Welcome to the section of Silver Peers where we invite submissions from members and visitors for our Poetry Corner. We accept all forms of poetry - sonnets, daisy chains, haiku, free verse, bush poetry.....any type of poetry that you care to write - and the best shall be published in our forums.

Moderator: Mahalia

Post Reply
User avatar
Moderator (Bronze Member)
Posts: 2312
Joined: 30 Sep 2009, 20:53


Post by Mahalia »

JOE AND BLUEY GRAY ... Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBarkPoet

This here is the story 'bout old Joe the shearer
a likeable cove though he was a touch rough
but a dab hand with sheep, though his dog couldn't hear ya ...
he'd selective hearing - though Joe called his bluff.

When filling up pens one would often hear Joe call
"Are your ears painted on, you daft bloody mutt?"
Old Blue would ignore him and continue with pushing
the sheep up the races - each broad wooly butt.

" He ain't nought to look at", Joe was fond of saying
"his Mum was a heeler who went on a spree.
Mated with a dingo. This pup Blue was the smartest,
though some claimed he fell from the ugly tree.

Blue's quite short and stocky, his tail's big and bushy,
his colour is mottled, in grey, black and beige
whilst his teeth are like sharks teeth, bright white, sharp and savage.
He hears well enough but he just don't engage.

Barmy as a bandicoot out in the paddock
he runs like a loon till some common sense clicks
then it's all down to business - but mostly done his way
He'll give those sheep eye and his will he'll inflict.

And woe betide those who refuse his directions
a sharp nip reminds them just who is the boss,
and it does the old wethers no good to be stamping
their feet at the Blue dog - it just makes him cross."

So once Blue had done his job with little guidance
Old Joe would comment with a smile on his dial
"Yea his blood's worth bottling - there's no other like him,
he's not only smart but he's fast and has style''

Between them there was love - though Joe would deny that,
"He's only a dog mate" he would gruffly say
but when no one was looking you'd see his hand gently
caress the brown head of his mate Bluey Gray.

Old Bluey would look up with eyes amber coloured,
at his master's face, and his tail he would wag,
as he'd push his nose under the old fellows elbow,
to snuggle up close to that time worn old lag.

The shearing was finished, the grazier's happy.
Wool prices are up and the VM count low.
"God willing we'll see you both next year for shearing - for
you'll do a Melba once again I hope Joe."

'I'll be round like a rissole - don't you be worried,
for sure me and Bluey Gray will reappear
though I'll give you a head's up - it might be the last time
we're finding it harder - retirement is near."

So off the pair trundled, in their battered Holden
Ute that had for sure seen far, far better days.
Slow behind it a trail of blue smoke and red dust trailed
whilst plentiful backfires emerged from the haze.

There were more jobs calling and other sheep bawling
for this pair were known for their finesse with sheep
One blue dog with both his ears ' painted on' so Joe claimed
and one weathered shearer - whose wrinkles ran deep.
The Scribbly Bark Poet
see some scribbles here -

Post Reply