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The Barefoot Bard Poem
Almost sixty years ago, my father
under suspicion, as a cattle rustler
Me a bit surprised
but it could have been as the title of a hustler
One day whilst in the dairy, my father with my brother milking cows
two young cops arrived to ask a leading question
Were you in such and such a paddock on such and such a day
if so what was your purpose, was put as a suggestion
They had evidence to support, that my father he did visit
That his actions in that paddock may be viewed as illicit
One cop from his pocket pulled a docket , that had been found
it was a receipt which displayed my fathers name
It was enough for them to investigate,
that's why to my father's property they came
To their leading question
what was it he was doing
I had a crap was his immediate reply
One young innocent cop asked my father what's a crap
They would have instantly known if my father said he was ........ a word that rhymes with ruing
perhaps my father would have had regrets if he had known what would later be brewing
NO CHARGES LAID
Copyright © the barefoot bard | Year Posted 2026
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The Barefoot Bard Poem
POTD is often filled with sadness
Not often is there joy and gladness
Not much laughter fills this world
Little humour gets unfurled
Little gratitude for what one has
Woe is me I'm lost and sad alas
Lets have some days of poetic jokes
Lots of fun filled jolly pokes
Great medicine comes from laughter
Lifts the spirit for hours long after
POTD sometimes filled with glee
Are there others or is this invitation only me
Perhaps at least one day a month a Sunday
to be reserved for a POTD humour fun day
Copyright © the barefoot bard | Year Posted 2026
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The Barefoot Bard Poem
Many place names in Australia reek of notoriety and oppression
Where massacres took place, involved first nation native population,
men, women and children, demonstrates gross inhumane expression
Many of these place names remain, Bones Knob, Murderers Flat, Skull Creek
are mapped in a university publication
The area where my family resided
may similarly have followed, same infamous identification
My paternal Scottish ancestors, original settlers on our family farm from eighteen sixties,
a time of many massacres
With axes sweat and labour cleared the timber, populated the land with sheep
Were they involved in a massacre? And if so, my father, was it a secret he did keep ?
Existing on the nearest road a signpost declaring Butchers Ridge
only a couple of hundred metres from the old original family home
Allegedly named after a horse called Butcher
far and wide he purportedly did roam
When I was young, the story I was told about this horse
he repeatedly escaped from his owners farm, crossed a bridge
Was always discovered on a sloping piece of land,
hence the area was given the name of Butchers Ridge
A different story of the naming of this area which makes more sense
was revealed by mother after father passed away
A massacre took place giving this area its name, about which my father never spoke
did my father bear inherited shame ? It's history now no one can really say
One full moonlit night, around the time of one unable to sleep
decided to arise, some teenage pleasure I would seek
Go fishing catch a big bag of speckled brown trout
from the stream there known as Butchers Creek
Halfway between the house and my intended destination
an eerie whooshing sound right above my head
Look up !! Nothing visible on this very still clear night
Very quickly reverse my fishing decision !!! Hastily run back to the safety of my bed !!!
I have spoken to several first nation dreamtime elders about this weird eerie sound
i experienced on that distant fishing full moonlit night
They say its first nation native spirits venting anger
thus responsible for my fear. I think they may be right
Copyright © the barefoot bard | Year Posted 2026
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The Barefoot Bard Poem
Put on his red bathers you're joking
Too tight something out front it was poking
found another old pair
to cover up pubic hair
He's now off to the ocean for soaking
Now he's looking quite bronze and quite fancy
Ready to meet his girlfriend who's called Nancy
on the sand they will walk
hold hands while they talk
One day she might be his fiancee
Find a spot that's private and shady
to skinny dip with his beautiful lady
several others have come
they see his lily white bum
His girl's given surname it's O'grady
From ocean water body's cool, appetisingly salty
Sun burnt skin's feeling sore and quite faulty
He wants to bonk on the shore
She says no that's for sure
He says your excuse is unloving and paltry
His ex girlfriends name was Cecelia
Too often he wanted to feel her
with legs very bandy
he was often so randy
In the sun in in the hay made love to this sheila
Now this oversexed man so begotten
So naughty they smacked his big bottom
but he wasn't deterred
still did what he preferred
Loved underwear made out of soft cotton
Now it's summer he's feeling quite warm
Many old tricks he does often perform
out in his work shed
there's a double sized bed
Where they shed all the clothes that are worn
It's now time for a warm summer party
Can attend it's casual not arty farty
still daylight at nine
have a whopping good time
Good conversation and laughter that's hearty
Copyright © the barefoot bard | Year Posted 2026
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The Barefoot Bard Poem
Wouldn't it be great
if all this oil ran out
No brush cutters, lawn mowers
or blowers about
Today it's Easter Sunday
on the edge of a large town
There's stillness and calmness
the decibel level decidedly down
The birds they are a'chirping
leaves are rustling in the breeze
The flowing bubbly sound of our nearby creek
all designed to calm the soul if you please
The revival of community
all together lend a hand
Gather fresh organic home grown food
heads no longer buried in the sand
Copyright © the barefoot bard | Year Posted 2026
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The Barefoot Bard Poem
There was a young dog
he got lost in a fog
He couldn't get home
all night he continued to roam
When the fog cleared
there were things that he feared
He started to bark
he was scared of the dark
Now he's back home and having some fun
he and his owner just back from a run
Copyright © the barefoot bard | Year Posted 2026
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The Barefoot Bard Poem
