August 12, 2019

The Japanese Student

The Japanese Student

The teacher said

‘Let’s begin by reviewing some American history. Who said, ‘Give me Liberty , or give me Death?”

She saw a sea of blank faces, except for Little Hodiaki a bright foreign exchange student from Japan, who had his hand up:

‘Patrick Henry, 1775,’ he said.

‘Very good!’

Who said, ‘Government of the People, by the People, for the People, shall not perish from the Earth?’

Again, no response, except from Little Hodiaki, ‘Abraham Lincoln,1863.’

‘Excellent!’ said the teacher continuing, ‘Let’s try one a bit more difficult…’

Who said, ‘Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country?’

Once again, Hodiaki’s was the only hand in the air and he said: ‘John F. Kennedy, 1961.’

The teacher snapped at the class, ‘Class, you should be ashamed of yourselves; Little Hodiaki isn’t from this country, and he knows more about our history than you do.’

She heard a loud whisper: Stuff the Japs.’

‘Who said that? I want to know right now!’ she angrily demanded..

Little Hodiaki put his hand up, ‘General MacArthur,1945.’

At that point, a student in the back said, ‘I’m gonna puke.’

The teacher glared around and asks, ‘All right! Now who said that?’

Again, Little Hodiaki said, ‘George Bush to the Japanese Prime Minister,1991.’

Now furious, another student yelled, ‘Oh yeah? Suck this!’

Little Hodiaki jumped out of his chair waving his hand, and shouted to the teacher, ‘Bill Clinton, to Monica Lewinsky,1997!’

Now with almost mob hysteria someone said, ‘You little shit. If you say anything else, I’ll kill you.’

Little Hodiaki frantically yelled at the top of his voice, ‘Michael Jackson to the child witness testifying against him, 2004.’

The teacher fainted.

As the class gathered around the teacher on the floor, someone said, ‘Oh shit, We’re screwed!’

Little Hodiaki said quietly, ‘The Australian Labor Party, 2019!’

“The Ute” is now physical

the ute novel physical copy
> Available from in Paperback (pictured) for $24.99
> Now available at (Digital ePUB version) for $3.50
> Also available on iTunes and Barnes & Noble book stores.
> 1st edition of “The Ute” (34pp shorter) still available on Kindle (Kindle)
JT on Facebook

Paperback Electronic
Weight 0.41kg 0kg
Pages 238pp big writing 2000pp
Dimensions (cm) 14.81 x 20.98 4 dimensional

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August 9, 2019



It’s the beginning of bad times
when things go so far wrong
that vigilante groups
are formed.

Which happens when people
lose faith in their local,
state and
federally elected leaders and police,
and no longer trust them
to keep order,
prevent crimes
and keep citizens safe.

When people start taking
matters into their own hands,
it is a sign of a society
on the brink of collapse.

How many out there
hear the bells of anarchy
. . . tolling !?

John Taylor’s novel “The Ute”

the ute novel physical copy
Available from as Paperback for $24.99

Also available in digital format ;
> Now available at (ePUB)
> Also available on iTunes and Barnes & Noble book stores.

1st edition of “The Ute” (34pp shorter) still available on Kindle (Kindle)

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September 10, 2018



john taylor poetWe had a bit of back n forward
on face book n mobile line.

Discussing Flying Doctors service
over years n flying time.

They’re gearing up with new jet planes
and faster G. P. S controlled response times,
for accidents that happen,
outback most anytime.

Arrangements can be organised
to land on designated highway strips
with blue lights from the nearest town,
finally standing by and communities and station
strips are OK authorised

But gone the days the flying Doc
homed in on spinifex
smoked up fire, dead reckoning
in on approximate
directions across the Pedal
flying doctors wireless line.

Landing on a clay pan
where the patient, painfully resides.
Administering pain killers,
strapping dislocated, broken bones,
best for their next ride.

Their next ride back to hospital
Their next ride back to town,
maybe flying further, specialist Medico’s
down the line.

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January 3, 2018 ,

Love’s Gone

Love’s Gone

There’s no love left
at the old homestead,
chook yard n stables,
where we as kids
saddled up n rode around,
it’s all collapsed
back to bare ground.

The 8 stand shed
where we shore big mobs,
been gutted out
for a machinery shed.

