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Bush Poet 2009

Don't Hate- Become

Ah, this can be viewed a companion piece of sorts to the previous poem. This shows that I'm not totally against this modern age... just a little ;)

Don't Hate, Become-
Way out west, we still want the best- but on being told, I’m not entirely sold
Information from one voice, where’s the choice? Just want news- not the blues

Stand up for bush, raise your tone and yell
We don’t need anyone telling us what to tell
Don’t hate the media, become the media
Be your own goddamned encyclopaedia

Way out west, we still want the best- but on being told, I’m not entirely sold
Information from one voice, where’s the choice? Just want news- not the blues

Anyone can write, just pick up a pen- you bet
Get it out there and show the world on net
The trees’ll still be here tomorrow, take a break
It’s info we need now- time for us to be awake

Some Folks

Some Folks-
Remember way back when the world looked young and bright?
Not so scary for us or our friends, not so covered in fear and plight

Back when tagging someone was just a game
And not everyone had a dozen handles for their name
When the guy you knew was the guy who was the same
When ember on the fire, was all there was to flame

Remember way back when the world looked young and bright?
Not so scary for us or our friends, not so covered in fear and plight

Back when delicious was just what the wife had cooked you
And stumbling upon a site, was a reason to turn blue
When you thought you remembered all you ever knew
Without being reminded to submit for a review

Ennui

Before getting into this new poem, which I’ve just finished, I thought I’d have a bit of a relevant rant. Mobile phone coverage aint the best out here, so I often find myself going days without using mine (Shock Horror!). This morning when I checked my phone, which prompted my muse in the end, I noticed that I 6 new SMS messages. All from my good friend Mike;
“At the pub mate, come along- my shout?”
“You coming in Stace? We’ll be here for a while longer”
“Where you at S?”
And so on. My point being, Mike was so damn used to just texting his mates that he didn’t think to just call me so I could head down for a bloody pint! (‘scuse the French)

As someone who doesn’t have of these so called ‘smart phones’, because I have a Computer for the web, I’m not savvy to their GPSMS ways. Anyway, missing out on the occasional beer prompted me to write this song- enjoy.

Ennui-
The dust on the ground, and the trees stand tall-
Hold that though, I’ve just got to make a call
There aint no time for calm and stress
I’ve got to send my boss another SMS
Y’see we keep in contact all the time
And to not answer- hey, what a crime
Cos what’s the point of the setting sun
If a picture message cannot be done?

I love talking, love having a chat
Love shooting the breeze and all that
But I’d rather take my time with speech
And suggest you all to practice this preach
Do we really need poetry for this?
Can’t we just avoid this Language Abyss?
Keep our words whole, our scenery described
Need I offer the setting sun as a bribe?

Public and Private duet

Public
The Bush summer
Surely for everyone’s eyes,
Our Community

Private
This is not for you;
Time I want to be alone,
I will consume peace

Ah I figure these 2 need some explaining. This duet of Bush Haikus (or Bushaikus) comes from a conversation I had with the missus just the other day. We were lamenting the loss of the local Gilgandra cinema from when we were growing up. They showed local films, for us local people. It was a great way to catch up and see new art. But now it’s closed down and we certainly miss it- even though we both agree that we see better films now, and from the comfort of our own home! We hire, borrow and download any number of films (and TV shows) that we would never have seen back in the day.
But hey- I guess you don’t know what you’re missing when we don’t have the option

PS: I still miss seeing BMX Bandits on the big screen

Walls

The first thing I attempted after decided to get back on the muse's saddle, called Walls

Walls-
We all have that friend, a friend in need
A friend or life? Or a common bush fiend
The salt of the earth is a common pleasure
But a diamond in the rough is real treasure

One mustn’t covet a friend’s wife or ass
Green, never greener, is the colour of the grass
Stay the hell away from my wall,
A friend of a friend is no friend at all

Each to their Own

Here's one from the late 70s, just before I was forced to call it quits;

Each To Their Own-
Take an eye for an eye- a tooth for a tooth
Solitude for misery and depression for truth

I’ll dig and build
You clean and grill’d
Sounds fair to me
Sounds fair to thee

What’s the point in selling all I have for less?
These suits only care for money, politics, the mess

Leave to man, what is man’s
And all else for the clan
Just pray for the pay
We know that A is just A

Tell the man to get off my back, it aint his place
Cos surely a man is entitled to the sweat on his face

An old one - Untitled

Here's a gem from the vaults. Never ended up naming it, but here it is in its original form

-
We’re born into this world, screaming naked and cold,
Told what to do and given what to take till we’re old.
This is the way it’s been forever, from dawn till dusk
They tell us how to smile and laugh and how metal turns to rust

Until one day, we wake up, and witness all for all
No more taking what we’re told, no more shadows of the tall.
Make up for time once lost; create a world for you,
Folks may never see it, but you’ll wear it through and through

Through a window I can see it, though never feels like mine
I’m still told where to go, but now it’s a homemade sign.
There’s magic in there, I’m told, and I can see a bit
But what’s the point of having some, if I’m never going to feel it

Explanations

I live between the Surface Paradise and Australia's Underside. Where oceans curve and converge with sun and earth Where sorrow and love meet and drink brandy I'm Stace Kingsford- Australia bush poet of the 1960s and 70s. After all too long a hiatus form the world of arts, I'm back. 2009 is the year of the Bush Poet.

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