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March 22, 2021

Comes with the Life

Comes with the Life

“It’s a pace,” he said,
“Comes with the life”,
As his arm stretched out,
Palm turned upright.

It’s the way things are,
Out on the Swan,
Not much more to add,
Just took half the night
And a decent taste
Of valley wine.

Sunburnt arms and calloused hands implore
Tanned faces stoic reprimand
On row on row of fresh hoes dirt
Of steady trickle irrigate
Bursting in tangled jungle vines
Tractors working down the lines.

“It’s a pace,” he said,
“Comes with the life”.
Pushing back his hat,
Squinting against the light.


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March 19, 2021

George Street, Middle Swan

George Street, Middle Swan

I’ve always had a backhoe
For digging holes and stuff
And, of course, I need to shift it,
So I’ve got an old Mack truck.

I’ve got a coupla trailers
‘Cause there’s always loads to cart
That help to make the payments
And reduce the overdraft.

I’ve got a block of land
Out of Midland on the Swan
And every time the Mack’s come home
We’ve stacked the backload on.

There’s trusses scrounged from Westrail
There’s trusses ex nor-west
Pipe for making stockyards
And a stack of new and used fan belts
That’d fit most anything
If you only knew the size.

The neighbours were at first amused
Interest growing in the pile
But as it progressed down the fence,
Spreading nice and wide,
Amusement turned to great concern
And they approached the Shire
Who steadily compiled a file.

They couldn’t do before shots,
The pile obscured the vines,
And the road once known as George Street’s
Now a wrecker’s parking lot.
There’s trucks, cranes and dollies
And piles of pipe and snot
Diligently recorded
In after comments and shots!

They put a case together
Based on non-approval from the Shire
To use the land for anything
Than the agricultural side
And made detailed arrangements
To clean up Taylor’s George Street lot.

They consulted with the owners
And sipped tea in the shade.
They walked the course
And sighted lines
To where it would be cleared,
Then after shifting several lots,
Some to the tip,
Some left on chocks,
The pile just seemed to ebb and flow
As the Mack would come and go.

Then the Shire in desperation
Issued a final ultimatum:
There’ll be no trailers,
There’ll be no Mack,
There’ll be no new house down the back!
Remove the backhoe from the block.
Desist from stacking road trains of snot.
You’ve got 10 days to clear the block!

They consulted with the owners
And sipped long cups of tea.
They walked the course
And measured up where the new house would be.
As the future was discussed
They boys kept loading up the truck
Until George Street was straight and clear.
Truck parked neatly, screened at the rear.

👍 jt

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John’s novel “The Ute” is now physical

the ute novel physical copy
> Available from Lulu.com in Paperback (pictured) for AU$24.99
> Now available at Lulu.com (Digital ePUB version) for AU$3.50
> Also available on iTunes and Barnes & Noble book stores.
> 1st edition of “The Ute” (34pp shorter) still available on Kindle (Kindle)
> For our US friends, A “ute” is a utility vehicle; a pickup truck.
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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March 12, 2021

Tracking Back

Tracking Back

There’s bits left by the roadside,
Little bits left as I go,
Markers for me coming back,
Markers spaced around the run.

Tracks criss-cross,
Time for none.
Brilliant bits glare in the sun,
Blazing torches as night falls,
Flare paths forging
All points north.

Long lost ranges,
Longer stares.
Bits torn off,
Rack back there.

Jigsaw markers carefully retrieved,
Patching pieces on a tear,
Tracking back;
Soon be there.

👍 jt

Enter your email address and get a Poet Down Under poem sent directly to your inbox each Friday

Delivered by Google’s FeedBurner


John’s novel “The Ute” is now physical

the ute novel physical copy
> Available from Lulu.com in Paperback (pictured) for AU$24.99
> Now available at Lulu.com (Digital ePUB version) for AU$3.50
> Also available on iTunes and Barnes & Noble book stores.
> 1st edition of “The Ute” (34pp shorter) still available on Kindle (Kindle)
> For our US friends, A “ute” is a utility vehicle; a pickup truck.
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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November 8, 2017 ,

Walkers. Power n Otherwise.

Walkers. Power n Otherwise.

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

Joggers,
sunnies,
fluoro Lycra vests,
shorts,
sox,
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 Lulu.com


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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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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 . . .

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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February 16, 2015

Swag

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 . . .

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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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.


1 Comment

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 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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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.


No Comments

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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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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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.


No Comments

Comes with the Life
George Street, Middle Swan
Tracking Back
Impromptu Piano Recital at Marble Bar
Coming or Going?
Walkers. Power n Otherwise.
Black Fellas
Slap and Tickle
Swag
They Will Go Forever
Hanging Around
Camping Out
Night
Couldn’t Make It
Red Dirt Drive
Camped Up
Culture