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December 22, 2014

Sleep

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,
twitching,
chasing
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 ,

Night

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

Rehearsal

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

Roses

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

Love

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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November 3, 2014

Age

You’re only as old as your joints ‘n’ limbs.
Thinning out hair unkempt stubble on chins,
a dead giveaway of age creeping in.

As chemical levels concentrate from within,
we balance ’em up with medication.

With teeth prone to loosen ‘n’ body bits sag.
There’s a truck load of potions
to apply when things flag.

At least you’ll be happy ‘n’ slick preening off.

There is exercise, for fanatical types
‘n’ it’s getting popular out riding a bike.
Pumping along in elastic tights.
Hunched over racing wind whistling by.
Which is great in the moment,
but there’s kilometres to ride.

Your only as old
as the gleam in your eye
so long as your out there.
Havin’ a try!!

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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October 27, 2014

Couldn’t Make It

Til he couldn’t make it,
in the saddle or buggy seat,
when creakin’ limbs no longer climbed,
wind mills too much a feat

And cattle strayed too far afield,
on strings of wet clay pans
and bore their calves out on crown land
or poddy dodgers lease rebrand.

As time ran out on drifting sand,
riffled round stock troughs ‘n’ mills
and markets came and slid sideways,
to come ‘n’ go again

someday and life rolled on as wind mills clanked,
missed fan blades make toothless grins,
flogged round lopside,
fan tail face into the wind.

Cyclonic rains wash on their course
and flood the hinterland,
overflowing watersheds, creeks flow bankers from inland,
spreading out a muddy stain on swell and sea green grass,
lush growth on livestock drowned in flood,
sailing past in clouds of flies swarm there long dead stinking repast.

Around creek bend ‘n’ sand bank swirl,
beach the carcass, on the bank

Flies hoe in harder on their task
as wild dogs slink in
from the bush tearing lumps of rotten beef,
carrion crow n eagle land,
pecking, tearing where they can.

Animal parts drift off the bank accompanied by a swarm of flies,
downriver past a toothless grin
from windmills slowly turning blades,
fan tails jerking straight upwind.

‘Til sunset slowly way out west
‘n’ flies retire off in the night
and slowly now the carcass floats,
off the bank down in midstream,
minus bits gone off before
to fertilise the sea green floor
and market gardens down the coast

As years ‘n’ seasons head their course,
slow muddy stains spread out at sea.

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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October 20, 2014

Australia

We love our sunburnt country
with her droughts and flooding rains.
Her wild outback horizons,
cyclones add to the strain.

We tolerate our pollies,
as they skim the coffers bare.
Tipping back the argument
as if they were not there.

We’d love our sunburnt country.
With fewer shark attacks,
without the crocs out lurking
on people for a snack.

We loved our sunburnt country
where people had a go,
don’t whine and bludge
and carry on
as if they own the show!!

Our surf lifesavers, internationally best.
Our navy sports lifesavers vests.

Reel ’em in, off Indons beach.
life support starts right out there!!
Dole, free rent and, Medicare.

We love our sunburnt country,
as least as much as they.

But it is ours, our snakes and crocs,
to vent our spleen on those that’s green
and cull the bludgers from the mob.

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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October 13, 2014

100k

Doin’ the Dollar
Hookin’ in hard
rainbow heat streaks on exhaust pipe chrome stacks.

Doin’ the dollar
on along through the day,
wheels dust rill spirals,
rigs slowing at last.

Checkin’ gear before sunset’s last feeble light rays,
dwindle to nothing,
expire for the day.

Lost in the gloom of twilight n dark,
shadows loom,
movin’ slowly,
only tricks in the dark.

Rollin’ along,
lights cutting the night.
Axles gentle hammer
marking time from last light.


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October 6, 2014

Stuck

Stuck in a time warp struggling with doubt
media reports ringing out loud.

Where once there was flooding, fire n drought.
Now there’s natural disasters.
God didn’t hand out.

Government planning ordained the lot.
Buildings where buildings were previously not
and government agencies struggle on at great cost.

Reinforcing the culture across our great land
of copping disaster moving stoically on.

As beaurocracies blithely stumble along!

If you like my poems . . .

The Ute by john taylor
You can buy my yarn “The Ute”
for less than 5 bucks

Check it out on Amazon Kindle.


