As you can see this time something different as the fancy took me, a crow at the beginning and a poem about us "Old Crows" at the end and even a moving one at that. That's my offering for the month of February and hope you'll enjoy it. Till we change again next month, Cas , Bush poet

MEMORIES OF A CEDAR CUTTER . . .

On his verandah there sat the old man, box of old photos on the ground

reliving days of his youth as cedar cutter, when still of body and mind sound

now almost confined to chair in his twilight years, dog keeping him company

memories come flooding back, from years gone by, they were varied and many

Magically, in his mind's eye, photos came alive, showing mates and working chums

revealing dense expanse of mountains,valleys, with stands of of tall grey-green gums

they treated each other like a brother, the years they spend helping one another

that special bond seemed still to exist even now, when there was a get-together

Echoes of the sounds of axes reverberating, cutting down tall cedar trees, chop, chop

the call of 'timber', a very pronounced silence, giant whoosh, when the giant did drop

in the distance the bullocky was waiting with his team, whip cracking, chains a rattle

to move this giant down the steep mountain would be a difficult job, a real battle

The bullocks pulled this way and that, the bullocky's colour language renting the air

come on you lazy molly, daisy, you can do better, I want a bit more bloody pull there

steam rising from backs, straining chains to breaking point, whip swooshing in air

finally the log started to move,this was the danger point, one had to take care

Those were hectic days, no letting up of arduous shifting of logs, more ahead

logs had to be moved of mountain, come what may, one careless move, you're dead

they were held on embankments near river, on which to be floated after rain

there were many such places, to drag logs too far was too dangerous, steep terrain

Soon the rain did come, the logs released into river, the dangerous work now began

guiding them over rapids, arond bends, untangling logs caught up in jam

one had to be almost ballet dancer, jumping from log to log, slippery and wet

some lives were lost, crushed by logs, losing footing, so far hadn't happened yet

As men and logs furiously sped past, looking on in awe settlers along river

those taking risks, the thought of one slipping under logs made you shiver

after hazardous journey logs finally reached enormous millpond, a holding yard

from here thru noisy saws, processing of beautiful timber would now start

A CRISIS IN MID-LIFE . . .

To young people it seems a long way off

your mid-life crisis is surely coming, don't scoff

we all go through it, you, me, friends, everyone

don't despair, it's the best time to have fun

It's somewhere between adolescence and old age

common thinking, brought up the kids, ready for grave

we realised, thought perhaps we've missed the boat

people raised eyebrows, that mumbling silly old goat

Some men have pre-conceived ideas about all this

the time to fulfill their dreams and weirdest wish

trip to outer space, spending their money willy nilly

be an astronaut, famous, fling with a young filly

Women hate looking old, worried about crow's feet

dressing-up as younger ones, on age they cheat

divorce, half his super,wild, wild parties, real cool

on with the make-up, rekindle youth, men will drool

The kids looking on horrified, doing song and dance

o no, they are spending all that money, our inheritance

why, what are they doing to us doesn't make sense

tried to stop us, miserably failed, using any pretence

Despite sly looks, some praise, criticising, underhand barbs

new lease of life, not yet ready for upstairs to play them harps

fountain of new found youth, elixer, ever so sweet

a force to be reckoned with yet, old but not old, indeed

Eventually, not knowing when, answer the reapers final call

out of this life, into a better next one, a bigger ball?

the twilight of our life flew by, not ever a single regret

blowing our trumpet, to our lovely kids, RATTA-TA-TET

JUST A THOUGHT . . . .

So many things to make us glad, in this old world of ours; life is really not so bad - if we count the sunny hours. Joy always comes to match the pain and though clouds gather fast - treat sorrow like a shower of rain that soon is overpast. Look for all the happy things, through the live-long day; counting worries always brings more care upon the way. All the world loves laughter and will greet a cheery smile - looking for the rainbow you will always find worthwhile.

COMING HOME AFTER THE HUNT . . .

It was still, surprisingly, rather dark in early morning and cool
the young fox, finally after a night's hunting, had his belly full
he surveyed field from shelter of hedge in nearness to lair
never throwing caution to wind, predators may be waiting there

Non curious sheep with lambs asleep amongst lush green grass
his nose twitched, rich flood of smells, not hungry, easy to pass
maybe tomorrow he may have to risk taking a lamb from mob
with their mothers watchfull, on full alert, would not be easy job

The trees, still a mass of blue shadow, taking shape in early light
another day was about to begin, resting easy he well might
on the skyline a brilliant smear of orange, yellow to be seen
the dome of sky clear, almost transparent, neither blue nor green

