Jim's Jottings by Rimeriter.
Posted: Thu Jul 21, 2011 4:02 pm
"Greetings everyone".
I recently joined and am still finding my way around.
As an introduction, I thought I'd bring 'The Drifter' through the front gate.
At a later time, 'Outback Jack the Tall Tale Teller' could come and boil the billy too.
"ooroo" for now -
The Drifter.
A solitary Swagman back in the days of old
wandered alone along dirt bush roads; so now this tale is told - -
It was the dark depression days that had sealed his fate.
No money, no food, nor friendliness, from the tender age of eight
A broken home and fatherless, back alleys were his haunt,
with Bar Room boys and prostitutes, his abilities he'd flaunt,
within the streets of Sydney Town where he sometimes turned to crime.
Known about but never caught, he did not do his time.
His brother imparted wisdom meant to bring him to the fore,
but he still pursued those angles that were frowned on by the law.
The darkest hour for him was one, when a life he suddenly stilled.
No other nefarious adventure, had caused someone to be killed.
It wasn't quite by accident, that a young man; within a timberyard,
was felled by a short, sharp sudden blow while completely off his guard.
So, his fruitless trek started years ago and not long after that,
he began tramping the 'Long Paddocks', wearing a worn and battered hat.
Wine bottle corks hung around this hat and jiggled from the brim.
His face set firm and resolute, as times were always grim.
Endless cold nights in the bush watching wood smoke drift; lazily ascending,
and as the blackened embers shift, the red blue flames are bending -
against a veil of darkest night, forming pictures in the firelight –
that confirm his sorry plight.
Remembering the past times, then new vision filled with hope
but recalling the potential of a hardened hangman's rope.
So he pounded dirt with battered boots causing dust to rise on high
while flicking a twitch; aimlessly, to chase the cursed black bush fly.
He oftime camped down overnight by a big, grey ghost gum tree,
his only companions for respite comprised but only three.
A swag and his old cattle dog, known by the name of 'Blue,'
and a picture of his Mother,
that by now ---- he barely knew.
Now, today he must seek white smoke, billowing in the sky
so he can scrounge more foodstuff suitable for a rabbit pie.
Some flour, some salt and onions, also black leaf tea,
to add them to his dwindling swag must be his earnest plea.
Station wives can be friendly, 'specially if you 'tips your 'at'.
He will do work, if it must be - but that's the end of that.
Wild rabbit stew, it surely is, a rare bush tasty treat,
taken with dry damper, but nothing else to eat.
Washed down with a dark liquid, known as
'billy tea' brewed by the fire before bedtime,
underneath the ghost gum tree.
Open up the swag, then spread out, his dusty blanket roll
with only 'Blue' beside him, to ease his troubled soul.
Awake again at daybreak, before the searing sun would rise,
roll up the Swag, prepare again to fight - the cursed black bush flies.
Off for the far horizon, just seven miles across the flat,
the outback roads are endless this far from Oodnadat.
But the horizon keeps on shifting. It's still seven miles ahead
so he must keep on moving even though his boots are lead.
Return to Sydney 'big smoke', unlikely. Too late to start anew.
The drifting must be ceaseless. His presence known only to 'Blue'.
Travelling the Australian outback, many a mile and more,
never again to see the harbour : Port Jackson, or a sandy shore.
Not knowing the ceaseless anxiety that forced him and his brother to part.
Not knowing the pangs and the heartbreak that eventually, withered his mother's heart,
he continued his rambling and searching wanting life to tell
a more pleasant and loving story - Than ever before befell.
(c).Rimeriter. revised 21/7/11.
I recently joined and am still finding my way around.
As an introduction, I thought I'd bring 'The Drifter' through the front gate.
At a later time, 'Outback Jack the Tall Tale Teller' could come and boil the billy too.
"ooroo" for now -
The Drifter.
A solitary Swagman back in the days of old
wandered alone along dirt bush roads; so now this tale is told - -
It was the dark depression days that had sealed his fate.
No money, no food, nor friendliness, from the tender age of eight
A broken home and fatherless, back alleys were his haunt,
with Bar Room boys and prostitutes, his abilities he'd flaunt,
within the streets of Sydney Town where he sometimes turned to crime.
Known about but never caught, he did not do his time.
His brother imparted wisdom meant to bring him to the fore,
but he still pursued those angles that were frowned on by the law.
The darkest hour for him was one, when a life he suddenly stilled.
No other nefarious adventure, had caused someone to be killed.
It wasn't quite by accident, that a young man; within a timberyard,
was felled by a short, sharp sudden blow while completely off his guard.
So, his fruitless trek started years ago and not long after that,
he began tramping the 'Long Paddocks', wearing a worn and battered hat.
Wine bottle corks hung around this hat and jiggled from the brim.
His face set firm and resolute, as times were always grim.
Endless cold nights in the bush watching wood smoke drift; lazily ascending,
and as the blackened embers shift, the red blue flames are bending -
against a veil of darkest night, forming pictures in the firelight –
that confirm his sorry plight.
Remembering the past times, then new vision filled with hope
but recalling the potential of a hardened hangman's rope.
So he pounded dirt with battered boots causing dust to rise on high
while flicking a twitch; aimlessly, to chase the cursed black bush fly.
He oftime camped down overnight by a big, grey ghost gum tree,
his only companions for respite comprised but only three.
A swag and his old cattle dog, known by the name of 'Blue,'
and a picture of his Mother,
that by now ---- he barely knew.
Now, today he must seek white smoke, billowing in the sky
so he can scrounge more foodstuff suitable for a rabbit pie.
Some flour, some salt and onions, also black leaf tea,
to add them to his dwindling swag must be his earnest plea.
Station wives can be friendly, 'specially if you 'tips your 'at'.
He will do work, if it must be - but that's the end of that.
Wild rabbit stew, it surely is, a rare bush tasty treat,
taken with dry damper, but nothing else to eat.
Washed down with a dark liquid, known as
'billy tea' brewed by the fire before bedtime,
underneath the ghost gum tree.
Open up the swag, then spread out, his dusty blanket roll
with only 'Blue' beside him, to ease his troubled soul.
Awake again at daybreak, before the searing sun would rise,
roll up the Swag, prepare again to fight - the cursed black bush flies.
Off for the far horizon, just seven miles across the flat,
the outback roads are endless this far from Oodnadat.
But the horizon keeps on shifting. It's still seven miles ahead
so he must keep on moving even though his boots are lead.
Return to Sydney 'big smoke', unlikely. Too late to start anew.
The drifting must be ceaseless. His presence known only to 'Blue'.
Travelling the Australian outback, many a mile and more,
never again to see the harbour : Port Jackson, or a sandy shore.
Not knowing the ceaseless anxiety that forced him and his brother to part.
Not knowing the pangs and the heartbreak that eventually, withered his mother's heart,
he continued his rambling and searching wanting life to tell
a more pleasant and loving story - Than ever before befell.
(c).Rimeriter. revised 21/7/11.