Tag: Australia

Posted in Poetry, The Bushman Series

The Bushman and the Pirates.

Posted on by Tracey L. Bhattarai

Featuring guest illustrator: Aiden Bhattarai

Early one morning, The Bushman set out, 
To check on his grazing heard,
Before heading off to the seaside,
For his sister had sent urgent word.

That a pirate in his mighty ship,
Was plundering the eastern coast,
Waving his sword and issuing orders,
Whilst munching on Vegemite toast.

He had stolen from all, be they rich or poor,
Be it jewels, gems or a child's lolly pop,
So The Bushman's sister had asked him,
To come try to get the pirate to stop.

As The Bushman rode overland,
He wondered how he could,
Cease the evil pirate plundering,
Everywhere his crew n he stood.

Within two days The Bushman arrived,
At his sisters artsy beachside home,
Where shell and driftwood art line walls, 
And the floor is sand covered stone.

'Twasn't long till The Bushman brave,
Got to meet the nasty buccaneer,
Who was causing all the trouble,
'N' creating so much fear.

He was swiping The Bushman's saddle bags,
Right off of his chestnut horse,
When The Bushman came out,
 words blazing, using all of his vocal force.

The Pirate, instead of fleeing the scene,
Drew his sword advancing fast,
The Bushman, determined to beat him,
Grabbed a bamboo stick as he ran past.

A mighty battle had now begun,
The evil pirate verse The Bushman brave,
Bystanders wondering which may win,
All hoping The Bushman wouldn't cave.

Clanging and banging filled the air,
As courageous Bushman fought on,
Defending the Pirates every move,
Waiting for him to get it wrong.

To discover who wins this clash with sheer wit and how they resolve the pirates inconveniant mayhem please venture beyond the portal below!

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Posted in Bush poetry, Nature, Poetry, Uncategorized

Feathery Pool Party!

Posted on by Tracey L. Bhattarai 
With the water becoming scarce,
And the temperature arising,
A Galah flock found themselves a quite pool,
In which they engulfed quite unsurprising.

Soon there was a grey/pink cloud,
Covering most of the ground & blue sky overhead,
Drinking the water in the pool however,
Would find quite a few sick or dead..

Yet they stayed on poolside,
As if their party must go on,
Screeching their song be it an almighty din,
Dancing through each day so long. 

Like most parties this one has its characters,
The lifeguard, the clown, the quiet one in a corner,
Those that are boldly in the spotlight,
Or on the fence along the border.

‘Till at last the party’s over for the day,
All fly off to where they roost,
Resting quietly ‘till dawning light,
Finding fresh water’s sure to be a boost.
Posted in Bush poetry, Nature, Poetry, Uncategorized

Outback Summer

Posted on by Tracey L. Bhattarai 
Blistering sun & scorching ground,
Often little water to be found,
Imaginations needed to reprieve,
One suffering ‘till the sun’s rays leave.

Some retreat to an underground home,
‘Till nightfall makes it cool to roam,
Others can be found in or beneath trees,
Allowing the flora the heat to ease.

Yet even they struggle come afternoon,
Wishing ‘twas eve with a cooling moon,
Wishing moisture to come sooner than nightfall,
To replenish the physical beings of all. 

Yet as the sun starts to set,
A lot of creatures find some place wet,
Easing the heat/dust/stress of the day,
Before into the dark they venture to work/eat/play.
Posted in Bush poetry, Nature, Poetry, Uncategorized

Dust Field Blooms

Posted on by Tracey L. Bhattarai 
Fields, plains, paddocks vast,
Dust overtaking all ‘till clouds rain’s cast,
Yet at first not near enough to reduce dust blast,
By the slightest of wind’s breeze fast.

Until finally enough rain may fall,
To satisfy the vast quench of all,
Be they the tiniest of insects so small,
Or mightiest of ancient trees strong and tall.

Before one’s eye’s what was once dust,
Into it’s rejuvenation cycle ‘tis thrust,
Where witnesses may finally see greenery unfurl with lust,
That sprouts and blooms from the Earth’s very crust. 