Sniffing the wind, getting nervous, on edge of forest he stopped
a tanquil view, on spring loaded feet rabbits among sheep bobbed
finally reached safety of another hedge, this along a muddy lane
barbed wire topped fence, which beyond he had explored, mundane

The mist starting to come up, swallowing little valley church's spire
he was really in dangerous spot, to stop and scenery to admire
a slight anomaly, brain registering it without real identification
fewer smells, no smoke from chimneys, what possible explanation

His nose twitched once again, in familiar surroundings he'd come
guided by smells through labyrinth to safety of earth and home
remembering when they was two, a much happier life in past
sadly shattered, when she went out alone, infernal shotgun blast

There had been food a-plenty then, never hungry, now just a trace
never had to hunt this far from home, each night a different place
at entrance he paused and smelled a smell that eased the pain
it was those faint smells, made him come back again and again

A COMMUNITY SERVED BY VOLUNTEERS . . . .

There's a service in our community of which we're rightly proud
it was, many years ago, by concerned citizens brought about
free transport to get to a doctor, hospital, for those in need
especially those aged of whom their families payed them little heed

Implementing the idea, what was needed, a voluntary crew
these kind of people, as we are too well aware, are vey few
a vehicle, preferable one large, one small, no large fleet
just to help those in the community, that are most in need

It was implemented as a free service, unique, still the best
it has it ups and downs, over time has stood many a test
provided by like-minded people, caring and kind hearted
it seems only like yesterday, when thought of and started

To use this service is very simple, making just one phone call
when in need of transport to doctor, specialist or hospital
providing name, address, doctor, specialist, when and where
at appropiate time the bus does arrive, to take take you there

At times, when times are busy, the bus may be running late
they do their best, notify doctor, specialist, where appropiate
this service is provide by volunteers, with pride, smiling face
they are ordinairy people, who could live next door, your place

There is great satisfaction in a job well done at end of tiring day
a smiling face form those helped, grateful people, is reward, pay
every day is different, problems are not the same, guarantee
that's why it's satisfying to be a volunteer in your community
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
This service is unique to the hospital that it operates out of for the last 25 years, not duplicated anywhere in Australia. Despite the harsh economic times it is still free and transports about 5000 people a year within a radius of 20km. We salute those volunteers.

WE ARE GIVEN ANOTHER CHANCE . . .
Now is the time of year of family and others we do think
of resolutions we made last year, it went in an eye blink
acknowledging it is a time of remembering our joys, grief
setting aside all hurtful things, maybe revive religious belief

The real meaning of the season, the fellowship we have had
family get-togethers, bringing joy to those who are sad
no better occasion, opportunity to care for one another
making effort to re-unite family, some will say why bother

From experience, all the unhappiness many of us know
loneliness, anquish, festering hatred, don't let it grow
many reasons compelling us from our lives we must erase
evaluating mistakes, in Spirit of Season, for a better place

Maybe adopt an orphan, visit stranger, offer some hope
visit a hospital, goal, help a charity, plenty of scope
think about those at sea, loved ones in lands by war torn
turning our lives around, stop those treating us with scorn

For all the world's woes, we'll never find a sure-fire cure
the less there is in oiur life, more pleasant it is to endure
we are given another chance . . . .don't let it slip by
if a year from now on we're no better off, at least we did try

THE STREAM OF LIFE . . .

Through many hours of happiness, laughter, stream of life flows

in reality, do we make the most of it before each day is done

it's so easy to pick up worries to gather woes on your way

don't give yours to others, who don't want them anyway

Stream of life flows on, in all hues, resulting in emotional pain

life's flowers will bloom again, fed by our tears, like the rain

doesn't do any good to withdraw from world, torn apart by fear

seek solace, strength, freely given by those who hold us dear

Upon life's stream let your wildest dreamboats freely glide

expecting no adverse winds, always sailing happily with the tide

some are cast-off for faraway ports, at the helm a pilot of hope

stormy, adverse seas, some get there, others barely cope

Twilight of youth, evening calm upon our own life's stream

maybe tomorrow, after restfull night, fullfilling hope, dream

forgetting we had a tumble, things coming right once again

shouldn't stop striving, motivation for higher things to attain

Live life to the full, there are many variants in life's stream

look to bright side, accept disappointments, false dreams

gather from the years that have been good, choose at will

don't dwell on ugly moments, life's stream you will imperil

A VALLEY SO REMOTE . . . .