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September 15, 2014

Red Dirt Drive

Dropping off the bitumen, onto the red dirt drive.
Dodging, straddling, backing off, corrugations, pot holes strewn,
along the red dirt drive.

Bull dust surfs off the steerers, pushed out by the drives,
obliterates trailers and load
on the red dirt drive.

We’re dodging ‘long quite steady, making out a country mile.
Landscape changes constantly,
upon our red dirt drive.

Sand hills plot our course, along the red dirt drive,
dust billows rear and sides.

Broadcast across the country, prevailing wind decides.
Day in, day out, well in each night.
Late night quiet respite, engine idles, fix a tyre.
Sluice dregs of blackened billy tea, get back and make a mile.

Out on the red dirt drive.


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September 8, 2014

Camped Up

Goin’ along
Slowin’ down

Bit of tucker, takin’ its toll.
Early starts workin’, slowly its way,
slowin’ down properly comin’ midday.

Chasing that slowly swirling black spot.
Mind’s eye following the 3D plot.
Droppin’ below a level in space, needing a spell.
Under a shade, on a dry shingle creek.

Lost for a while.

Chasing that spot, swirling round slowly, deep in my mind.
Out to it properly, half hour respite.
Back up in a moment refreshed for the night,
heading on out, alert, Gaining pace.


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September 1, 2014

Life’s Highway

Mind keeps wandrin’ further back.
Hectic learning, time well packed,
with observations on the road
as life unrolls and comments publicly unfold
as days ‘n’ weeks turn on the dial,
of life ‘n’ times movin’ on.

Movin’ on, when nought mattered,
cards dealt out for all to see,
for what see’s worth,
a royal flush’s not
a tinker’s curse on life
as time speeds merrily.

Learning from first light of day, till after dark,
heads in a spin and poker-faced one can but grin
and battle on with the charade of knowing
public looks parade.

As appointment scrolls unfold,
and appointers comment scolds
and retribution mounts
’til all is in turmoil within
and so with stoic steadfast grin
it’s sally forth on life’s highway,
beckoning its lamp-lit way,
reflecting stars upon their course,
‘n’ friendships won,
some lost in space.

Surging forth tunes lessons learnt
or lost, unseen,
stacked up in a memory box.
To be drawn on as we play.
Out our life on life’s highway.


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August 25, 2014

Ya Life

I do trucks and dirt
And beer at night
and start again
before daylight.

Summer, winter
all the same.
Fixin’ stuff
in this old game.

Day in day out
and half the night,
battle on,
there’s no respite

No rest from something
that we love.
Ordained by someone
up above.

‘Course there’s others
down below feed hell
and brimstone where we go
battlin’ ‘gainst the odds that flow.

Tsunami waves of grief and pain
achieving where few others gain
a foothold
in our day to day.

As we contend with rates and taxes,
attitudes and cultural laxes
and hell and brimstone flows before, surfin’
Up, upon a shore of life as most ‘aint seen before.

And “ya life” won’t ever be the same as
As life rolls on in this ‘ol game,
of rock ‘n roll and shiftin’ freight
and whomsoever knows the date
of the next disastrous quake.

Where all will level out before
No doubt to be continued.

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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August 17, 2014

Dreamin’ As We Fly (BlairHowe)

He set aside studios
For people in his space
Developed quite an industry
Set a cracking pace.

Didn’t go much for the arts,
Apart from photographs.
And many scale models of new and old aircraft.

Bunbury flying schools club house
with its unique display,
of every kite known to man.
Hanging From the ceiling,
diving from the walls.

There’s aircraft in the hangars,
there’s aircraft homing in,
from all points you could call.
They’re doing bumps and circuits,
learning how to fly

And the “nanchang” pilots
diving from way up in the sky.
Pulling out on G force,
that leaves your boots behind.

Rolling slowly on a wing tip
as landscape flashes by.
Dissapearing for the moment,
seems hours dragging by.

Reappears across the ranges,
Distant speck in a blue sky.
Studios in cloud breaks.
Dreamin’ as we fly.


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August 11, 2014

In the Boardroom

Sitting up high in the board room
Wood grain walled inside
Panoramic vistas passing,
Miles fly quietly by.

Cool breeze wafting gently,
Air-con up high,
Shimmering flats and ranges.
Disappear far behind

Sitting up high in the boardroom
Rolling on through the night
Morning star slow appearing
Out east in soft daylight

Another day at the office
Tending direction and drive
Another long day in your stride
Backed off on kerb sided Roadways.

