Hwork for w/e 21.04.14 - THE DUST SETTLES
Posted: Wed Apr 09, 2014 1:16 pm
The Dust Settles
Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet
The road was rough and dusty as outback roads often are
apart from roos and feral goats . He’d seen no other car.
the solitude was frightening or would be to some – bar
those blokes whose veins have country blood,
who face the fire, drought and flood,
that turns wheel ruts and dust to mud,
and often sees them mired.
These truckies are a hardy breed that travel outback roads,
the endless corrugations rough enough to shift their loads.
They need to have a dose of smarts when on the frog and toad.
With roaming stock to look out for
and washouts that weren’t there before.
City folks in their four by four
who haven’t got a clue.
One thing other folks don’t see - a big rig has velocity
it can’t stop on a dime and it won’t stop instantly;
whilst gravel ‘neath its wheels changes its whole trajectory.
A big rig needs a steady hand
and needs to know who’s in command
a good trucky is a man grand.
They’re out there, but they’re few.
Today the accents all on speed it’s like a steeplechase
a point to point plan of attack that’s turned into a race
against the clock, the scalies too. Got to maintain the pace.
Avoid those pesky boys in blue
and dodge those caravanners’ too
A bloke must do what he must do
to live and pay his due.
He gave the trucking game away – too long days for little pay
he’d live to fight another day simply baling hay
and growing old ‘neath country skies, hard working every day.
At night he slept a restful sleep
woke with the sun - no need to keep
a ticking clock with raucous beep
to wake him at the dawn.
His life now sang a different tune; no time clock ruled his day,
he woke at sun up when the rooster crowed to say G’day
and doing what he enjoyed made the work seem more like play.
He’d found Nirvana? Yes indeed!
Out here he had all he did need
his life was never ruled by greed.
He's one contented man.
Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet
The road was rough and dusty as outback roads often are
apart from roos and feral goats . He’d seen no other car.
the solitude was frightening or would be to some – bar
those blokes whose veins have country blood,
who face the fire, drought and flood,
that turns wheel ruts and dust to mud,
and often sees them mired.
These truckies are a hardy breed that travel outback roads,
the endless corrugations rough enough to shift their loads.
They need to have a dose of smarts when on the frog and toad.
With roaming stock to look out for
and washouts that weren’t there before.
City folks in their four by four
who haven’t got a clue.
One thing other folks don’t see - a big rig has velocity
it can’t stop on a dime and it won’t stop instantly;
whilst gravel ‘neath its wheels changes its whole trajectory.
A big rig needs a steady hand
and needs to know who’s in command
a good trucky is a man grand.
They’re out there, but they’re few.
Today the accents all on speed it’s like a steeplechase
a point to point plan of attack that’s turned into a race
against the clock, the scalies too. Got to maintain the pace.
Avoid those pesky boys in blue
and dodge those caravanners’ too
A bloke must do what he must do
to live and pay his due.
He gave the trucking game away – too long days for little pay
he’d live to fight another day simply baling hay
and growing old ‘neath country skies, hard working every day.
At night he slept a restful sleep
woke with the sun - no need to keep
a ticking clock with raucous beep
to wake him at the dawn.
His life now sang a different tune; no time clock ruled his day,
he woke at sun up when the rooster crowed to say G’day
and doing what he enjoyed made the work seem more like play.
He’d found Nirvana? Yes indeed!
Out here he had all he did need
his life was never ruled by greed.
He's one contented man.