Australia is full of hidden beautifull places, some no doubt will spring instantly to mind

having found your own , that's were you go to leave cares of today's world behind

a place of utter silence,peace, picture-book prettiness, unsurpassed anywhere else

Brindabella Valley, down arduos very steepprecitous winding track, seemingly no end

not for the faint hearted, one is rewarded with magnificient vistas round every bend

when finally reaching, after having closed last gate, crossed last river, valley floor

the magic happens, feeling of utter peace, never anywhere else has it happened before

Sounds of nature, wind singing in the trees, rippling sparse grass, distant crows call

old homestead, slab huts, rusting old machinery, on surrounding hills a waterfall

some buildings been, with much effort, carefully restored, to others a lot more to do

some horses, goats, chooks, sheep, peacefully grazing, here and there a kangaroo

What better way to start new day, up early, enjoy morning air, contemplate the overall

sunrise, cup of tea on verandah, easy chair, silence of nature, here and there birds call

no lack of hospitality, nothing is much effort by those who live here , day in, day out

taking you horse riding, hiking, go fly fishing in unspoilt river for some Rainbow Trout

There's the old suspension bridge across the river, ancient farming tools on slab hut wall

rusting carcasses of farm implements of old, slowly succumbing to nature's call

signs of Aboriginal presence of long ago, some caves in distant hills, secret sites

it has been said they came here to feast on Bogong Moths, socialise and hold tribal rites

A gunmetal glimmer of water betrays river's chilly path, tumbling gently over rocks

the valley enjoys still different seasons, distinctions of time of year nature here mocks

Brindavalley means different things to different people, it could be paradise or hell

there's more to explore, even to just escape the daily grind, to go again, time will tell

Freed from drought's tyranny . . .

Light of setting sun shimmers on sea of water surrounding homestead

after terrrible draught of years gone by, no ever better sight than that

originating weeks ago when in the Channel Country rain began to fall

giving courage and hope to carry on, making you walk very, very tall

The country for miles around was like an endless plain of red dust

daily life a struggle, for man and beast, in God they put their trust

dust blowing across country, low hardy scrubs, little vegetation

unbearable hot, riverbeds bone dry, not really fit for human habitation

Now, once again, life-giving water is slowly creeping across this land

like a huge carpet of glistening silver paper, it sure looks grand up front like a reddish blue, due to minerals being swept along

behind, where water has passed, vegetation a lush green, very strong

Cattle being herded in these trying times, to higher and safer ground

no matter which way one looked, there is life-giving water, all around

homesteads surrounded, like islands in this most welcome inland sea

people breathing sighs of relief, freed once again from drought's tyranny

The network of flooded channels resembling man-made mysterious maze

waterbirds noisely returning in their thousands to previous silent place

nature hibernating all these years, and once again being stirred awake

in doing so, more than enough, for man and beast, their thirst will slake

Soon the rhythm of life will return for the people of this harsh land

picking up thread of life, when, not long ago, it slipped from their hand

just another experience of life, during good times one is apt to forget

maybe after just this season could face once again the same threat

STRUGGLES ON THE LAND . . . .

Like a mirage, nothing unusual in this hot and dusty land

old farm buildings, rusting machinery, beyond repair

broken, rusted windmill, water tank, what's left of the stand

not hard to understand why no-one lives here anymore

gates half open, rusting wires marking outlines of fence

in this inhospitable, barren land, this makes no sense

in the past it must have been someone's paradise or hell

of what tragedies, promises, hardships, this scene does tell

windmill, in an agonising shape, form, outlined against sky

rusted, broken vanes, at many crazy angles, useless now

holed, rusted waterthrough, upon the dusty ground, bone-dry

in hand hewn rough shed, harvester, horse tackle, hand plough

pumping of water, that liquid essential gold, ceased long ago

there's not a living soul, human or animal, for miles to be seen

skeletons of cattle, sheep, sunbleached, in death's throes

any kind of vegetation, grass,dead, not a hint of green

a stark reminder to us all of men's struggles on this land

hopes, dreams, cruelly shattered, tomorrow better, maybe

the insignificance of it all, man taking unwinnable futile stand

nature, showing with all its might, how man had to finally flee

OUR GREATEST PRIDE . . .

When we first ever settled on our selection
there was no place for that well known reflection
the way we fixed it was to dig a very deep hole
enough to catch the winds from the Southpole

Took a bit of doing, it was inside a hollow tree
a sensible structure in the bush for a private privy
didn't need a door, you entered through a crack
a vision splendid, even better than from our shack

There was no roof, it was just open to the blue sky
old newspaper we did use, no fancy triple ply
there was, as yet, no seat, you had to stand or squat
practice gymnastics, to avoid the splat, splot, splat

At night, when visiting, many an unexplained bush noise
when you have to go, as you know, have to go, no choice
in winter, you most definitely had to rug up for the cold
in summer, no probleme, you could go starkers if bold

Eventually carpet, wall to wall, a seat, arm rests to boot
stereo surround music, frightening, television, what a hoot
now we finally got a septic tank, porcelain loo now inside
but that privy, in backyard, always will be our greatest pride