Stop and go flashing lights
Hemmed in by lemming-like traffic
Loaded, just let her fly
Out through stop and go traffic
Out where your loaded and fly.
On and on through the night.

Another star in the morning,
Hanging on first light.
Diamond stud in the dawning,
Lost right out on first light.

Another day at the office.
Tending direction and drive

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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August 4, 2014

Roadways

There’s a blaze in the ranges,
way off in the haze.
Indicating direction
the graded track takes.

Along up a gully,
droppin’ her back,
out through the ranges,
through to the next flat.

Rock-littered stretches
lead on through the day,
red soft ground beckons
near on a highway

as day slowly lingers
Nights moving in
silhouettes etched
‘long this outback highway.


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July 28, 2014

Muir

Muir’s in limp mode
Draggin’ behind
Steam hammer taps slowly,
back of his mind.

Waiting on thoughts,
stacked up in his head.
Sorting out slowly
to forge on ahead.

Clearing his mind
out clearing his shed.
Stacking coal bins
heaped near the forge.

Close handy shovel
to feed on some more.
Coals flarin’ softly,
steel heats and glows,
golden sparks arc
as bellows blow.

Steam hammer’s cranking,
flails out a beat.
The blacksmith quick shuffles,
steel in the heat,
tappin’ and whackin’
shaping the mould.

Sledge hammers close handy,
a coupla red cans,
just breakin’ even,
sweat runnin’ free.

Steam hammer flails on through the day,
hammers and tongs all stacked away.
Forge banked well back,
hot plate swung down,
sizzling aroma wafts through the shed.

A stack of shaped steel
for tomorrow’s long round,
blue print indelibly
stamped in his mind.

Steam hammers resting,
sock a few down,
sketchin’ chalk sketches,
ideas flick round.
Sorting out angles

forging ahead.


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July 21, 2014

Battistessa

There’s bits and bobs
peering out from Battistessa’s shed.

A plaster Horse head in the making
a king size chaise dragon lounge,
awaits an Adams family pose,
further back in the shed.

A sail boat moored,
sits patiently.
Leeward of the wall
and rows of piled up mulch composts,
amongst stacked artefacts.

Waiting on the moment,
vision cross a mind,
ideas prompted, tossed about.
Thoughts and talk combined.

There’s artefacts and bits N’ bobs
round Battistessa’s shed,
waiting on the moment,
as he dreams ahead.

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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July 14, 2014

Last One’s Behind

Movin’ along
in the long bit of life.
Holding on memories
From last ones behind.

Learning and living,
time flying by.
Seasons repeating
last memories behind.

Back along way as seasons unwind,
in a flurry of wind and showering rain,
maelstroms of memories in my being and brain,
layer on layer of fabric wove over.

Strengthened resolve,
strong bridges crossover.
Out in fresh country
moving along.

Moving along
in the long bit of life.


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July 7, 2014

International Wheel

International wheel-n-deal.
From a worker’s point of view.
One understands the advantage of a fit, healthy work force.
It’s wonderful to see Australian entrepreneurs out competing successfully, in big offshore business.
One wonders about the health of many of these Australian entrepreneurs who are obviously way out of condition!
And if they were required to fly to site on a commercial jet, would not pass the single seat test & very likely require fork lift assistance to embark & disembark!

Which of course brings us to the next step.

The Private Biz jet!
At what cost to the Company I’m employed, and to what advantage with the incredible line up of highly competitive efficient Australian airline operators.
Frankly from a workers point of view.
I’m concerned about my mortgage, super and the rapidly disappearing quality oil, gas & ore.
In addition we have seen high-power biz entrepreneurs leave Australia, take up residence & swear allegiance to their new adopted country.

Hmmm.


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June 30, 2014

Ponies

Ponies and schooners,
middies and pints.
Whilin’ way time
as yarns reelin’ by.

Way out past closing,
near in on dawn.
Publicans still pouring,
stifles a yawn.

Heard all the stories
other side of the bar,
heard ’em so often
can repeat ’em by heart.

Knows all the stayers
will see ’em again.
Knows all the jokes
and the yarns off by rote.

They’re slowin’ he noted,
dawn pinkin’ outside.
Punching the button
on the glass washers side.

Sending foam spray
gushing inside,
bunching bar towels,
end of the bar.

Drinkers slowed up,
some headed off,
Publican’s polishin’,
soon shutting up.