And the wife n kids
all live in town
ever since
the bus shut down.

We’re cropping big time,
big gear to boot and
we’ve ripped most of
the fences out.

Livestock’s a memory
twice removed,
piles of wire,
steel posts speared through,
dozed in the bush
to rust away,
can’t see us fencing
another day.

It takes six weeks
to get it in.

By June, July
it’s home n hosed
park the gear
up in the shed,
n watch
n pray for rain
in hope Jack Frost
stays well away.

Harvest comes quickly
every year
n every year
we rip it off
with harvesters
that cost a bomb.

But end of harvest
every year
regardless of
n costs.

There’s time to sit back,
kick back,
ready up,
for next years session
with the crop.


John Taylor’s novel “The Ute”

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November 8, 2017 ,

Walkers. Power n Otherwise.

Walkers. Power n Otherwise.

A person kits themselves up
with the latest designer
walk assist gear.

fluoro Lycra vests,
water bottles,
head bands . . . and –
bouncy boots

They then take to the road,
singly and in droves.

Alls well ’til other
road traffic is impeded by;

  1. Noticeably slower progress
  2. The inability to stay their side of the white line.
  3. Walkways constantly ignored
    it’s considered legally fair enough
    to mix other vehicular traffic.
    Including road trains.
    Albeit dangerous, but RIGHT!? OK!?

Tension mounts.

Worldwide Rights activist groups
comment powerfully on social media.

Walker supply companies
lobby political parties.

Transport & city commuter
timetables thrown out the window

Road rage is rife

Cops ignore another barrage
of protests as walkies
add another rash
of irreconcilable complaints
to their pile.

All this.
To be continued I’m sure.

John Taylor’s novel “The Ute”

the ute book by john taylor now available at

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October 4, 2017

Spring Time in the Valley

Spring Time in the Valley

Well it’s spring time in the valley
And fresh buds start to bloom
Spring time in the valley
And we’re all voting soon

Fresh buds burst along the lines
of old entrenched swan valley lines

Spring time in the valley
Voting times real soon.

Where ‘ere you place your preferences
or which candidates preferred.

It’s Spring time in the valley
“Those on the Swan” prefer.


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the ute book by john taylor now available at

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August 17, 2017

Dual Citizenship

“ Dual Citizenship ”

Additional problems may occur
regarding dual citizenship
political management
when for example
as some aboriginals push
through on their quest
to have their flag & law recognised
in Australian courts.

Some Followers of Islam
are hell bent
by bomb or breed
to live by their law
& custom in Australia.

And of course many other
parts of the world
Aboriginals and Muslims
who follow and abide
their law and customs
would then become
dual citizens

unable to hold
federal political office
in Australia.

Wonder how long this would last
in our wonderful lucky country?

John Taylor’s novel, “The Ute” – about $5

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June 2, 2017

The Shearer

“ The Shearer ”

Listen to JT recite his poem …

He won’t push back the bat wings
On a catchin’ pen no more
Flick rivers of sweat from his brow
As he yanks the hand-piece chord

And the bottle he drank at cut-out
Will never taste the same no more
Cos he’s opted for the haul-pack
And ‘dozer on the mine
Working day or night shift
And he’s lost the rhythm of time

An air-conditioned coach cruise
Out to work and back
Doesn’t hold a candle
To a shearer’s truck on track
Rushin’ sandy crossings
Shovin’ pushin’ back and fillin’
Another shed next week.

He won’t push back the bat wings
On a catchin’ pen no more
But I’ll bet he’ll sit and reminisce
Of all the sheep he’d shore
Of ev’ry track he travel’d
As he rove from shed to shed
Of every yarn was ever ‘ad
Round every cut-out keg

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May 4, 2017



We have countries
In the blip of our world
In the universe who have / had
Little or no regard
For other countries’ customs / culture

These countries have demonstrated
Personal entitlement

  • borders
  • resources
  • religions

From time immemorial.

And very little has changed
Apart from a feeble,
Ongoing attempt
By a League of Nations
Headed by a well known
World identity

Bi-annually plucked
From a list of other well-knowns
To head this toothless tiger
Of a now United Nations Assembly
In enforcing humanitarian values
On planet earth

People who are equally intent
On forcing their greed for power and prosperity

  • machete,
  • machine gun and
  • guided atomic missiles

On other planet earth people.

