Tag: Bush poetry

Posted in Bush poetry, Info Poem, Nature, Poetry

Living in the Aussie Outback…

Posted on by Tracey L. Bhattarai 
Red sand, 4 wheel drives, goanna’s on the run,
Life in the Australian bush is known for being fun!
Big Red Kangaroos, and emus running by,
While a mighty wedge tail eagle soars up in the clear blue sky!

Whilst for the most life in the bush is sweet to say the least,
Unless it happens to be midsummer… post rain… and the mozzies start to feast.
Thus there’s a very valid reason the tourists tend to come round June,
Summer can be down right dangerous despite natures sweet tune.

For when the rain deluges in horizontal, blowing everything askew,
And goanna’s decide to accompany you when you happen to use the loo,
Whilst venomous snakes move into the garden as if invited right on cue,
And you can’t venture through a doorway without checking for;
 An abundance of creatures that could be lurking to fall on you…
Not to mention the array of spiders which after all that don’t seem so bad,
And the flies that when mixed with heat and dust are near enough to send one mad.

Though if perchance you can handle enduring all of that,
The great Australian outback can be a blast (just don’t forget a solid hat).
With many an adventure awaiting all whom dare,
And for those of us that live out here that’s everyday with flare,
For the vast Aussie bushland is abundant with ever changing beauty and grace,
One just need remember to stay diligently mindful or she’ll fast put you in your place.

Posted in Nature, Poetry, Thought Provokers

May Their Phoenix Rise!

Posted on by Tracey L. Bhattarai 
A delicate bird with clipped wings in a cage,
Whose beauty and elegance seems abounding,
Can only dream and sing their long days away,
Whilst pondering how the free birds spend their day.

Pondering what dew covered berries taste like off a bush,
As the sun kisses treetops good morning at dawn,
How an evening breeze would feel to glide home upon,
And what it would be like to harmonise with another’s song.

Yet within it’s well tended cage of metal and straw,
Comfort and safety reason away thoughts so free,
That our feathery friend seems content and happy,
Singing its song all day in and out as it believes ‘tis supposed to be.

Then one day evidently our little friend finds a door ajar,
Venturing out as cautiously as a timid kitten shy,
Leaving both cage and comfort further behind in each moment,
Until fearing their unknown is no longer a component. 

Eventually this feathered beauty starts to heal,
From their traumatic past endured for so long,
Though the healing may at times seem traumatising within itself,
‘Tis ultimately better to withstand it than bury it upon a shelf.

Thus soon may come a time so empowering,
That they start to embrace their new chapter of life,
Allowing their inner phoenix to rise from their past strife,
Entering each new seraphic day increasing their new enchantment rife!
Posted in Bush poetry, Poetry, The Bushman Series

The Bushman’s Christmas Surprise.

Posted on by Tracey L. Bhattarai 
Christmas ’twas mere days away,
As the Bushman sat present wrapping,
Singing classic Christmas carols,
To which his foot ’twas tapping.

When something through a window,
Distracted his concentrating eye,
Curiously the Bushman ventured closer,
As his startled horse reared to the sky.

There on his verandah stood,
Much to the Bushman’s surprise,
A six foot plus white kangaroo,
With piercing sky blue eyes.

Not far away ’twas another,
Whose leg appeared to be injured,
Then a third wearing a harness,
Made the scene seem completely absurd!

Three snowy white kangaroos,
The Bushman thought he was dreaming!
’Till he tripped over his poor dogs tail,
Whom let out his version of surprised screaming.

Then up hopped a fourth kangaroo,
To see what had caused all the matter,
A fifth dragging a leather strap,
Followed with a bit of a clatter.

The Bushman looked from roo to roo,
Trying to figure it all out,
When a large man in a big red suit,
Came out of the bush giving a shout:

‘Ho, Ho, Hello there my friend.
My aircraft’s crashed just through there,
Most of my boomers got away okay,
But could you help me get back in the air?’

The Bushman couldn’t believe his eye’s,
Here was Santa asking for his help,
‘Certainly’ was all he could manage to say,
Whilst his dog gave him an encouraging yelp.

Not too far off the Bushman’s homestead,
Santa’s sleigh ’twas caught up in the top of a gumtree,
A sixth kangaroo in a harness was dangling,
Thus getting him down unscathed was the key.

The Bushman soon knew what to do,
Dashed back home to get some supplies,
Whilst a flock of birds in the trees overhead,
Sang loudly their mocking song cries.

‘Twasn’t long ‘till the Bushman returned,
With ropes and his trusty chestnut horse,
They tied and swung them over nearby trees,
And securely to the sleigh of course!

After lowering down the last kangaroo,
They slowly lowered Santa’s sleigh,
Tended all the kangaroo’s injuries,
‘Fore Santa went up upon his way.

Soon ’twas Christmas eve,
And snuggled by the fireplace,
The Bushman and his beloved lady,
Were discussing Santa’s big worldwide race.

When from overhead they heard crystal clear:
‘HO HO HO HO HELLO! MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU,
BUSHMAN, THANKS FOR ALL YOUR HELP,
IN MAKING DREAMS WORLD WIDE COME TRUE!’

The Bushman’s Lady sat watching in disbelief,
As presents then appeared beneath their tree,
Whilst sounds of sleigh bells rang through the sky,
Filling the surrounding bushland with magic and glee.

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 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.

*********

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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.
Posted in Poetry, The Bushman Series, Uncategorized

The Bushman and The Great Fire.

Posted on by Tracey L. Bhattarai 
'Twas a sunny summer morning,
As The Bushman rocked in his chair,
Talking to his mighty chestnut horse,
When a spark started a flare.

It slowly crept from leaf to leaf,
Over a hill not too far away,
Gradually gaining momentum,
Burning whatever was in its way.

Soon ’twas a roaring blaze,
Engulfing flora high and low,
Sending animals scattering fast,
Whilst creating a far seen glow.

When the Bushman first did catch sight,
Of that great fires billowing smoke,
He quickly leapt up from his seat,
Making contact with the village folk.

Meanwhile that great fire spread,
Vastly over the thick bushland,
Killing all that couldn't get away,
On the very spot that they did stand.

Roos bounded and lizards scurried,
As fast as they possibly could,
Cockatoos shrieking as they flew,
Evacuating homes of twiggy wood.

The great fire was growing rapidly,
As it started burning on up the hill,
Towards The Bushman's homestead,
Creeping in every direction at will.

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Posted in Poetry, The Bushman Series

The Bushman’s Steed

Posted on by Tracey L. Bhattarai

Along winding dusty tracks,

The Bushman proudly rides,

High upon his Nobel steed,

With its smooth, chestnut hide.

***

His long mane’s lightly tangled,

From winds and stormy rain,

A flick of his great mighty head,

Then He’s ready to go again.

***

His strong, long muscular legs,

After big, tiresome days do ache,

Following a night of rest and care,

Through many more he’ll make. 

***

Sporting a soft muzzle, neck and ears,

Filled with characteristic grooves,

A strong, leather saddled back,

And well shod, sturdy hooves.

***

He’s loyal to only his master,

And enjoys a fresh grass snack,

Tries his best in every terrain,

Endurance he does not lack.

***

For this mighty stallion’s pride,

Radiates from deep within his core,

A beastly being many view in awe,

Agape only to whom he may deeply adore.

*********