BREAKING OF ANOTHER DAY . . .

Dawn chorus of birds, the sweetest melody

their songs echoing over valley and dale

daylight is breaking, shadows of the night flee

rays of the rising sun, ever so pale

Sun slowly rising, intensifying in its heat

morning mists in valley, slowly fading away

animals of the night beating a hasty retreat

emerging plants welcoming lifegiving sun's rays

There's a beauty in each dewdrop in its fall

its like a diamond, tumbling round and round

from Eucalypts and Wattles, Paperbarks so tall

sparkling on their journey towards the ground

Shafts of sunlight, dense canopy penetrating

eagles and hawks far above, soaring in the sky

myriad small insects in early light gyrating

whilst whispy white clouds, lazely drift by

Scent of varied bush flowers, ever so sweet

a vital role they play, in bush's regeneration

secreting table of smorgasbord, for animals to eat

in doing so, helping the process of pollination

Gently from chimneys of houses, in valley

place of peacefulness, picturesque, tranquility

smoke rising, undisturbed, spreading over plateau

now, this is a place to be, not a polluted city

OLD, BUT STILL LIVING . . .

The deserts of Australia are a facsinating place
nights very cold, days hot, shimmering in a heat haze
little rainfall, sparse vegetation, few animals survive
in harsh environment, early explorers lost their live


Some birds have adopted special skills, numbers are few
surviving on little water, sucking plants of their morning dew
some fish and frogs hibernate in tunnels underground
eagerly awaiting next season's rainfall, if ever it comes at all


In the distance, a few camels, brumbies, lazely roam this land
nibbling at sparse vegetation, dry, half buried by hot sand
a lonely dingo prowls, of human beings it surely is not shy
solitairy falcon surveys his terrritory, desperately seeking prey


Hostile environment, no landmarks, very, very intimidating
and yet, full of life, hasn't changed for eons, deeply facsinating
many a season has passed, some notably with no rain at all
many seeds laying dormant, waiting for that rain to fall


The Simpson Desert, ancient sea, dry since Gondwanaland
as far as the eye can see, unrelenting expanse of hot sand
age-old inhabitants, interacting elements, cruel, unforgiving
mimicking, mocking ancient sea shore, old but yet still living

NATURE'S WONDERLAND . . .

Smokey blue hills on horizon far away
wonderland of nature, grandiose in its display
from dry inland to where rainforests meet the sea
sun, rain, wind, each an entity, living in harmony


Cedars, eaucalypts, cut down long ago, large stumps
used in ships, houses, coal mines, new leaves in clumps
ribbon of silver, murmuring creek in steep valley below
gurgling over moss covered pebbles, not interupting flow


On steep mountainsides, all covered in coloured scree
supporting in small crevices, occasional stunted tree
against all the odds, it somehow manages to survive
a web of intermingled spidery roots giving it precious life


Myriad small insects dancing, age-old rituals, in subdued light
wild flowers, vibrant colours, eucalypts of great height
spiders, beetles, fungi, nests of birds, bush honey bees
brumbies, wild pigs, foxes, dingoes, kangaroo roaming free


Nature's way, micro-organisms at work, well below ground
making sure the bush's lifecycle keeps going round and round
each creature in it's own way contributing, not stopping toil
breaking down twigs, leaves, old logs, to enhance the soil


Waterfalls, ever changing sight, waterbirds and frogs,
wombats, lizards, snakes, sleeping in hollows, burnt out logs
to experience nature's wonders close at hand, time well spend
you'll really have to go there, a couple of days, pitch your tent

RESEARCH IN THE 'LONG PADDOCK'


In early days in times of drought, no feed for stock
system of tracks evolved called the 'Long Paddock
stretches from Far -North Queensland to Victoria, south
feeding many a farmer's stock their hungry mouth

The use of the Long Paddock is rapidly declining
our native animals' sun has once again began shining
researcher put "harps" along these grazing tracks
wanting to know what, where, how wildlife is coming back

No more hiding from those bleating, dumb woolly choppers
Many a bird said to caught insects and grasshoppers
those beasts with horns no more use this patch
more for us now, said the kangaroos to the wombats