In this flurry of misadventure,
Toe-to-toe situations
Have escalated
To full on

The distasteful word War,
Has been watered down,
In an attempt to camouflage
The reality of murder
And mayhem
That exists
Amongst our many;

  • lunatic,
  • greedy,
  • feeble


Mind’s eye attempt at management.
Which in many cases
Has proved no less
Than an ego-based race
In property development

And baseless congratulatory speeches
Blurring public service time
In a haze of smog
Shielding the reality
Of their handing-over
(A hollow, clanging baton)
To the next ineffectual leaders
Commencement of equally-ineffective
Time in office.

JT “May the 4th Be With You”

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April 27, 2017

Summer’s Wild Fire

Summer’s Wild Fire

The seasons just breaking,
Out on The Swan.
Vines n grass paddocks
Quickly respond.

Greening up daily
As winter rolls on.
Next summer’s fuel load
Doubles in size.

Too late to burn off
As winter rolls by.
Too late to avoid,
Summers wild fires.


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April 24, 2017

Some Made it Home

Some Made it Home

Wheat crops roll out endlessly,
France across to Rome,
interspersed with monuments,
battles fought out far from home.

Clustered on a hill slope
in regimental lines, remembrance
crosses clearly mark
those didn’t make it home.

Tended lawns and garden,
guides describe the battle plan
as every paddocks horrors
told across this gentle land.

Shellfire ripped asunder,
trench warfare first-hand,
agricultural harmony
smashed by war’s mailed hand.

Armistice rolled slowly fore,
decisive battles plot the course,
farmers plough along the trenches,
reshaping bombed out cratered stretches.

Harmony returns at last,
sign posted by long lines of crosses,
in regimental fighting squares,
poised on hillsides gazing out.

Missed the ride, some made home.

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April 16, 2017

Alternate Life

Alternate Life

They power walk
‘Round in wind n rain,
Hittin’ the ball oft
For little gain.

Rehash @ the bar
Highlights of last game.
Racin’ their mates
On hot rod tracks,

Crashin’ n wrecking

Next week they’ll be back
As the barbie smoke lingers,
Hot rods drift
Well in the night.

Burning the candle each end t
To achieve a start in gymkhanas,
Payin’ feed bills n fees.

All that was needed
Early in life
Was a chance on the road
Carting cattle @ night

And just before daybreak
Rain drizzlin’
Changing a tyre
Before checking your load
Make sure they’re all standin’
‘Fore it’s back on the road.

Home to the missus,
Kids, bills n fees.
Home to the shed
Fixin’ last trips loose bits,
Home to the pub
An’ a few of your mates,
Them on the road,
Kickin’ back from last trip.

Keepin’ up with the yoga
Out on the track,
Holdin’ position,
Strainin’ your back.
An awkward loose bolt
Holding the stack.

There’s time to reflect
By flooded creeks.
After abusing,
Each time wasting prick
Who held up the loading
With smokos n lunch
An’ parts coming late,
Fixin’ loose bits.

Time to reflect
An’ soak up the quiet,
River runs silent,
Gums softly sigh.

Watchin’ a roo
Sip @ the creek,
Coals glowing softly,
Outback TV.

Don’t need a tour guide
Up front of the mob,
Stars twinkle in thousands,
Milky Way’s leading on.

Sometimes meditating
May go on for days.
Ants in their thousands,
Regimental parades.

Kangaroos n cattle
Come in for a drink,
Emus stalk by
Working wide of the camp,
Comin’ in closer,
Dashing off n away.

Power-walkin’ around,
Back drinking black tea,
Tin dog for tucker
An’ a few Kimberley cold beers.

Attended the yoga
Tightening bolts.
Greased truck-n-trailer
Pumped up the tyres.

Gazed @ the river
An’ outback TV,
Turned into the swag
In an alternate life.


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April 4, 2017



In business,
Demurrage is a delay
In delivery of a product
Via delivery truck.

When a delay occurs
With product delivery,
The delivery party
Can elect to claim

A no fault delay
By submitting a demurrage charge.

