WHO WILL MOURN FOR EWAN JONES? ***, Australian Bush Poetry Options

[Maureen]

WHO WILL MOURN FOR EWAN JONES?
Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet

Old Ewan Jones lives alone on the moors
with Kip his black collie with snowy white paws
their home is a shack beneath the soaring tors.
When he dies, who will mourn Ewan’s passing?

That winter was cold, the snow thick on the ground
the sheep mobbed together in drifts
by low stony walls, seeking shelter of sorts
from the icy winds. Some death stole swift.
Seems time and again Ewan rescued small lambs
that were cast by the snow in their fleece.
‘twas warmth from their dams that had kept them alive.
Ewan prayed for this snowstorm to cease.

Though buried in snow and not easily seen
his dog Kip found their scent with his nose
and stood there and barked till old Ewan caught up
with his shovel – the sheep to disclose.
The workload was heavy and Ewan was old
there was no time to rest or to eat.
Too busy at saving his flock from the cold
he gave no thought to his sodden feet.

With fever one night Ewan shivered and shook
laboured breath rasping deep in his chest.
Kip lay at his feet. Knew his master was crook.
Could do nothing. Against Ewan pressed.
When thin morning light filtered through dirty glass
both the fire and old Ewan were cold.
Kip whimpered and placed a paw on Ewan’s knee
but no morning instructions were told.

No kettle was steaming, no dishes were placed
and no fire warmed the old wooden shack.
Kip went to his master, once more licked his face,
nudged his arm saying – ‘soon I’ll be back.’
Then Kip pushed the window that never would latch
tight and bounded out into the snow.
Streaking like a rocket across snowy hills
and pastures, knowing where he must go.

The farmer heard barking insistent and loud
outside his door. He jumped up to see
the black collie there, agitated, alarmed;
running out and then back – a banshee.
“What’s up Kip, where’s Ewan?” The farmer called out.
“Be a good lad and come here to me”
But Kip yipped and yapped, turning circles, then ran
to the gate displaying urgency.

The message was given its meaning was clear
and he followed the dog through the snow.
He entered the shack where Ewan lay at rest,
peaceful in deaths embrace. His last beau.
The collie lay down beside his master’s chair
with his black head upon his white paws.
A great sigh escaped him as his brown eyes watched.
He was bereft and death was the cause.

Old Ewan Jones lived alone on the moors
with Kip his black collie with snowy white paws
their home was a shack beneath the soaring tors.
When he died, who there mourned Ewan’s passing?


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[Larry]

Hi Maureen,

I find it difficult to give you a decent critique because I don't know the parameters, meter variations or rhyme scheme used in "Australian Bush Poetry". Having read this sad tale of the old sheep herder and faithful canine companion a few times, I'd say the answer to your "title/question" is Kip.

Please let me know what kind of critique you desire and what you want fixed in this rather long piece and I'll try to help in any way I can.

Larry

[Maureen]

Thank you Larry . Australian Bush Poetry isn't hard to get a handle on, it is just poetry with rhyme and meter about Australia and the Australian way of life.

The question Who will? was rhetorical - like many people these days it is often just their pets who really mourn when they pass over. So many people these days are forgotten by society, even in suburbia we hear time and time again of a body being found that has been dead for weeks with no one noticing. Just another statistic on the police files.

There wasn't anything particular I wanted fixed with it - just wondered how others saw it or could see any glaring boo boos that I've missed. It is a bit longer than I usually write but that was the way the story went.

Cheers

Maureen

[Psyche]

Hi Maureen,

A sad tale indeed, but one that repeats itself over and over with our beloved dogs...and cats, as well.

I believe I'm an animist, since I notice that even my indoor plants droop when I'm unable to care for them properly. Then when I water them we commune in silence and they perk up!

My Dad's German Sheperd wouldn't leave the workshed that my Dad had built and spent a lot of his time in.

As to your Australian Bush Poetry, I think it's always interesting, especially as it tells a tale about something. Still, I think you've sent over some with far more regular metre and rhyme, this one is a mix, but I shan't attempt to crit, even in my own humble fashion...LOL...Larry is a great master. I shall be posting one soon... I don't have your courage!

Cheers, Syl***

[Maureen]

I'm with you Syl - our animals often show more loyalty to us than our human companions. My little Elly is my shadow

You are right about this one - I was aiming for a different rhyme scheme with it

Cheers

Maureen