‘Till all appears oasis lush,
Replenished tree’s and blooming bush,
Flowers and grass thriving seemingly in a rush,
Yet without ongoing abundance - all back to dust it shall just crush.
Posted in Nature, Poetry, Thought Provokers, Uncategorized

Coastal Dreamer

Posted on by Tracey L. Bhattarai 
Sitting upon my porch one hot dusty afternoon,
My mind began a wandering off away,
To a glistening golden sandy beach,
Where tall green palm trees back ’n’ forth calmly sway.

Where crystal blue ocean waves are softly breaking,
On the luxurious soft, sun warmed sand,
Seagulls quickly scavenging for their food,
Whilst young children clasp seashells in their hand.

Where the Moon and Sun rise from an ocean horizon,
Playful dolphins are jumping up through the sky,
The sound of waves crashing on nearby rocks,
People staring at giant whales swimming by.

Thus with a drink in hand I stroll along,
Enjoying the salty breeze in my hair,
The warm, damp, sand moulds around my toes,
Whilst my sequinned silk dress adds it’s own flair.

Smells of a BBQ come from the path ahead,
Where everyone’s only smiles to be found,
There’s a salad bar fully freshly stocked,
With the season’s abundance from all around…

Then a gust of hot, dry, dusty wind,
Blows right through my outback garden to my face,
Snapping me right back to my dusty, dry, reality,
And the chaos of this days pace.

Yet, there’s an element of my mind wanting to stay,
Wanting the daydreams energy to harden,
Alas, it merely makes a mild wave through the day,
Thus For now dreamland must grant my pardon.
Posted in Bush poetry, Nature, Poetry, The Bushman Series

The Bushman’s Drought Breaker

Posted on by Tracey L. Bhattarai 
Early on one hot summer morn,
The Bushman sat a’ reading,
Contemplating his week ahead,
And to what his stock he’d be feeding.

The Newspaper covering his district,
’twas always good to read,
filled with news and an array of content,
from sports ’n’ yarns, to ‘How to Succeed’.

Sunshine ’twas predicted once again,
On the forecast charts of that paper,
’twas all they’d said four months in a row,
The Bushman pondered the whole caper.

Putting down the paper sighing,
The Bushman saddled up his horse,
Rode out to check his struggling heard,
Of which drought was dwindling in its force.

Yet he loped them down more branches,
Refilled their dry water troughs,
Heaved motherless calves o’er his saddle,
taking them home with dust filled coughs.

Day after day he continued,
Physical exhaustion taking it’s toll,
Stock feed becoming rather scarce,
Buying hay had became his moneys role.

Then late one November evening,
After the sun had sunk in the sky,
The Bushman ’twas riding homebound,
When a raindrop fell above his eye.

Soon ’twas followed by thousands more,
Raining hard that whole night long,
Next morn there was a wondrous sight,
All the thick powdery dust now long gone.

Dark grey clouds still loomed over head,
yet The Bushman’s mood was bright,
Water tanks and dams were overflowing,
The now running creek sparkled in the sunlight.

*********

To Find out what fun The Bushman has in the mud, where his stallion seeks shelter, and more please venture through the portal below where one can also find the full reading of this messy adventure!

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Posted in Nature, Poetry, Thought Provokers, Uncategorized

There’s a Bird…

Posted on by Tracey L. Bhattarai 
There’s a bird at the bottom of my garden,
With plumage of blue and brown,
He brings his flock each a mere inch tall,
Enjoying a moment with succulents abound.

There’s a bird flitting around my garden, 
Whom thinks they’re the king of the yard!
Despite their small stature and affinity to match the cat,
This black and white one’s quite the bard.

There’s a bird strutting along in my garden,
Who’s a rare visitor white as a ghost,
Enjoying washing the dust away,
Before flying off fear to be toast. 

There’s a brown plumed bird visiting my garden,
With it’s beak reaching far above the fence!
Even if disturbed won’t run away,
Despite the dogs being a noisy menace. 

There’s a water bird upon the clothesline,
Although soon under the sprinkler,
Feathers dark as dark can be,
Unafraid this feathered friend often does linger.

There’s a bird upon the veranda,
So tiny as can be,
And just like his feathery counterparts,
Flits as he likes, wild and free.