Criteria for allowable demurrage,
Payment conditions,
And payment terms
Are typically pre-negotiated
And accepted
By the vendor
Via contract

To conduct of business.

Some vendors allow
Free no-cost time
For limited hour(s)
When demurrage occurs.

Others do not allow
Free time for delays.

The demurrage charge
Is normally
An hourly rate.

Unforeseeable until delivery
Costs of delays
Are sometimes
Separately invoiced
From the cost of deliverable.

Road users who

  • tarry/
  • dawdle/
  • obstruct

And may be charged

Extra mass loads,
Prayer groups etc.

May be charged



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May 14, 2016

Lest We Forget

Lest We Forget

We know how to fight
And we celebrate

Celebrating our losses after each valiant test.
On front lines forever
In a world in a mess

Celebrating our losses
After each valiant test.

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April 17, 2016

Over the Top

Over the Top

They shot ’em at Gallipoli
Young blokes not near their prime
Mowed ’em down like mongrel dogs
Leadership left far behind

Lost in lifetimes endless rush
of monetary gain.
And as the wheel of life revolves
the dead stack up again

They shot ’em at Gallipoli
They shot ’em on the Somme
Their leaders camped up well behind.
Front lines they fought and won

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November 4, 2015

Better to Unfetter

Better to Unfetter

Better to unfetter
‘n let ’em run again.
Clear the mess of red tape
that chains ’em to the ground
‘n let em free to cast about,
runnin’ with the hounds.

Untwine the reins the beaurocrats
have held in tight for years
‘n give the boys a go again
sat in the saddle free.
And let em run n capture
back our land, once ours ‘n free.

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June 29, 2015

Cloud Banks

Cloud Banks

Tops o’ cloud banks flyin’ by
Desert stretches to horizons
rugged ranges rise up front as
jet stream races out full pace.

South over mountain bullhead clouds
clear blue skies and sea grass green,
smoked horizons leading out.

Descending through storm clouds
shot through with stark white light,
suns last hurrah

Split second timing,
straighten up ‘n’ drop her down
a three point landing on the strip.

Storm clouds banked up,
clear white light,
from wing tip arced to fuselage.

Seated in their cabin keep
Profiles traced in stark relief

Ground crew muffled ‘gainst the storm,
baggage trailers arc a course,
wheels cut waves roped Tarmac bay’s,
markers, signs ‘n’ paddle boards.

Evening storm abates ‘n’ brews
fresh turbulence firing soon.

Wet weather gear streams rivulets
sloshing cross wet streaming ground.

Smoked horizons blurred from view.
Taxis queued,
past carousel
and airport lounge.

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May 15, 2015


Tempers are frayed
After long days
In a slow moving gridlock for home

When a Lycra clad lads
Make a dash ‘cross the pad
You’ve been plying for years
Back ‘n’ forth

Standing high, Pumping pedals
In frantic reggae a Congo line twist on its way.

To the next set of lights,
plucking sweaty wet tights,
slipping sprigs as they’re off on their way.

Pedals pump in reggae
in their dash on their way
A Congo line colourful course.

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May 15, 2015

Black Fellas

Waiting on the moment
Listening for the word
Idly scanning watching
Blue black bloodshot orbs

Casually gazing,
observing body talk,
languid movements watching
Energy conserved,

Watching, will they let it go.
Waiting on the moment
Listening for the word
Idly scanning watching
Blue black bloodshot orbs.

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May 8, 2015

Peel Back the Layers

There was a time
There were some fights;
Not for fun – maybe not right;
Simply fighting to survive,
Surviving in a way few knew:
Uncomplicated, unrestrained
Open road on life’s highways,
Hard on your heels,
A baying pack,
Bail up quarry;
Want ’em back,
Back from the ranges and gullies behind
Out from craggy mountain divides.

Bad times making sad times,
Bad times getting worse.
Tunnel light flicks, almost lost.

Laugh down the barrel,
Dare ’em to shoot,
Advisin’ ’em gently
To shoot straight and true;
Otherwise, eternity’s racing at you

Peel back the layers
Of callous and grime,
Peel back the layers
On muscle and mind,
Unfolding a collage
Of people and times.

Searching for something,
Perhaps the next ride,
Fixed on a carousel,
Steam building inside.

