ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

THE MUSTER AT PICCANINNY DAWN

Tomorrow we will muster at the piccaninny dawn.
Each one of us had picked our surest steed
ready for our departure long before the sun is up
and Jims grey mare is chosen for the lead.
The mountain slopes are silvered with the last drifts of the snow
and icy water gurgles in the creeks,
snow melt rushes ‘tween boulders that are scattered in creek beds
heading towards the ocean from these peaks……..

We’ve picked up tracks of horses that seem to be heading north.
It looks to be ‘bout twenty head or so.
They are not moving fast, but we think at the last
they‘ll outrun us on mountain slopes below.
Jack has a Kelpie bitch and she is fast as well as smart,
he's cast her round the horses, sent her wide.
This small dog knows her job. Meg can control this mob
and turn them to run down the mountainside.
These brumbies gallop full pelt - dodging pines and jumping creeks
and never once have faltered in their flight.
A Kelpie close behind them, running like a devil dog
is menacing, but keeps them in her sight.
Old Jack’s stockwhip is cracking; echoes ringing through the hills.
He’s turned his mare and let her find her way.
She always was sure footed and has never had a spill.
He jams his old Akubra on to stay.

Another whip crack sounds as Tom on right flank joins the chase.
He swings the lead horse, heading it for home.
The mob is bunched together, with Toms dogs hard at their heels.
A bluey and a mastiff, flecked with foam.
It’s exciting to see wild horses run fast and free
down hills and over gullies to the plains.
Through spruce and mountain pine, traversing traprock and shale,
wind streaming out their flowing tails and manes,
and without hesitation at the destination,
there’s a wing fence to guide tired mare after mate.
They’re exhausted and it's showing, all are steaming all are blowing,
not much further though to reach the paddock gate.
For a while they mill about, with the blue holding the flank
and Meg - stock still just stands there giving eye.
She blocks and holds them steady till they fall under her spell
then trot through that gate as sweet and nice as pie.

The Brumbies of this nation disregard capitulation.
They’re known worldwide for bravery and speed.
Whether in war or peace may their great spirit never cease
to make hearts swell with pride for this wild breed.
And so ended the muster and we're headed back to camp,
each one astride a heavily lathered steed.
The sun above shines bright and the last snow drifts sparkle white
as Jims grey mare heads homeward in the lead

G'day Maureen, while the story line is fine, though perhaps a little similar to some others, I just find the poem hard to read, it just doesn't seem to flow well to me....a week in the desert might not help, I'll have another go tomorrow...

Oh well they do say there is nothing new under the sun Ross This is an old one of mine that I have been reworking but obviously it must still have glitches Have another beer and try again Still no better? Bummer! Tell me which bit so I can try and fix it.

Do hope some of it passes muster