ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

The Brute

I slowly slid my rear end down upon The Brute
the air was tense and silent as the gateman worked the chute.
I wound the bull rope tightly and gripped it from inside
nothing ventured nothing gained this was my final ride.

The night had been a tough one the best riders on display
the points were neck and neck no one could breakaway.
I knew one ride could swing it and I thought I had a chance
I felt a tremble through my body as I readied for the dance.

I tucked my legs in tightly rubbed some rosin on my glove
nodded to the latch man and prayed to God above.
They hit him with the jigger and he went straight on the attack
he launched himself out sideways there could be no turning back.

He was known to be a twister and he pirouetted to the rear
the seconds quickly mounted as I heard the wild crowd cheer.
I felt like I was floating as he hit the ground and spun
then I heard the time bell ringing, that’s when I knew that I had won.

The dismount was not pretty as I landed face first in the dirt
but the adrenal had kicked in and I never felt the hurt.
I held my hat on high then slapped the dust off on my boot
I always will remember the time I rode The Brute.


Bob Pacey (C)

Rosin is the stuff you need Bob to rub upon your glove..... a solid form of resin

Geez when I was looking for a poem about bullriders there were none to be found I like it.

Cheers

Maureen

..I reckon the 'brute' is not the only bull in this story either , 'ay Bob...

Good one mate.

Hey BOB they should have used the jigger on you cause they ain't aloud to be used mate,

bill the old battler