Small birds, bats, about those "harps" they don't sing
we fly into them, hard to see, damaging our wing
we do try to fly either higher or really very low
otherwise for us, these "Long Paddocks" are a no-no

The main reason for the "Long Paddock" decimation
road trains, quicker, faster transport to new vegetation
in times of devastating floods, fires, long- term drought
not many farmers with cattle and sheep, are getting caught

Road-trains along higways, byways, day and night
putting legends of drovers and swagman to flight
no more boiling of billy, damper, stew, blazing campfire
forcing many of these colourful characters to retire

Yet another chapter in Aussie Folklore, heritage is lost
in age of computers, mighty dollar, the high cost
it sad, incomprehensible, perhaps a twist of fate
Pitt Street farmers say: " Prosper or perish mate"

SPURRING US ON TO GREATER THINGS . . .

Australia, sundrenched, parched, diversity and colour
even before discovery by the men of the Endeavour
since beginning of time, plagued by floods and fires
came the convicts, landed gentry, some real triers

Coming to better themselves in this great unknown land
some buildings, silent testimony to them, still stand
great hopes were raised, many dreams of riches shattered
tried to make the most of things to them that mattered

Some found gold, others from poor soil a hard living wrested
dreams and lives in easy street, hope, sorely tested
convicts, murderers, pious men, many different races
gamblers, drunkards, a sense of deja-vu on their faces

Answereing the call to arms, the adventurous, the brave
some returned as ANZACS, some buried in faraway grave
they made history, they never flinched, knew no fear
they stood up to be counted, for what they held dear

As we are here today, surely we have to stop and ponder
what's in store for the next generation, makes one wonder
let us be proud of our heritage, our land, our Aussie folklore
spurring us on to even greater things since the Endeavour

EXPLORING OUR MAGNIFICIENT COASTLINE

Travelling Australia, no one forgets spectacular South Coast

of rock formations, all shapes, colours, sizes does it boast

by huge waves, winds, without abating, it's constantly lashed

many a sailing ship, in early days, against rocks it was dashed

no rocks can withstand this relentless pounding of these waves

over thousands, millions of years, creating shapes and caves

the energy expended, travelling endless kilometres of open sea

blowholes, far inland, foam spray above cliff tops, lone treee

there are reverberating thumps, boom like thunder, at distance

in rough weather, don't go near edge, you're taking a big chance

residual towers of harder rock, spectacularly rise from rough sea

near Port Campbell, in fine weather, "Twelve Apostles" you'll see

inland are large areas that are forested by twisted Mallee tree

big knobbly underground roots, wildflowers blooming in spring

Papery Sunray, Poached Egg Daisies, some large, some small

if you listen, stand still, you'll see Mallee Fowl, hear their call

most lakes connected to Murray River, overflow after heavy rain

then, for many wetland birds, this becomes their breeding domain

White-bellied Sea-Eagle, Pelican, BlackSwan, variety of ducks too

Mulga Parrot, Egret, Euro, Western, Eastern Grey, Red Kangaroo

travelling along The Great Ocean Road, many an unfamiliar sound

different horizons, changing coastline, the scenery truly astound

there are many spectacular vistas on cloudy days with varied light

elements of nature relentlessly asssaulting The Great Australian Bight

THIS

HAUNTING

LAND . . .

nowhere, but in our Australia, is there an inland sea

with waterbirds foraging on foreshore, some migratory

pelicans, white ibis, ducks overhead in flying formation

the moon, a day past full, soon will be the only illumination

shadows lengthening, sky changing by the setting sun

twilight doesn't linger, air is still, magic has just begun

soon light of new day, sun blazing orb in cloudless sky

there'll be no rain today, for a landscape parched and dry

stunted desert trees, red dust, hot, utter desolation

no place to linger long, but if you must, heed your preparation

simmering heat, mirages, tantalising oasis, cool waterfall

bleached bones of animals, grotesque in life's final call

yet in all its harshness, mystique, even in the distant past

never been any different, beautiful, haunting, unsurpassed

the decades rolled by, on and on, so did seasons in turn

even some of our early explorers, this a place they did spurn

isolated, relentless summer heat, wet season, different story

desert comes alive, riot of flowers, new life, what glory

if you travel this far, off the beaten track, in this country

it's there to see, experience it, on Birdsville Track, near Marree

A PLACE CALLED KAKADU . . .

