H'work w/e 23.1.17 - MUD LARK
Posted: Tue Oct 03, 2017 4:47 pm
MUD LARK .... Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBark Poet
The rain came out of nowhere at full pelt and pouring down
a blessed relief for the parched earth for many miles around,
for some a blessing and a curse and ain't that oft' the way?
With streets and houses flooded now - some would the piper pay.
The highway suffered land slips, tumbling rocks a hazard there,
they closed the road from either end - a truckies cross to bear,
sandbags were placed to stem the flow - the SES came out
to cover roofs with bright blue tarps, and chainsaw gumtrees out.
The bogan from the bush rode in upon a Harley chopper...
vibrating revs from its back end upset the local copper
who would have booked him, had he time, but he was somewhat busy
trying to calm some old folks down who were in quite a tizzy.
Seems they had parked their caravan up on the river bank,
the river rose, the bank crumbled, their ancient Millard sank
and with it their possessions save the 4WD now left
and understandably the old folks were somewhat bereft.
The bogan from the bush stepped up - his looks belied his charm,
"I'll help you out don't worry folks, come down - stay at my farm
until this weather passes - we'll all help you out. At least
you will be safe and dry and warm - we'll share a midnight feast"
Their gratitude was tangible and Tom the copper sighed
relieved to see a solution had been found and applied.
"I'll owe you one Bob - thanks a lot - your help's appreciated,
I need to check to see who else should be evacuated."
So all was well - the rain soon stopped, the river it went down,
the Millard caravan appeared the only thing to drown;
the river scree was cleared away by the old council grader
driven by ancient Andy who'd long been its operator.
The highway opened, trucks roared through, the bakery was baking.
The pub was full to bursting and the petrol pumps were quaking.
Ca ching! Ca ching! The money registers in town were thrumming,
the money passing through the tills was all in all mind numbing.
But what a happy ending, and new friendships were there forged
as Bob the bogan from the bush his visitors engorged
with homemade jams and chutneys, fresh cooked scones and other dainties.
Who ever knew he'd been a pastry chef back in the eighties?
And now the town was ringed in green, the dust had washed away,
the trees were thronged with lorikeets, and budgerigars held sway
as long necked Ibis - arrogantly stalked the running creek,
and cattle bowed their heads to drink - their hides shiny and sleek.
As night time fell and stars came out a small feathertail glider
ventured out on a gum tree branch - its baby a night rider
clinging tight to Mums soft velvet fur - its round eyes bright and dark.
I wonder what it thought of this small country towns mud lark.
The rain came out of nowhere at full pelt and pouring down
a blessed relief for the parched earth for many miles around,
for some a blessing and a curse and ain't that oft' the way?
With streets and houses flooded now - some would the piper pay.
The highway suffered land slips, tumbling rocks a hazard there,
they closed the road from either end - a truckies cross to bear,
sandbags were placed to stem the flow - the SES came out
to cover roofs with bright blue tarps, and chainsaw gumtrees out.
The bogan from the bush rode in upon a Harley chopper...
vibrating revs from its back end upset the local copper
who would have booked him, had he time, but he was somewhat busy
trying to calm some old folks down who were in quite a tizzy.
Seems they had parked their caravan up on the river bank,
the river rose, the bank crumbled, their ancient Millard sank
and with it their possessions save the 4WD now left
and understandably the old folks were somewhat bereft.
The bogan from the bush stepped up - his looks belied his charm,
"I'll help you out don't worry folks, come down - stay at my farm
until this weather passes - we'll all help you out. At least
you will be safe and dry and warm - we'll share a midnight feast"
Their gratitude was tangible and Tom the copper sighed
relieved to see a solution had been found and applied.
"I'll owe you one Bob - thanks a lot - your help's appreciated,
I need to check to see who else should be evacuated."
So all was well - the rain soon stopped, the river it went down,
the Millard caravan appeared the only thing to drown;
the river scree was cleared away by the old council grader
driven by ancient Andy who'd long been its operator.
The highway opened, trucks roared through, the bakery was baking.
The pub was full to bursting and the petrol pumps were quaking.
Ca ching! Ca ching! The money registers in town were thrumming,
the money passing through the tills was all in all mind numbing.
But what a happy ending, and new friendships were there forged
as Bob the bogan from the bush his visitors engorged
with homemade jams and chutneys, fresh cooked scones and other dainties.
Who ever knew he'd been a pastry chef back in the eighties?
And now the town was ringed in green, the dust had washed away,
the trees were thronged with lorikeets, and budgerigars held sway
as long necked Ibis - arrogantly stalked the running creek,
and cattle bowed their heads to drink - their hides shiny and sleek.
As night time fell and stars came out a small feathertail glider
ventured out on a gum tree branch - its baby a night rider
clinging tight to Mums soft velvet fur - its round eyes bright and dark.
I wonder what it thought of this small country towns mud lark.