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Rustic Rhymes – The Bushfire

Thursday, 06 December 2012 by

  The Bushfire by Lorna Madson (C) The thick smoke heaved towards the sky, And the wind, twirled it up through the clouds, It made the daylight dim and gloomy, Covering the sun with shrouds. In comparison the flames were brilliant, As they leapt and jumped and played, Their constant movement never lulled, Pure energy they displayed. They licked the trees and fenceposts, All they touched, they set ablaze, In the charred and dead they left behind, A devastating maze. As flames rolled through the timber patch, The wildlife fled in fear, Some lost their way with smoke and heat, As the fire continued to sear. As intense heat pushed the fire on, The fighters grew more weary, Their throats were raw from the heavy smoke, Their eyes were read and bleary. Then like an answer to the fighter’s prayers, The strong wind changed its course, The flames slunk down to gentle sparks, As though

Home

Thursday, 15 November 2012 by

Home – by Lorna Madson Have you ever sat out on a hot summer night, Swatting at flies and mosquitoes alike, And wondered why on earth you live where you do, But knowing all along nowhere else would ever do? It’s a strange thing that binds us to what we call home, Even if mostly it means being alone, Is it things that have been, leaving sadness and aching? Is it the future, something we are awaiting? Or could it just be that today is enough, Although some days seem awfully tough, Is it this struggle, this fight to go on, That makes us feel, this is where we belong? To call somewhere home, is to settle somewhere, And take what it gives, pitch in, do your share, Only when you give all you have, will you find, To call somewhere home, can give great peace of mind. To each their own; some like the

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The Good Life by Lorna Madson

Tuesday, 12 June 2012 by

The Good Life It’s called the good life though I’m not sure why, The taxman and the elements sure can try, To break a man’s spirit when all else seems fine, To the body of this country, farming’s the spine.   To most farmers it’s all they’ve ever known, And they’ll tell of good and bad crpos they have grown, To watch the sheep stagger to a dam almost dry, Can make the strongest of grown men cry.   Or to truck them away when all is lost, Most times you rarely recover the cost, Then there’s the years when there’s just too much rain, And you can’t get on the paddocks to sow the grain.   Or there’s the times when the season’s just right, The feeling of hope you can’t try to fight, The heads are all full and it starts to turn brown, Then with one thunderstorm it’s all on the ground!

Shearing – by Lorna Madson

Monday, 06 February 2012 by

I thought it was time for another poem as seeing as a few farmers around here have been shearing, I thought this was appropriate. Enjoy.   Shearing – by Lorna Madson I still recall shearing at Dad’s place, All those early starts, Learning to skirt the fleeces, Pulling off the daggy parts. I remember Dad sewing up sheep that were cut, With a needle and big piece of cotton, Sometimes we helped him yard up the sheep, Or bring in some the dog had forgotten. There’s a definite art to throwing a fleece, One that i’m still yet to master, The only time I ever tried, Was a complete and utter disaster! It was always a guess as to when we would shear, Dad never knew quite when they’d come, But you always knew by their thirsty look, When they were about to do the last run. Mum prepared meals and worked in the shed,

The Storm by Lorna Madson

Sunday, 08 January 2012 by

We have been having plenty of storms this harvest so it seemed fitting for me to share this next poem with you.       The Storm by Lorna Madson As the storm clouds gather and the thunder rolls about, The wind drops off, it’ll rain there’s no doubt, The question is how much we will get, There’s a few who haven’t yet finished harvesting yet. The thunder gets louder and the lightening gets worse, The dog’s taken off, and the boss starts to curse, It’s still hot and sticky when the first big drops fall, The boss goes inside, dog won’t come to his call. The smell of the rain on the hot ground is beaut, Then the power goes off, now that’s really cute, The kids get scared and the cat wants out, Thunder’s so loud, everyone starts to shout. With candles, you bath kids and get them all fed, Then quick as

Xmas Shopping

Monday, 05 December 2011 by

This weekend just gone, I went with a friend to Perth where we shopped for 47 kids for our local Christams Tree.  We are going down in numbers but for a 5 house country town we still get a massive turnout each year with past and present folks. It’s the 86th Christmas Tree in a row and a huge event for us with hundreds coming. So, here we were running around getting the biggest and the best gifts (we help Santa…our kids think we are very cool) and we have a $ limit we have to stick to. But while doing this we are also fitting in our own last minute xmas shopping. (and a few extra’s like plants!!) Needless to say the massive 7 seater car was packed to the roof!  (Also lots of lights – After all we are having a farm gate lights competition this year.) Below is just a few things we

Australiana – Poem by Lorna Madson

Monday, 28 November 2011 by

It’s been a while since i’ve put up another poem but I was talking with someone who really enjoyed the poem in Heart of Gold. But for the book we had to shorten it and could only use a few select verses. So now I’d like to share the proper version with you.  Enjoy. (Sorry for any typos, I had typers cramp by the end of this.) (Thanks to my Aunty Lorna, who wrote her poems when she was living in Pingaring) Australiana Boronia bushes heavily scented, Australian crawl, the stroke we invented, The Murray River and Golden Mile, The savage attack of the crocodile. Lightening Ridge where the opals are mined, Bundaberg where the sugar’s refined, The beauty of the desert peas, Widespread bottlebrush and acacia trees. Bushfires that make the best men nervous, The Royal Flying Doctor Service, Stations that sit in isolation, Arid land watered with irrigation. The endless soaring of teh big wedgetail,

The Drought

Sunday, 19 September 2010 by

The Drought – by Lorna Madson When the rain doesn’t come when it ought to, You start hand feeding the sheep, The grain and hay you’d stored away, And the dams don’t look as deep. As the weeks drag slowly by, And there’s still no sign of rain, Things get worse each time you look, And you’re running out of grain. Once healthy sheep are starving to death, Or getting stuck in the mud at the dam, The paddocks resemble a graveyard, And you’ve lost your last prize ram. The dams dry up and the mud all cracks, The paddocks move in dust, Why has the season dealt this blow? It seems so damned unjust! The bank starts getting nervous, No income they can see, A special trip to town you take, To make a final plea. You struggle on for a few more months, And when  all else seems lost, You realise to get

The Alarm

Tuesday, 06 July 2010 by

Here’s a good one for the mums. The Alarm The alarm goes off as it does every morning, You climb out of bed, stretching and yawning, This is an alarm you can not ignore, If you did they’d break down the bedroom door. By the time you get there they’ve started fighting, You pull up the blind to let some light in, You help them dress and you brush their hair, Then the every day treasure hunt to find the footwear. You march them to the table and start cooking toast, Then they start fighting over whose got the most, When breakfast’s over you clean up the mess, And wonder how on earth you cope with the stress. By 10am they’ve eaten all the cake, So once again you’ll have to bake, You put on the kettle and go out to check, There’s nothing that they are about to wreck. You’ve just sat down when

The 9th of March

Friday, 28 May 2010 by

By Lorna Madson It started to rain on the 9th of March, Far too early for the season to break, It rained all day and all that night, It rained for the rest of that week. The creeks all came up and flooded the paddocks, The dams burst their banks and let go, Hundreds of sheep were swept away, Too strong was the water’s flow. We surrounded the house with sandbags and such, As the water cam threateningly close, We were always worse off, when it rained like this, For our house was much lower than most. All our sheep were mixed up with the neighbour’s, For the fences had finally let go, All that money we’d spent on super, And now we had nothing to show. All the main roads were completely awash, And a lot of old trees just gave way, As the rain slowly eased off during the night, Dawn brought with

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