Massage on muscle,
Unlayering minds.
Wheeling, rotating,
Thrusting in line.
Music exhales,
Notes catch and unwind,
Swirl in the breeze,
Notes caught in a mind.

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May 1, 2015


Competition out there slowly slides
As competitors make out their miles
And mateships form on long horizons
Daylight ‘n’ dawn ‘n’ bits between
Mingle in with long lost nights
Straps ‘n’ chains ‘n’ checkin’ tyres
And as it goes ‘n’ slowly slides
As competition slowly mires
‘Til all is said ‘n’ quietly done
In battery chook oblivion.

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May 1, 2015 ,

In a Poppy Field of Fire

In a poppy field of fire,
Bogged in mud in Flanders mire,
Poppies dancing; dry cut leaf,
Pressed and rolled up in a sheaf,
Mainlined in a bulging vein.

Messages flick through a brain,
Shot through with doubt and nagging pain.
Through a wall of stop-and-go
Positives click on a screen;
Crackling shortwave, fading scene.
Pictures roll in melange:
Distorted voices, twisted rack*
Windlass spokes wind each word back.
Jumbled sound in sludge-drunk mind;
Pounded leaf and bulging vein.

Tied off thumping; each heartbeat
Tingling fingers; hand numb; asleep.
Released a rush spread through the veins.
Narcotic rush fizzes the brain:
Pictures roll, clearing, blurring fading scenes
Memories etched in stark relief
Rotating on an axle frame:
Blurred spokes speed, turn down the feed,
Grinding inexorably.
In a poppy field of fire,
Bogged in mud in Flanders mire.

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April 17, 2015

Anzac Spirit

We’ve lost the Anzac spirit
That got us where we’re at
We’ve sacrificed the sacrifice.
Those never made it back.

We’ve lost the Anzac spirit
Broke the battlers cast
Replaced tradition with a reset button,
on a faceless computer mask.

They banned the use of common sense,
abolished ‘ave a go.
‘Til all is level ‘n’ all’s complete
‘n’ no one has a go.

Work Safe’s disastrous duty
of care ‘n’ pre-start meetings,
All meet there.
Shifting idly foot to foot.
Ticking off each box by rote,
each inane pre-dawn parade.

Replaced tradition with a faceless mask.
Sacrificed the battlers cast.

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April 17, 2015

War Time & Want

It’s back to the people
In war time and want
On backs of the people
Battling along
Spearheading the struggle
Hand-balled their way
Coping their best
As fronts give n take.
Back to the battle,
Religion dictates
Throw in the people.
Religion dictates.

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March 23, 2015 ,


The shadows are extending,
laying flat as the sun slides.
Close on the horizon,
darkening countryside.

Rib bone gullies tapered
on the ranges slowly merge
as darkness dresses slowly
before a soft white moon.

Rising slowly beaming softly,
rekindling light and space
in an outback amphitheatre,
boulders jumbled ’round the place.

Scudding moonlight probing,
leaving pockets cross the range
in deeps of dark till daylight,
bursts out cross the plain.

Chasing dark from rib bone
gullies tapered down
rock strewn range
as sunlight forges up and onwards
proclaiming brand new day.

Toppling on its zenith,
descending through the day.
Slowly giving over to
a full moon night display.

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March 16, 2015

A Plume

There’s a plume out there approaching.
Streaming in the sky,
chuffing spreading down
and wide cross sea
and countryside.

A mess of doubt and claim,
as fine silt settles on the land,
blinkered sight. Unfocussed minds
on short term gain
and power play.

Suffocating sea grass flats,
denuding coral
coloured lines of fish
and dugongs habitat.

There’s a plume out there approaching,
spreading, settling wide.

Suffocating in its path,
blinkered sight,
unfocused minds.

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March 9, 2015

One-armed Bandits

There’s a copper in the gutter
taking photographs of speed.
And there’s others take advantage
of camouflage from trees.

Stripping points and dollars
from passers passing by.
One armed bandit industry.
Preying on the need to drive.

Numbers are increasing
cross the length and breadth,
of Australia’s roadways,
coppers put ’em to the test.

Checking registration,
speed and alcoholic breaths
one armed bandit industry
Financed by the fines.