A mixed feeling of expectations one could feel is in the air

after arduous journey along dusty, potholed road, nearly there

the end result of meticulous planning over a year or two

feeling magical Spirit, forged by history,of a place called Kakdu

Lowlands so ancient, witness to life forming, maybe here it began

the appearance of humans, in large numbers, Aboriginal Man

tiny rivulets cascading of escarpment, forming wetlands and more

weaving thru Eucalypt forests, creeks, mangroves, to sandy seashore

Kakadu's history recorded in yellow, red ochre, ingrained on rock

white man, of it's significance only now, too late, taking stock

wetlands, haven for birds, Jabiru, Brolga, File snake, Magpie Geese

domestic pigs, water buffalo, cane toad, camel, feral all of these

Camping near beautiful creek, waterhole for swimming, very clear

rugged cliffs, colourful slabs of rocks in water, magic to be here

feeding grounds of many conspicuously beautiful water birds

their morning chorus, like nothing else you've anywhere heard

Plenty of Wallabies, dwarf-like possums, black furred Kangaroo

grasshoppers, termites, scrub-fowl, nests they built, amazing too

on far horizon, small black thundery clouds starting to appear

getting more intense, indications of the Wet Season nearly being here

Violent squalls sweeping through trees, followed by torrential rain

the Wet Season, in no uncertain manner, has arrived once again

flooding drought stricken landscape, great miracles being wrought

lifecycles, dormant, resuming again, no one would have ever thought

A VANISHING TRADE

There is an old smithy in our little village still
watching him work, with steel, fire, a boyhood thrill
in corner, from through of water, steam rising, iron cools
the walls, displaying , in some sort of order, various tools

Pieces of iron glowing, almost white hot, in forge fire
a young lad, pumping a set of bellows, never seems to tire
upon anvil, smithy places white hot iron, sounds of striking hammer
this is a job for muscled man, with plenty of sweat, very little glamour

A horse stands near door patiently, in some sort of shade
the smithy busily shaping it's iron shoes, custom made
in leather apron, cap upon his head, a big knife, rasp
shaping horse's hoof, a bit here, a bit there, absorbed in task.

Clouds of acrid smoke when fitting hot shoe on hoof
horse somewhat looks bemused, what's it thinking, aloof
the work is slow, can't be hurried, it's only just begun
there is not one horse, but three more, finally one done.

The last nail is hammered into hoof, released, next in its place
if horses could talk, walking away with a big smile on its face?
the smithy rummaging in fire, next one on anvil, heating forge
hammering and shaping shoes for yet another horse

majority of horse shoes now, unfortunately, mass produced overseas
wiping out that most noble and ancient craft of smithies
it is a sad fact that to see a smithy in this modern day and age
you'll only see them now in an environmental tourist village.

THIS IS AUSTRALIA, OUR MAGIC LAND . . .

Wind in the trees, a gentle breeze, birds that sing
animals of bush, slaking thirst at whispering stream
kookaburras laughing, butterflies, wild flowers at all
honey eaters, lorrikeets, whipbirds, waratahs so tall.

Eagles, kites, hawks on air currents far above ground
lyrebirds, bush turkeys, bowerbirds, scratching around
lizards, frogs, shinglebacks, snakes, occasional tree owl
in silence of the night you can hear dingos howl.

When night descends slowly, creating a whole new sensation
the bush seems to give birth to a whole new population
sugar gliders, wombats, possums, koalas feeding in gum trees
the daylight animals and predators no more, seeming to flee.

Up in the star studded sky, Southern Cross way up yonder
moon reflecting in billabong, night time full of wonder
tranquility all around, sounds of the bush close at hand
where else would you want to be but in Australia, magical land.