If you like my poems . . .

The Ute by john taylor
You can buy my yarn “The Ute”
for less than 5 bucks

Check it out on Amazon Kindle.


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June 23, 2014

Seduced

Seduced in the moment
of foaming White light,
powerful ongoing desire.

Wrecked in a flash,
surfed up Derelict.
Pounded by swell,
mounding out back.

Weedbank and debris swirl each foaming rush.
Last chance at high tide getting off.

Seduced in moments
of peace ‘tween wave rushes.
High tide floating off,
face into the swell,
out of sight in the troughs.

Regimental foam ridges,
powering over the crest,
head down in high speed elation.
Seduced each moment ‘tween rushes.


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June 16, 2014

Travellin’

I’ve been to Versailles and the champ-élysées,
seen Mona Lisa through crowds on the wall.
Angels and devils hover above.
Michelangelo painted ’em all.

Pitch forks and maidens, chubby faced kids,
halos and stuff by the score.
All of the moss and every rock,
carefully shaped and placed cross this land.

In churches and villas and chateaux and squares,
rock wall cities radiate from.
Nice to drift through on a canal boat for two
on a gentle cruise down the Somme.


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June 9, 2014

Culture

Embracing cultures,
through village and towns.
Outskirts of cities,
wending through and round.

Picking the right side
on through the drive.
Cultural indifference
take it all in your stride.

Levelling out
with glasses of ale,
on in the night
everyone has their tale.

Tales in a language,
bit hard to grasp.
Along with arm waving,
palms up, poker face mask.

Eyes rolling upsides
neck arched well back,
universal language
we all grasp, answer back.

Breakfast’s laid out
in long Bain Marie’s.
croissants n bacon
if ones lucky.

Same group from the bar,
files slowly in place,
nodding politely,
last night’s drinking mates.

Taxis ‘n’ hire-cars
depart the front gate,
concierge holds the keys,
safe for their return.

Off to the sites,
touring the town,
mingling with people,
all walks of life.

Try pick the right side,
out on the drive

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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June 2, 2014

Seasons

Once I knew no seasons.
Just rain ‘n hail or shine.
Travelling cross far borders,
chasin’ others’ time.

Daylight saving pushing,
each state end’s long drive.
Weather fronts loom way up front,
piled black clouds spill

Left ‘n’ right out to horizons lost to view.
wipers slapping steady rain,
headlights beaming through,
again ‘n back across the seasons,
sunlight shines again.

If you like my poems . . .

The Ute by john taylor
You can buy my yarn “The Ute”
for less than 5 bucks

Check it out on Amazon Kindle.


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May 26, 2014

Could be lovin’

Could be lovin’
Could be hate
Could be something in translate.

A word,
a sentence,
a full blown speech.

Translated down to lost in space
and far off thought waves dancing back,
graph line rises,
dips and flows,
levels gently as it goes.

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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May 19, 2014

Enduring Along

They slogged at Kokoda,
endured Tobruk,
El Alamein
was finally took.

They pioneered on,
back on new land blocks.
Worked along steady
enduring along.

Then on in the sixties
a band of the boys
went drilling & trucking,
prospecting the land.

Pushing the limits
as nor west they forged
Following tracks of prospectors before.
Establishing railways,
way out in the bush,
dredging out harbours,
an all time record push.

On as the seventies
and eighties rolled round.
Shop stewards from Glasgow,
exact toll from the land.

An insidious drag
as strain is increased
with Oc’ health & safety,
added to the list.

Computers & cabinets
all jammed choc a block,
with job safety analysis
reports from the lot.

Where everyone’s seated,
pre-start meetings on,
and we’ll line up again,
check for booze ‘n’ the bong.

Finally we’re out there,
out on the job
Out there unhappy,
enduring our lot.

As on the queue stumbles,
first onto the plane,
to the bus where I’m taken
again to retrain.

Back to the mess queueing again,
day shift’s pouring in from busses ‘n’ cars
Acquaintance renewed in the passing parade.

Brief stopover pedalling,
fast in the gym,
game playing’s over
as time whiles away.

4am start up,
off to the mess.
Breakfasts dished up,
get it down ‘n’ let’s go.

Enduring the pre-start
and JSA game blow in the bag,
first one for the day.
As Oc’ health ‘n’ safety’s
patrolling parade,
impacts each minute of each passing day.