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March 2, 2015 ,

Slap and Tickle

Slap and Tickle’s carting super,
Slap and Tickle’s carting grain
Launching, loaded off a gravel
ridge at Erragula plain.

Heading for the highway,
bins a good way off,
sou-wester kicking gently in,
following road trains.

Silos rearing skywards,
bull pen line-ups chock-a-block.
White caps tumble endlessly,
grain ships anchored off.

Road trains inching slowly,
Grain receival gratings flow,
grids bared, polished silver
as trailers unload and go.

Tip bins joggle on their mounts.
Heading back, back further out.
Nest of field bins, chasers race,
‘longside headers pouring grain.

Slap and Tickle’s loaded
Roll tarps firmly clipped in place.
Off she roars
back in the race

Slap and Tickle had a refit,
Engines done a million K
the chassis and cross members
showed a bit of pain.

Sand blast and a paint job,
tensioned up against the strain,
Slap and Tickle back-loads super
with each load of golden grain.

If you like my poems . . .

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February 23, 2015


The cockies are all starting
On their mixed land farming lots.
Herding up their cattle
Sewing paddocks down to crop.

Tractor lights spear in the night,
neighbour’s places further out,
identified by homestead lights.
burning on far in the night.

Motor cars traverse the paddocks,
dipping lights in creeks and gullies
bringing food and welcome tea.

Add their bit to long nights round,
of round and round the paddock goes,
head and dusty trailing lights,

Silhouetes bulk seeder bins
and spidery frames with springs and tynes,
sewing seed and fertilizer
as round on round the paddock shrinks.

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February 16, 2015


He won’t be cold
He’s got a swag.
Won’t be hungry
Good tin dog

Interspersed with eating out.
On the best, that’s about.
Best in stock camps,
best of pubs,
best invited going out.

Rugged against a stiff chill breeze,
canvas ground sheet, beats the freeze.
Until tomorrow’s sun appears.
And all is well and warm and bright.

Looking out, brand new daylight.

If you like my poems . . .

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Less than 5 bucks for Kindle.

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February 9, 2015


In the business of a partner.
Nearly anyone will do
If partner’s balance up the play and Roll along as two
A K partner or C or Q
so long as life rolls on as two.

A P for partner, H or Z
would be alright it seems,
so long as everything’s up-front,
Not just an idle dream.

As partners merge in streams of time,
understanding down the line
requests and needs in harmony,
colours fade black to white.
As life’s requests and needs are met.
Rehearsing out the dream.

If you like my poems . . .

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Less than 5 bucks for Kindle.

Check it out on Amazon Kindle.

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February 2, 2015

They Will Go Forever

They will go forever
Following the line
On and on wherever
Load ‘er up and try
Rivers running bankers,
cross mountains as they fly.
Down a range on bull dust flats.
Hours and days crawl by.
Lost out in the loneliness
Of guide post silent nights
Welcome morning star appears,
heralding first light.

They will go forever
Following the line.

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January 26, 2015 ,

Hanging Around

Hanging round a truck yard,
waiting on a load.
Moonlight beaming gently.
Seasons ebb and flow.

Gleaming chrome and Alloy
bull bars in the night.
Polished rims and shiny studs
holding them on tight.

Ice packs diesel chatter.
Welcomes in the night,
Comfort in the knowing,
mozzies held back tonight.

A coupla cans you’d reckon,
Bit of time to think.
A couple more till nothing matters,
just get off and sleep.

Start up on the morrow,
Shaking musky heads
Just get up and into it.
Thinking up ahead.

Hanging round a truck yard,
coming on daylight,
People moving, doing,
getting on with life.

Following the roadway, following the life.
Upfront oñ the business,
Busy business life.

Hooking in, trailers swing,
Had a taste last night, ice paks Working wonderfully.
Pull up, what’s left the night.

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January 19, 2015 ,

Fire Bucket

Boys’ll all be down there.
Lining up to go,
done the prestart,
rehashed the play,
footy, races come what may.

Cadel Evans out in front,
toast me back and make a start.
Make it happen, make it pay.
On and on a long wet day

Stoked the bucket,
cracked a can.
Freezin’ day,
best we can.

Mud and slush across the yard.
Shut ‘er down,
head on home.

