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”

the ute book by john taylor now available at

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Love’s Gone