‘Til finally it’s over,
one sleep ‘n’ I’m out.
A week to recover,
home on the block,
Enduring along,
till its back here again.


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May 12, 2014

Flight

Through fluffy clouds
a Distant coast,
creek lines wander,
fences straight.

Inland as 30,000 feet
of eagle’s view,
out from a seat,
speeding home,
mission complete.

White flat whorls
of desert white,
drain-off clay-pans westwardly,
trickling slowly
off to sea.

Linked in quilts
of grey and green
as seasons roll
on steadily.

Sailing through on silver wings,
cotton clouds a solid floor,
a glimpse of green in paddocks sewn,
fallow ground close stock clipped mown.

Closer in as country changes,
national parks,
low banksia ranges,
water courses to the coast.

Switch back creeks, through towns and gullies,
glimpses of long billabongs,
shady gums,
eroded banks,
minds-eye beckons,
thinking back on rivers running.

Bankers grew as water poured.
Headwaters out 200k, north and south and westward
Flowed, through land in drought across its space,
flowed through a dusty dreadful waste of weakened livestock bogged and drowned,
sailed down stream at record pace.

Jammed in logs
to feed the crows
and carrion patrolling near,
indulge themselves on stricken steer.

As waters ease,
hot sun bakes down
on flats and rivers,
cooking clay,
humid mirage and insects play
in brilliant white,
shimmering display.

Mind’s-eye beckons back on course.
Long way back,
way back up north.
Lakes slow whorl in ancient pattern,
trickle slow to water courses,
billabongs shine ‘long its reaches,
marks along the countries features.

Steadily to gleaming sea,
below the clouds on lost horizons.


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May 5, 2014

Red Dirt Drive

Dropping off the bitumen,
onto the red dirt drive.
Dodging,
straddling,
backing off,
corrugations,
pot holes strewn,
along the red dirt drive.

Bull-dust surfs off the steerers,
pushed out by the drives,
obliterates trailers
and load on the red dirt drive.

We’re dodging ‘long quite steady,
making out a country mile.
Landscape changes constantly,
upon our red dirt drive.

Sand hills plot our course,
along the red dirt drive,
dust billows rear and sides.
Broadcast across the country, prevailing wind decides.

Day in,
day out,
well in each night.
Late night quiet respite,
engine idles,
fix a tyre.

Sluice dregs of blackened billy tea,
get back and make a mile.
Out on the red dirt drive.

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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April 28, 2014

The Cat

I wonder if the Taser’s a high-tech new age cat.
Snakes out on a wire with a high voltage lash.
Nine tails into one, shoots
Out twenty feet,
shiny sharp barbs,
spear through clothes into meat.

They don’t need a triangle to stand victims to,
case they feel faint before floggin’s through.
Flipping the holster, Wyatt Earp has his way.

Victim’s St Vitus dancing display,
cowers subdued inert on the ground.
Easy picking for handcuffs,
paddy wagon comes round.

The floggers hit hard, with their high voltage lash,
a second stroke causes a crap in the daks,
gun-slingin’ Deputies push their way through the pack,
tase ’em,
arrest ’em,
chucked in the back.

Punishment’s meted out on the spot.
Indelible print on body and mind.
The floggers are in,
flaying their cats,
tase ’em,
tase ’em,
shouts from the pack.

Bloodthirsty buggers
Dingo-ing their prey,
tase-wire arcs out,
barbs connecting the shock.

I wonder if the taser’s a high-tech new age cat,
arced out on a wire with a high voltage lash.


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April 21, 2014

Anzacs

I don’t need a bugler blowin’ Reveille,
to rally me to the cause.
I’m waiting for more
to rise to the call
and help patch
the cracks
in the wall.

Our culture’s shot through
from the red, white and blue
proudly flown in peace time and war.
Stories from old,
clear in my mind.

The old man with his mates
and their humour,
sometimes black,
with knowing, wry smiles
Blown out with ambush and disasters.
Battling the odds as they tried,
winning and losing,
breaking even,
returning for try
upon try.

Front line troops from Gallipoli to El Alamein,
Western fronts devastating front-line.
They fought in ’em all,
the short, long and tall.

Blocking the japs on Kokoda
before pushing them back to their shores.
They snap to attention
And pay their respects,
laid wreaths to mates
gone before.

Closing up ranks
as roll call numbers decrease
as deceased names appear
on the wall.

