Just how cruel would be some of their fates
But they lived for Australia, a land of their own
And they died for the sake of their mates

And each life extinguished still burned like a flame
In the hearts of their loved ones at home
And their memory lives on in the pride of the nation
In respect for the flag that they’d flown

Their young eyes look out from the passage of years
From the old pictures, tattered and torn
And their nation looks back to the past and remembers
How the legend of ANZAC was born


From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"

Details | Marc Glasby Poem

Australia

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"

Details | Marc Glasby Poem

A Day By the Sea

Have you ever felt the magic
when you're standing by the sea?
The rise and fall of ocean swells
Sublime serenity

In the morning's salty air
the working boats leave port
and anglers keen on fishy fare
go looking for some sport

The seabirds wheel and flap and cry
as dawn breaks overhead
but all these sights and sounds are lost
to those still tucked in bed

The tinkling of the rigging 
of the yachts out on the bay
 a gentle way of waking 
in the first new light of day

The morning sun comes peeping through
a drifting bank of cloud
and on the beach, so empty now
will come a bustling crowd

The small boats now all set to sea
their sails so clean and bright
they jibe and tack across the wind
on which they seem so light

The afternoon now still and warm
there's naught but time to pass
the racing yachts all sit becalmed
upon a sea of glass

With evening come the twinkling lights
from far across the bay
a gentle breeze to cool the land
the closing of the day

Until tomorrow's light breaks through
I bid the sea 'farewell'
But in my dreams I fall asleep
upon the ocean swell.

From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"

Details | Marc Glasby Poem

Shearing Shed

The yards behind the shearing shed are overgrown with grass
And the fence posts look a little worse for wear
There’s cobwebs on the tractors that are sitting all forlorn
And a farm cat snoozes gently on a chair

The boards have not been trodden by a shearer’s boot for years
But the remnants of their trade lie on the floor
A dull and rusty hand piece was left hanging on the wall
And an old grey fleece is draped across a door

A fridge that held refreshments for the shearers long ago
Stands rusting in the corner on its own
Some wool bales from the final clip are sitting in a pile
And the wind whips through the rafters with a moan

The only sign of movement is the farm cat getting up
It must be time to go and hunt for tea
As she slinks between the barrels that are holding up the floor
It’s time for mice to hide, or turn and flee

A drowsy looking blowfly buzzes lazily around
And the morning slowly turns to afternoon
Then the purple shades of evening slide across the waving fields
And the shearing shed is bathed beneath the moon

Then somewhere in the darkness you can hear the shearer’s ghosts
you can hear them clipping long into the night
Cries of ‘fleece off!’ are competing with the bleating of the sheep
but silence reigns again come morning light

And the shed just goes on rusting underneath the summer sun
And the termites come and chew upon the boards
And the spiders in the tractors go on spinning silken webs
And the shearer’s ghosts are undisputed lords


From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"

Details | Marc Glasby Poem

By the Side of the Road

I lie dead and broken and crushed by the road
and the crows make a meal of my eyes
I no longer wander the trails in the bush
there's no one who mourns me or cries

And all who pass by are repulsed by the sight
and the smell that hangs on in the air
where once I was handsome and vibrant with life
my little ones now must despair

The thing I did wrong was to cross the big road
alone on a dark Summer's night
and the last thing I saw as I ran for my life
was the blazing of oncoming light

I was everything wild, I was everything free
I was lizard and emu and roo
I was betong and wombat and numbat and quoll
I was eagle and black cockatoo

So next time you see me all battered and torn
lying still under brilliant blue skies
don't see me as something grotesque and misformed
with the spark of life gone from my eyes

Look back and remember the way that I was
before my eyes dimmed in the light
and next time you travel rest up before dark
and slow down when driving at night

From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"

Details | Marc Glasby Poem

Fishing

Hooks and lures and fishing line, an eight foot throwing net
The sea is calm, the weather fine, there’s challenge to be met
Bait fish schools along the rocks dart frantically away
mesh descends on heavy weights to trap unwary prey

A baited hook is set and cast, the line is brought in taut
time like water trickles past, the battle still un-fought
The sun beats down on golden sand, the waves lap at the shore
the rod is passed from hand to hand as shoulders become sore

Nibblers tease and rip the bait but miss the gleaming hook
larger fish show here and there but only seem to look
Then all at once the sea explodes with one almighty flash
a heavy pull and line reels off, a headlong racing dash

Leaping twisting running deep the line pays off the reel
excitement builds and tension mounts, the fish’s fate is sealed
Pumping rod and straining arms bring colour to the top
but once again the fish will run, it seems to never stop

An hour or more of reeling in, the fish begins to tire
arms and neck and shoulders burn and feel like they’re on fire
The battle nearly over now the fish comes closer in
at last you have it in your hand, how sweet it is to win

Looking down at shining scales of silver black and blue
the streamlined body glistens with the light of every hue
with mouth agape and staring eyes the fish begins to gasp
the hook is pulled, the fish reacts, falling from your grasp

Back into the sea once more, it slowly swims away
maybe to get hooked again and fight another day
A flick of tail and flash of scale it vanishes from sight
You long to hook it up again and recommence the fight.


From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"

Details | Marc Glasby Poem

Progress

Cattle trucks drive highways now
where drovers once held sway
Heavy rigs of chrome and steel
replaced the horse and dray

Gravel tracks of rich red earth
that rambled near and far
Have disappeared forever
‘neath miles of hot black tar

The billabong by shady gums
stands empty cracked and dry
The thirst of modern farms it seems
lets river systems die

The campfires of the cattle men
that used to dot the plains
No longer flicker in the night
no sign of them remains

Bush ballads sing of sweeping plains
where brumbys still run free
Of wild unharnessed rivers
and clear inviting seas

But brumbys fall as feral pests
the rivers drained and dry
The sea is choked with sewage
where fish and sea grass die

As the romance of the outback
begins to fade away
We learn that progress has a price
we’ve all been forced to pay.


From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"

Details | Marc Glasby Poem

City Dreams

The bright lights of the city
Have lured me away
From bushland plains and mulga scrub
from plains of rich red clay

Away from the serenity
to noise and toil and strife
To pay the bills and cure the ills
of living city life

Into a world of buildings
and people crowded round
of cars and fumes and airplanes
a world of ceaseless sound

I long to take my swag again
into the far outback
To walk the trails and feel again
the sun upon my back

To make camp by a billabong
cook dinner by a fire
Lie back and see the stars at night
then silently retire

But here I sit beside a screen
a keyboard and a phone
My time belongs to someone else
my life is not my own

Down below the city sprawls
around and out of sight
But in my mind I'm wandering
my fantasies take flight

And once again I'm on the road
not knowing where I'm bound
I'm off into the wilderness
somewhere I can't be found

From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"