I'm a furry Aussie wombat
I'd like to ask you for a date
And if it all works out
you could become my best mate
Together we'd go bush
where we'd scratch a little furrow
The start of a conjugal home
we could extend and build a mighty burrow
We could feed upon the Aussie native grass
to that menu add some leaves and roots and moss
And if we become a couple
I'd always let you be the boss
I'm regarded as a cuddly kind of chap
who knows we might eventually elope
I would send you birthday cards
communicate by post, in a brightly, coloured envelope
Copyright © the barefoot bard | Year Posted 2026
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The Barefoot Bard Poem
Each day I awaken, excited by the prospect of the day
Why would I want to feel, any other way
I made commitments many years ago to treat myself, with tender loving care
How I follow this commitment, this is what I'll share
God created nature which includes the rising sun
In that sunlight every morning, I'm running, really so much fun
Over years I've learnt a skill so I can make the people laugh
And when I leave this planet please record it, on my epitaph
Barefoot is how i travel, since the first day of my birth
Connect to positive energies which arise from mother earth
Tibetan rites, a ritual that's practised every day
Reverses ageing process so I can forever play
And when I sit to dine, I select the very best
Organic raw non poisoned fare, for the soul, I mindfully invest
Play guitar with harmonica and also like to sing
Connects left right brain hemispheres. always makes me zing
Mentally, emotionally and physically, I'm always on a high
If you'd like to get more tips, I'm always waiting, I'll be on standby
Copyright © the barefoot bard | Year Posted 2026
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The Barefoot Bard Poem
A Story
My poetry is mostly about my experience as I've journeyed through life. The Public Performance is based on one such experience, In a poem I wrote a few months ago I described how I was an angry eighteen year old man with no patience. I bought a guitar and deliberately smashed it because I lacked the understanding that learning a musical instrument along with many other things we take on requires dedication,
At age of thirty two I was given a guitar as a present. I learnt three chords and played spasmodically over the years. In my forties I decided I would dedicate myself to gaining some skills on this instrument.
I also like to sing . I had teenage sons teasing me about my attempts and a partner who didn't like my singing. I have a baritone almost bass voice, a bit difficult to convert to alto so I couldn't be heard. Once again the dedication shelved
Now aged fifty seven, living on my own . Guitar is out!! Hours of daily practice accompanied with baritone voice singing. The skill began to flourish. Then I bought a harmonica and some foot pedals and became a one man band.
For a few months I joined friends for a weekly jam. They had lots of musical skill, piano, piano accordian and violin, They were encouraging me to play at a country market. No thanks. I'm never going to do any public performance. Finally I yielded.
It's Saturday morning. I'm feeling very nervous. There's a PA system. Never been on one those before. Am I gonna end up in the stocks with rotten fruit pelted at me????
I have chosen a Creedence number from the sixties, Who'll Stop The Rain for the one man band. I fluff a few chords but get through. No stocks, just compliments Which band did I play in. WOW
For a few months I wondered if it was worth the stress. But that finally abated. Twenty years down the track I can play anywhere . It's not just joy for me but I know other people get joy from my music.
Yesterday I was given a flyer from a writers club with a photo of a busker with an invitation to write three hundred words in prose or poetic form from what we see this picture, I have busked before but it was after I gained my confidence . I used my first public performance to write this poem
Don't ever give up !!!!!
The Poem Busking
I've practised many times in the comfort of my home
now guitar is in the car and I'm ready set to go
The thoughts are running wild but I visualise
that all will smoothly flow
It's my first time out in public and I'm feeling rather nervous
a little tightness in the chest, in the heart I feel a flutter
On guitar strumming, some simple well known chords
it's time to use my voice but it starts off with a stutter
But I decide to persist, pretend I'm back at home
chords are coming smoother from guitar hanging from my shoulder
The singing's in top gear it's pouring from my soul
The nervousness dissipated as I'm feeling so much bolder
I am almost unaware that I have become surrounded
by an enthusiastic throng
Now the time has come
to play my favourite song
Finally , i know that this busking has been worthwhile
as I hear the jingling coins that are thrown into my hat
Now I've overcome the nerves
I reckon, I've got it all down pat
Copyright © the barefoot bard | Year Posted 2026
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The Barefoot Bard Poem
A review of all my poems there is
sometimes reference to the toilet
I make no apologies
I'm not a shrinking violet
'Cause here's the way I see it
the world is full of sheet
Here is an example
it's to do with what i eat
At night what I consume
is a large bowl of green salad
Yesterday no exception fresh from garden
much variety I can add
There's perennial greens
sweet leaf korean ginseng and more
There's a tree moringa
it's leaves add to the score
In India Morigna it's regarded as a miracle
full of much nutrition
But here now in Australia
it's subject to attrition
Sales of moringa powder and also the tree
now commercially banned
Lack of long term research
they say that is why it has been canned
Apply this crazy principle to so much crap
freely sold within the business market
Example these toxic covid vaccinations lacked research
caused many to give up and finally cark it
There's many other products
that could be added to the list
Products consumed for centuries
no research how did we exist
These governments will never suffer
any symptoms of dimentia
No brains exist
in a state of permanent absentia
The opposite word of vaccuum
it's called a plenum
How to turn this madness round
we need a new addendum
These thoughts that I've now penned
are really rather fleet
I hope I have convinced you
that this world is full of sheet
Copyright © the barefoot bard | Year Posted 2026
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