Poems from the Outback
These wonderful poems have been sent from our friends at the Alice Springs School of the Air.
"Mustering"
By Jake Morton
Here
we are mustering
Doing broadies and spitting dust
Hitting the cows and getting
sunburnt is what this job is about.
Sorting
them out then
branding the calves
Its my favourite job by far.
I
love it when we let them go
over the hills and far they roam.
Sometimes when we start to brand
the dogs give us a helping hand.
To
round up the cattle
I sit on the passengers side
When dad is driving >BOY!!
What a heck of a ride.
You
can really hear nature calling
at the crack of dawn in the morning.
I like helping Dad pull the bores
It's just one of those chores.
The
birds like the spring
and so do I , it makes
me want to sing.
I
love the mustering when it's hot
and blustering
It's good fun I reckon!!!
I wouldn't trade the outback for a second!!!!
"BAT"
By Peter Costello
A little bat flew
through the night
with all its might,
powered by a ghastly fright.
Which came from deep within the night.
He was too scared to twitch an ear
The cat was following close and near.
With a great leap the bat was caught,
Hard and vicious the little bat fought.
Sadly, he was no match for the quick, strong cat.
>Who with his tummy full, went home to sleep on his mat.
GOODBYE TO THE MUSTER
By Peter Costello
Goodbye to the muster till next year.
Goodbye to the sun, flies and dust.
Goodbye to Dad shouting "Daylight!"
Sleeping in is now a must!
Singing sit down relax and do nothing.
Singing do you want to go out and play?
Maybe go and see Steven
Because there isn't even one cow to spay.
Well the holidays are coming nearer
They're only three weeks away.
And then I can go up, up and
away!
HORSE RIDING
By Tanya Costello
Finding,
catching
Bridling, saddling
Mounting, turning
Walking, trotting
Cantering, galloping
Sploshing, crunching
Neighing, plodding
Circling, chasing
and back home to unsaddle.
SANDHILLS
By
Tanya Costello
Blowing
sandhills and dust,
Only some types of trees grow.
The desert sandhills.
KILLER
By Tanya Costello
Dirty
white with one patched eye,
Constant bore run friend,
Digging by the tank,
Tail wagging, Little powerful legs,
Short grubby coat,
Wandering off alone,
Dingo bait got him,
And he didn't come home.
R.I.P. Killer
THE BUSH RIDE...
They
went horse riding in the bush,
they rode until sunset
when the birds stopped cawing.
Everything was asleep,
And the cows were snoring.
Alone and restless in the moonlight,
The twins rode into the horizon,
Out of sight.
The bush awakened in a petrified scream
The noise was nearer, closer!
AND THEN IT WAS ALL OVER...
What
happened that night, nobody knows.
No trace was found of the twins and their horses.
Only the light gust of the wind knew
What really happened to the two.
By Tanya Costello