BRUMBY BLOOD

[Maureen K Clifford]

BRUMBY BLOOD … Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBarkPoet


Brumby blood nourishes the soil where their bodies were found
And plainly obvious to see predators have been round,
An unexpected feast for them – great opportunity ….
until the wildflowers bloom again to hide the savagery.


Their carcasses lie on the ground – the light’s gone from their eye
Soft hide now stained by excrement, for old man crow’s been by
and feasted on the bloody wound, and orbs that gave them sight -
after bloodthirsty killers came and shot them in mid-flight.

The killers gave no warning, everything was done with stealth,
No public media got heed …doubtless the Commonwealth
of Australia knew, the halls of power where such things are approved.
Halls where men lose all compassion and by cruelty are unmoved.

The shooters took down seven although doubtless there are more,
some would have travelled quite a way before they hit the floor,
a killing indiscriminate of mare and foal alike
along with the mobs’ stallions – a vicious senseless strike.

Soft ears were lopped for tally – for the piper must be paid
What bounty is a brumby worth? Where is that price displayed?
There’s far less than one hundred now as watchers will attest,
but it hasn’t stopped the slaughter and we all fear for the rest.

They say when just one hundreds left, they’ll do another count.
But if they’ve got the numbers wrong wont that be tantamount
to mismanagement? Of course, it would but they’ll never admit
that they ballsed it up and got it wrong and let it turn to shite.

They bandy words around the room – ‘operational plan’
some call it, but to me that doesn’t justify the man
or woman who complacent sits and lets it all pass by
in the great halls of our government. They act for you and I.

And while the fol de rol goes on as it has done for years,
Those folks who love the brumby herds suffer distress and tears,
They’re all under the pump trying to rehome all they can
A task that’s far from easy given such a tight timespan.

But photographs will document, and media will name
the perpetrators of these deaths and heap on them the shame
of this nation’s ingratitude – horses helped this nation grow.
But seems they’ve outlived their usefulness – so death we now bestow.


Meanwhile predators gather, there’s a feast upon the ground.
Brumby blood nourishes the soil and soon all to be found
will be bleached bones and wisps of hair, a skull no more wild-eyed
as slowly wildflowers bloom again and man’s carnage they’ll hide.