In memory of soldiers who fought gamely on
and played
the best game of ’em all.

I don’t need a bugler to call me
or see names on memorial walls.
Etched in my mind eye’s the vision,
as they marched to the Sar-major’s call.
Each playing

the best game of ’em all.


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April 14, 2014

Butter Box Acco’s

When butter box acco prime movers, Perkins powering the drive.
And 900 nylon cross-ply Tyres, considered, best down the line.
And the road and load, close average, was well stacked the other side.
And it stretched forever before you, well known
from before on your mind.

Winding around on the ridges, slogging cross bull-dust flats,
dipping in creeks and gutters, always coming back.
On line with far horizons, meandering distant tracks.
Now butter box acco prime movers have moved way past their prime.

Legendary loads and drivers.
Immortalized down the line.
Painted in glowing detail, accomplishments out on the track.
Bolstering last loads achievements, disasters coped there and back.
Butter box acco prime movers, paid a fair price as they plied.
Every road and load in Australia, making
It back in good time.

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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April 6, 2014

There’s a Yarn

yarn-of-wool
There’s a yarn in there fits everyone –
a little bit o’ life.

Could be,
would be,
something
for sure about y’time.

As you’re wanderin’ round the bits,
piecin’ out y’life.
Through bits o’ learnin’,
though y’knew.
Reminders as y’tried.

Pullin’ up ‘n thinkin’
Only for a while
As on the wild ride beckons
‘n ‘ave a go presides
‘n all y’got is ‘ave a go

In the yarn that’s life.

 
 
 


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March 31, 2014

While the Tail-shaft Turns

While the tail-shaft’s turning
And the tyres are holding tight
While the tail-shaft’s turning
Keep steaming through the night.

Stop to check the binders
Loose ropes and shifting gear
Stop to boil the billy
Often wishing we weren’t here.

Tightening up the wheel-nuts
Tightening up chains
Steak twitching on glowing coals
Hot tins of Irish stew.

While the tyres are cooling
Swag roll for a bed
Tail-shaft slow turning
Only in my head


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March 24, 2014

Roadside Grave

A few spare saplings
A rocky cairn
Water dripping from a 44

Truckies stopping day or night
Replenish that vital supply

May crack a can
A few quiet words to their old mate

None stay, bit shy to camp
Perhaps a few too many brews
Wake up fresh, seems all right.

Next trip replace that trickle line
A long hot summer would knock ’em back.

Shadin a lone grave
On a lonely track.

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.


1 Comment

March 17, 2014

Administrators

Where’s your artistic ability
Your canvasses, your prints?
You’re not one to ponder
Or dabble with a brush
Oft’ found upon the telephone
To colleagues in the push.

Advising your selection
Why you think may go
To other great administrators
That you were first to know.

Invitations far and wide
Free feed of cheese and wine.

Not a brush to paper
Or solitary line.

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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March 10, 2014

The Shearer

Done the sheds around the run
Gascoyna and Pilbara.

Shear ’em when they’re fat as whales
And poor as starving cows.

Travelled the stations on a shearer’s truck
Sitting on me swag.

Camped in corrugated shacks
And shore ’em for a zack.

Rung the shed
Drunk the cut out keg
Beat the cook at cards

Me luck didn’t hold
Bookies got m gold
And the publican scored the rest.

It’s back to the stand
Bog iron in hand
Bellies and dags fair flyin’.

I’ll ring this shed
Get another cheque
And see if I can’t multiply ‘im.

 
 
 
 
 
 

Buy “The Ute” by JT for less than $5

200 pages of pure Aussie fun
it will make you laugh
it will make you cry
Click here to purchase JT’s formidable novella.

The Ute by john Taylor


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Sleep
Night
Rehearsal
Roses
Love
Livin’ the Dream
West Australia
Age
Couldn’t Make It
Australia
100k
Stuck
Headin’
Red Dirt Drive
Camped Up
Life’s Highway
Ya Life
Dreamin’ As We Fly (BlairHowe)
In the Boardroom
Roadways
Muir
Battistessa
Last One’s Behind
International Wheel
Ponies
Seduced
Travellin’
Culture
Seasons
Could be lovin’
Enduring Along
Flight
Red Dirt Drive
The Cat
Anzacs
Butter Box Acco’s
There’s a Yarn
While the Tail-shaft Turns
Roadside Grave
Administrators
The Shearer