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January 12, 2015

Camping Out

Camping at a bush race meet.
After times out at the bar.
Wandrin’ past stock
Trucks and vans,
horses wait in yards,
paw the dirt,
tossin’ manes.
Waiting the main game.

Generators drawn out tone
wafting round, camp
yards and trees.
Last one sputters,
bush quiet drifts in,
solace under the trees.

If you like my poems . . .

The Ute by john taylor
Consider buyin’ my yarn “The Ute”
Less than 5 bucks for Kindle.

Check it out on Amazon Kindle.

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January 5, 2015 ,

Wood-Panelled Office

In my wood-panelled office,
cushion leather seats.
Ride, there’s no tomorrow
On electronic diesel steeds

‘Gainst headwinds, hills and grades,
Distance off ahead,
The sand gauge trickles slowly,
sunsets last rays,
blur lights ahead.

Far from restaurants,
coffee strips,
different mob out in the night.
Dancing on a moonbeam,
chasing stars and dreams,
pausing engine idling,
drifting with the tide.

Rolling on a milky way,
chasing stars twinkling display.
Trickling sand marking time,
as daylight grabs the grand parade
of picaninny orange dawn,
scrub trees poised on stark parade,
silhouette against a brand new day.

Tips the gauge on hills and winds.
Trickling sands on diesel steeds,
steady progress through the day.

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December 30, 2014

Plunging Paddles

Plunging paddles
Rotating shafts
Engine revving
drives the craft

Propellor blades screw
through green water
tumbled froth
astern’s disorder.

Wake mounds out,
taper off,
rocking vessels
tug on moorings.

Plunging paddles
drive the craft
war cries chant.

As one they strike
with paddles strive
Wakes symmetric lines astern.

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December 29, 2014


No numbers on the tables
Few street lights on the street.
White lines on the roadways,
Few seatbelts on the seats.

Cops are few and far between,
life’s a breeze as breezes blow,
floating round in Greece.

Pay as you leave the cafe or
tour out on the sea,
every one is cheerful,
service next to none.

Traditionally they’re fisho’s
Living by the sea,
boats moored off,
net and lines stacked ready,
tonight’s catch guaranteed.

Tourists fly and ferry,
arriving day and night,
long line from the harbour
relaxing from their flight.

Gazing past the landing,
headlands out to sea,
distant vessels plying trade routes,
steady as they steam.

Life’s a breeze as breezes blow,
floating round in Greece.

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December 22, 2014


Sleep will overtake me
If I pause awhile.
Resting for a moment
As moments fly on by,
Soaking up the sunshine.
Gleaming through dense leaves.
Muscles relax slowly
Poised on edge to leave.

Drifting through each layer
of gently shifting sand.

Embedded in a mould of clay,
suspended where you lay.
Swathed in quiet solitude,
hours tick slowly by,
lulled by intermittent breeze,
washed over by tides.

Completely overtaken,
Picaninny dawn’s arrived.
Morning stars a slivered gleaming steel,
above an orange oval sky.
Unseen by sleeping forms below,
gentle dreams
as sleep thoughts ebb and flow.

Resting for the moment
as moment’s flow on by.

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December 15, 2014 ,


Comfort comes in closing
Last bits of the day
Panoramic sunset
gives to milky way

and an ocean rolls forever
in star lights bright display.

Dozing off and dreaming
twitching in half sleep
poised half start tomorrow
before darkness retreats

If you like my poems . . .

The Ute by john taylor
Consider buyin’ my yarn “The Ute”
Less than 5 bucks for Kindle.

Check it out on Amazon Kindle.

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December 8, 2014


Life’s one big rehearsal
For those that want to play.
Turning corners constantly
Straightening up to race.

Slashing through the S bends,
hookin’ cross the flats,
watching out for junctions,
throttling gently back.

Life’s a big rehearsal,
learning as we go,
In a maze of opportunity
heading up the road.

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December 1, 2014


Never stopped to smell the roses.
Sweet scent followed on the drive.
Reminders ‘mongst the people,
roses round the countryside.

Occasionally they prick and tear,
a minute’s quiet respite.
Back on the drive with roses’
sweet scent wafts down the line.

