Before a rain storm Cows and sheep will huddle together seeking comfort

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An Australian poem. 

The sun was hot already – it was only 8 o’clock 
The cocky took off in his Ute, to go and check his stock.
He drove around the paddocks checking wethers, ewes and lambs, 
The float valves in the water troughs, the windmills on the dams.

He stopped and turned a windmill on to fill a water tank 
And saw a ewe down in the dam, a few yards from the bank.
“Typical bloody sheep,” he thought, “they’ve got no common sense, 
“They won’t go through a gateway but they’ll jump a bloody fence.”

The ewe was stuck down in the mud, he knew without a doubt 
She’d stay there ’til she carked it if he didn’t get her out.
But when he reached the water’s edge, the startled ewe broke free 
And in her haste to get away, began a swimming spree.

He reckoned once her fleece was wet, the weight would drag her down 
If he didn’t rescue her, the stupid sod would drown.
Her style was unimpressive, her survival chances slim 
He saw no other option, he would have to take a swim.

He peeled his shirt and singlet off, his trousers, boots and socks 
And as he couldn’t stand wet clothes, he also shed his jocks.
He jumped into the water and away that cocky swam 
He caught up with her, somewhere near the middle of the dam. 

The ewe was quite evasive, she kept giving him the slip 
He tried to grab her sodden fleece but couldn’t get a grip.
At last he got her to the bank and stopped to catch his breath 
She showed him little gratitude for saving her from death.

She took off like a Bondi tram around the other side 
He swore next time he caught that ewe he’d hang her bloody hide.
Then round and round the dam they ran, although he felt quite puffed 
He still thought he could run her down, she must be nearly stuffed.

The local stock rep came along, to pay a call that day.
He knew this bloke was on his own, his wife had gone away 
He didn’t really think he’d get fresh scones for morning tea 
But nor was he prepared for what he was about to see.

He rubbed his eyes in disbelief at what came into view 
For running down the catchment came this frantic-looking ewe.
And on her heels in hot pursuit and wearing not a stitch 
The farmer yelling wildly “Come back here, you lousy bitch!”

The stock rep didn’t hang around, he took off in his car 
The cocky’s reputation has been damaged near and far 
So bear in mind the Work Safe rule when next you check your flocks 
Spot the hazard, assess the risk, and always wear your jocks!

“I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, “This is what it is to be happy.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar


Yankunytjatjara Love Poems by Ali Cobby Eckermann 

“I will show you a field of zebra finch Dreaming in the shadow of the

                        puli puli ochre

            when the soft blanket of language hums kinship and campfires

                        flavour windswept hair


            little girls stack single twigs on embers under tjamus skin of painted


            the dance of kalaya feathers will sweep the munda with your smile


            do not look at me in daylight; that gift comes in the night

            tomorrow I will show ngunytju our marriage proposal in my smile”

– See more at:


Double – minded men cannot handle affairs.



“You see, we cannot draw lines and compartments and refuse to budge beyond them. Sometimes you have to use your failures as stepping-stones to success. You have to maintain a fine balance between hope and despair.’ He paused, considering what he had just said. ‘Yes’, he repeated. ‘In the end, it’s all a question of balance.” 

― Rohinton Mistry, A Fine Balance

Animals are such agreeable friends — they ask no questions, they pass no criticisms.




To everybody's prejudice I know a thing or two; 
I can tell a woman's age in half a minute— 

and I do. 

Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man ! 

And I can't think why

Love came up to me showing me that a contented mind is best for growth.

  • Sacred text: The Yasna 43




Late Summer Fires


The paddocks shave black
with a foam of smoke that stays,
welling out of red-black wounds.

In the white of a drought
this happens.  The hardcourt game.
Logs that fume are mostly cattle,

inverted, stubby.  Tree stumps are kilns.
Walloped, wiped, hand-pumped,
even this day rolls over, slowly.

At dusk, a family drives sheep
out through the yellow
of the Aboriginal flag.


Subhuman Redneck Poems, 1996

It is a narrow mind which cannot look at a subject from various points of view.”

― George Eliot, Middlemarch




A swing grinds on its chains.
A child sits pushing.
There’s no eucalyptus,
atlas pine, or flowering ash,
no other child is calling
from the tender modulations of leaves:
just each note
of her ringing hear,
the feeling of being pushed
into the air.

Judith Beveridge

I can feel the souls of my ancestors calling me back home To all the familiar places and tracks I once did roam

Calling Me Home by Lyndon Lane, Goodooga, NSW

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I survived by keeping my emotions in check – by maintaining my composure and tucking it all away. I managed to stay under the radar, skating through school without anyone truly remembering I was here. My teachers acknowledged my academic successes and my coaches depended upon my athletic abilities, but I wasn’t important enough to make a recognizable social contribution. I was easily forgettable. That’s what I counted on.” 

― Rebecca Donovan, Reason to Breathe