Taggin' Along

We stoned the flamin’ crows at Wagga,

Caught the colt from Old Regret at Corryong,

Then we said goodbye to southern states

And rounded up our Solo mates to form a tag-along.

Each night we stopped for food and wine at our happy hour

And looked around for showers to ease our driving pain.

We got our marching orders from our fearless leader John

And if we didn’t understand, we got them all again.

We stayed in quiet paddocks, red with swirling dust

And soaked in mineral waters hot and black.

We tuned our creative skills at Pilliga Pottery camp

And over-catered to the max in an organised pot-luck.

We gathered round a campfire in a friendly farmer’s yard

With spuds in the coals and marshmallows in the fire

Then we lined the streets with others at Colleranabri

And honoured our Anzacs in truly country style

At Lightning Ridge we settled in, eighty vans or so –

Brekky in our ‘jamas, bowling barefoot at the club,

In chartered bus or on our own, we explored the town,

The opal fields, car door tours and the pub out in the scrub.

Some joined the groups and some dropped off

As we reached the Sunshine State.

There was Music in the Mulga or a trek along the gorge,

Different groups and leaders, different routes, different rates.

Then all our groups converged again

We camped a week near Miriam Vale

With visitors and workshops and an endless burning fire,

Sing-alongs with Gary and many a far-fetched tale.

So now we’ll gather up our cards and games

We’ll miss the laughter, dances and song.

We’ll hit the road tomorrow after one last night of fun,

Better friends than ever thanks to this tag-along.

Anzac

They lied!
They were fifteen, sixteen, some barely grown
Their future uncharted, their potential unknown
But the Services took them
And their mothers cried.

They were husbands and dads, aged thirty or more
To protect family and nation, and defend our shores
And the Services took them
While their families cried.

Their mates said it would be fun, a fight quickly won.
And our larrikin lads got their helmets and guns.
And the Services took them
And their women cried.

The women joined the forces at home and abroad
Serving in a world-wide emergency ward
And the Services took them
And the sisterhood cried.

They lied!
Those who came home and said their lives were all right
While they struggled with demons that haunted their nights
But the Services had taken them
And everyone cried.

They lied!
They talked of the nation's glory and Australia's good name,
While we mourned those who returned and those who were slain
But the Services and the enemy had taken them
And we cried.
We all cried.

Carjacker

At the Man from Snowy River festival yesterday I competed in a one-minute poem competition. The results were varied and generally humorous. They had to include the words 'but a final glimpse reveals'. I didn't get a guernsey but was happy with my presentation.

I slow at the intersection,
Well, I ooze through a red light.
It is a very small town,
No cops or cars in sight.

Now I realise I have a carjacker
Who had jumped aboard as I slowed.
He clings to the ridge of the bonnet
Right between me and the road.

He grins at me through the windscreen
And winks with his big evil eyes
And give a bow as a kind of a tribute
With all the panache of his size.

I am not a competitive driver
But I like to choose who can ride.
So I turn on the windscreen wipers
And flip him off to the side.

He gives me a look of reproach
As he gets washed and flung into flight
But a final glimpse reveals to me,
No carjacker, just a hitchhiking fly in the night.

Once Bitten

My husband and I didn't know it
The first twenty-five years the best yet.
But at age twenty-six, the tide turned
Because that was the year that we met.

If love is an orchestra playing
Under a romantic full moon,
Then right from the start we were two violins
Always just out of tune.

A wishing well guards our secrets
But I regret those hidden quirks.
When he disappeared in a flash,
Was it his wish or mine that worked?

Life's tough when you're single at forty
With three little kids still in school.
There's no time to think of yourself
In tuck shop rosters and car pools.

When the kids had flown the nest
Leaving a great space where they'd been
I decided to test my courage
And check out the dating scene.

I put on the pneumonia neckline
And the slinky little black dress
And went off to a solos' dance
The right age, more or less.

The women were quite impeccable,
Gleaming with powder, paint and perfume
Out to enjoy their moment of glory
And impress every male in the room.

Some men rose to the challenge
And dressed in the neatest of styles.
Others went as everyday heroes
And misread the occasion by miles.

In a heartbeat I knew it was wrong.
I didn't fit in with this crowd.
I beat a hasty, high-heeled retreat
Already bested and beaten and cowed.

Yes, sometimes it gets a bit lonely
And book clubs don't fill the bill.
But there's life in this old biddy yet
And I'm not quite over the hill.

Sometimes I send out for a pizza -
The works with onion and soy.
Then I drop it into the garbage
And keep the delivery boy.

For years now I’m travelling solo

With adventures and stories to tell

But I make sure my journeys don’t take me

Near dance halls and wishing wells

Bully Boy 2

I was not happy with the rhythm of this poem earlier but I still loved the story so if it feels familiar, that's the reason.

BULLY BOY 

BLAARP! The air horn blasted from at least a k behind –

Nice to get the warning but there’s no passing spot to find.

The narrow verge is wet and the bull dust’s turned to slime

I know I can pull over if he gives me space and time.

I sit on the speed limit, hardly daring to look back.

BLAARP!  This feels like flack in an enemy attack

But the monster there behind me is catching up I’m sure.

BLAARP! Not a friendly toot but an intimidating roar.

I’m travelling faster than I ever think is right.

I watch him bearing down on me, a terrifying sight.

I’m way above the limit – but he’s huge with towering load

I’m so focused on him, hardly looking at the road.

Damn! I missed a driveway. I’m far too fast to turn

But in this highway nightmare I’ve still a lot to learn.

I put my blinkers on to let him know I’m pulling over

It’s like a deadly version of the children's game Red Rover.

At last I see a gravel pit with space to turn and hide

I brake and leave the road with a dramatic sideways slide.

I sit there trembling with my nerves all shot to hell

I think, now that I’ve survived, I’ll have a tale to tell.

One last blast and he thunders past then begins to brake.

After all that blatant aggro, he dares me to overtake.

He’s watching me in the mirror and sends a quick salute

A middle-finger greeting from a bully and a brute.

I edge in there behind him and slow to match his pace

Never game to pass him now he’s made this into a race.

I know he’d sit behind me and blast his rotten horn

I lift my head with purpose and hope he can feel my scorn.

So I try to feel complacent and hope I look the same

As I sit there in the roadway trying not to play his game.

But closer, ever closer I allow myself to creep

Then I summon all my courage and give a small defiant ...BEEP

Summer in the Mountains

My Canadian friends are waiting for snow
As the Winter falls are unseasonably slow.
In the streets of London it would seem
That a white Christmas is just a dream.

My kids in Brissie are starting to wilt
As the heat of Summer hits to the hilt
And the tree already looks old and weak
Though Christmas is not until next week.

But I've been driving the Alpine Way
With chilly nights and glorious days.
I woke today to a beautiful show -
Sunshine on a dusting of pristine snow.

When I talk to others about their reasons
They often say they follow the seasons.
For most that means they follow the sun -
They head north before Winter's begun.

But people like me who dislike the heat
We march (or drive) to a different beat.

If we stay in the north, we know the score –

Heat, cyclones, floods, and fires galore.

If we go south, it’s a whole new game

We may have heat and fires, just the same.

But there’s always the chance, you never know

That even in Summer, there’ll be glorious snow