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November 24, 2014


Been in love
Been out of love
Been around a bit
Had a go at jobs around
Took a coupla hits
In amongst the ups ‘n’ downs
Attitude prevailed
Fell in love
Stayed around
Backed off on the hits.

If you like my poems . . .

The Ute by john taylor
Consider buyin’ my yarn “The Ute”
Less than 5 bucks for Kindle.

Check it out on Amazon Kindle.

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November 17, 2014

Livin’ the Dream

Hobbled down
Shuffflin’ in
From way out back
Where we begin

Siftin’ through the wheat from chaff.
Steady Steady, establishing.

Hobbled down, guided in.
Long wings in sight.

Hidden ‘mongst fluoro lights ‘n’ boom access, denying rights.
Herding onwards day n night, in fluoro
Garb, toward the wing.

Hidden ‘mongst clip board staff.
JSA’s and OC health stuff
That never ever mounts to much,
in apart from taking up our day

in tickin’ boxes,
linin’ up from aeroplanes
to gettin’ grub ‘n’ don’t forget

we’ve fly buy points that take us further in our quest
experiencing much more than the rest,
in this scramble where we live ‘n’ work,
if call it live ‘n’ work’s where we’re at.

Tickin’ boxes n OC health
stuff ‘n’ smorgasboards ‘n’ linin’ up.
Three more sleeps,
I’m pissin’ off,
back to reality.

Which when I reckon lining up
in dreams ‘n’ schemes
‘n’ could’a been
‘n’ fly buy points
‘n’ distant dreams.
And my how time goes
flying by with
fly buy points
spent ‘fore you fly

and JSA’s a way of life,
boom gates recording day to day
still in the wing we trudge away,
never quite gettin’ gettaway

from fluoro lights
‘n’ OC health stuff
‘n’ guide lines drawn indelibly
of how your life’s planned out to be.

Workin’ slowly long the wing
of life’s best practice as they see.
By those in charge of would’a be!
We’re now hard up upon the wing,
sludging on
in this old dream
of live ‘n’ work,

if live ‘n’ work is what it’s at.
Out on the mine

“livin’ the dream”

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November 10, 2014

West Australia

There’s people battling in the west.
The boom has bust, constructions done.
Moppin’ up next coupla years
around ore mines n railway lines,
spider webbed across Nor west

Oil ‘n’ gas remains the king,
FIFO constructions still the in thing
‘n’ ships offload their freight at sea
Reload with oil or gas n leave.

And there’s less FIFO employees to share
the spoils investors leave
as slowly all’s developed,
done ‘n’ Chevron holds the smoking gun.

indigenous, those in the know drive Tojos,
fueled ‘n’ stores for free,
escorted round
Old stamping grounds
that their forebears never seen,

searching out sacred sites
‘n’ lumps as if old indigeni
had dug or left a monumental mound
to mark out sites or hunting ground.

They knew their borders, marked with fear.

Stronger tribe been livin’ here!
They weren’t against a sneak attack,
in fact enjoyed a good old stoush.

Girls strippin’ off ‘n’ bash it out.
Slowly we’ve been educated commuting out
across the nation.

Roadways, sealanes, wherewithal
to mine more oil ‘n’ gas ‘n’ ore.
Way out in the west there’s people who struggle.
Whilst mine leader’s lip sink

in pantomine Juggle

If you like my poems . . .

The Ute by john taylor
Consider buyin’ my yarn “The Ute”
Less than 5 bucks for Kindle.

Check it out on Amazon Kindle.

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The Japanese Student
The Ute (2nd edition) out!
Impromptu Piano Recital at Marble Bar
Love’s Gone
Flat Out
Coming or Going?
Walkers. Power n Otherwise.
Spring Time in the Valley
Dual Citizenship
The Shearer
Summer’s Wild Fire
Some Made it Home
Alternate Life
Happy Christmas 2016
Lest We Forget
Over the Top
Better to Unfetter
Cloud Banks
Black Fellas
Peel Back the Layers
In a Poppy Field of Fire
Anzac Spirit
War Time & Want
A Plume
One-armed Bandits
Slap and Tickle
They Will Go Forever
Hanging Around
Fire Bucket
Camping Out
Wood-Panelled Office
Plunging Paddles
Livin’ the Dream
West Australia