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: 2073
Joined: 30 Sep 2009, 20:53


Post by Mahalia » 02 Feb 2017, 12:27

BILL AND THE BRUMBY ... Maureen Clifford © The ScribblyBark Poet

He planned to be a cowboy - it had been his long held dream,
he knew he would be happy with the life
and lifestyle - all he wanted was to make a move out west
away from city streets and big town strife.

He'd grown up reading westerns, and watched cowboy movies too,
he hankered for the lifestyle of the west.
He owned a few Akubras and a well worn Driza-bone
he thought that he could cut it with the best.
He'd been down to the Gold Coast and he'd shelled a few bucks out
to see the Aussie Outback ANZAC show,
and had admired the horsemanship, the true stories reborn,
where death defying stunts were all the go.

So he chased Bush Recruitment up to see what was out there...
they had a Jackaroos job yet to fill -
it was at Borroloola in the Territory they said -
was he interested? " Bloody Oath!" said Bill.
"You'll have to ride a horse and be keen to learn some new jobs,
accommodation is part of the deal
for the male stockmen only - it's an isolated life,
but a good one." "Good-oh! Count me in " cried Bill.

The first day on the job the boss took Bill to meet the blokes
he'd be working with - they were a motley crew.
Laconic, laid back, lanky larrikins without a doubt
all set to teach the new chum what to do.
They bought his stock horse over - he was saddled, right to go,
'bout fifteen hands, a lean and rangy bay
who 'd done the job for so long he could do it in his sleep
direction wasn't needed now - no way.

That pony that they gave him was a plugger – placid, tame
and the fire had long departed from his soul,
Bill needed one with spirit, something curbed by snaffle rein ...
a stallion, an entire, hale and whole.
So they found for him a brumby one whose mettle was not curbed
and they told him ‘do not use the whip or spur’
but the cocky would-be jackaroo claimed this he had not heard
and never yet was mountain horse a cur.
So he touched his spurs to flea bit hide and slapped the beamy rump,
the brumby gave an ear twitch and a nod,
Bill spurred a little harder and the brumby walked on out
'twas hardly brisk - it was more of a plod.
Dissatisfied, Bill dug in deep - he' d show them he could ride
the brumby flicked its tail and humped its back
erupting like a starburst on a bloody cracker night,
a sun fisher, now in full blown attack.

The stockmen whooped and hollered, the boss just stood and grinned
at Billy pulling leather as he plunged.
The brumby was an arm jerker, a tough and hardy beast
whose sole aim was to see young Bill expunged.
One more twist ... he began to fall ... waving his arms about,
then out the back door Billy was ejected.
The brumby stopped and looked at him, and slowly sauntered over
the look upon his face was quite dejected.

Bill planned to be a cowboy - 'twas his dream to work the land,
he'd just learnt his first lesson here today...
you treat your horses with respect - you're all on the same team.
Treat them with kindness - they'll meet you halfway.
The Scribbly Bark Poet
see some scribbles here -

Post Reply