ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

This is one of the two poems I posted in my first written competition, for which I received a Commended.
Thought I would go right back to the early days for my first poem posted on this new forum.

Where The Golden Wheatheads Grow
© 13/06/06

A glowing shimmer finds me as the gentle breezes blow
across the nearby paddocks where the golden wheatheads grow.
I hear the raucous laughter of the cockys overhead
as they drop their stolen gumnuts on the rusting stable shed.

The summer drifts around us in the dying throes of spring;
the weather’s almost perfect as the little songbirds sing.
The gumtrees spread their branches to provide a dappled shade
while I calmly sit and ponder as the day begins to fade.

I think about the joys I’ve had from simple country living;
the people I have met who are so honest and so giving.
I treasure all the freedom lavished on me as a child
when I galloped over open fields, and ran so free and wild.

Within my childhood journeys many memories were sown-
the lazy days of summer had a magic of their own.
We’d raid the laden fruit trees so that Mum could make her jam,
then we’d race across the paddock and go swimming in the dam.

The golden wheatfields glistened underneath the scorching sun,
but soon the paddocks emptied as the harvesting was done.
The cockys came in hundreds as they sought the grains of wheat,
for those little golden kernels were a long awaited treat.

The lonely stands of gumtrees that the farmers seem to leave
still silhouette the glowing sky this peaceful summer eve.
The night sky’s just as pristine as it was so long ago
and the nightbirds still are singing as the silver moonbeams glow.

I wonder why I left my home to travel far away,
to chase the mighty dollar and have fun along the way.
I’ve searched in vain for what I want, and finally I know
I have it all among the fields where golden wheatheads grow.

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What goes around, comes around.

It's so true isn't it? Sometimes we don't appreciate what is right in front of us and it's only when we look back we realise we actually had it all. Just lovely.

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A signature spot is where there ought to be
something profound and inspiring to see
but I’m afraid all that I have to say
is – “sorry the brain isn’t working today”.

G'day Irene

I don't know if I remember reading this one before, but I enjoyed the read.

Regards


John Peel

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John Peel - The Man from Gilmore Creek

Absolutely beautiful Irene. Your poetry is inspirational.

Heather

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Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take,
but by the moments that take our breath away!

I've been trawling through the older postings Irene.
What a lovely poem this is. It just flows and the reader is with you every step of the way.

Regards, Jeff

Its funny but I get the exact opposite feeling about my home area , while there are parts of where I grew up that are still close to me I never really feel "home" when I return there anymore

having said that I do like what you have written Irene

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Campfires, good company and a few beverages under a night sky , it doesnt get any better than that

G'day Irene,

I don't remember this one either. Maybe I can claim 'oldtimers' but John is just a slip of a lad he should remember it.
You have used beautiful analogies and your discriptive passages could be used as lesson material. I say this because you have avoided using the hacknied phrases. Instead you have created your own. There is only one (lazy days of summer) that has crept in. I reckon this is a great effort and I bet you did it without even knowing.

(Don't you hate it when every word, or phrase, you think of seems worn out and just not what you want to say)
I want to say this is a good,( no - lovely, no - nice ...oooh no not just nice! - I give up) Poem.

So I guess I will say I LIKE IT and you should be proud of it.

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Zondrae King
a woman of words

That's great Irene. excellent.

One of the things that I want to achieve in my poems is the rhythm of language. I'm convinced that rhythm and metre are not necessarily the same thing. I think that one can set out the metre precisely and correctly but still get a rather stodgy, plodding line that lacks the rhythm of language.

I think that you have succeeded wonderfully in bringing to your piece the rhythm of language, that's why it lilts along so beautifully. That's what I thinkl

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Neville
Singleton Bush Poets.

That you do Irene and as your little signature line so aptly points out what goes around comes around - for surely life is a circle.

I also don't recollect ever having read this and I surely would remember for the feelings expressed here so beautifully in your words. Lovely lovely poetry Irene and very well crafted. If it only got a HC the others must have been bloody rippers

Cheers

Maureen

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Check out The Scribbly Bark Poets blog site here -
http://scribblybarkpoetry.blogspot.com.au/


To the home of a friend the way is never long
the welcome is always warm and the Billy always on.

I think the key to this poem is that it does not appear forced , some that are what could be described "perfect" in terms of syllable counts , metre etc can appear to be forced , this poem has that intangible thing , almost a fluidity to it, it just flows naturally

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Campfires, good company and a few beverages under a night sky , it doesnt get any better than that