MATESHIP, Australian Bush Poetry Options

[Maureen]

REVISED VERSION


MATESHIP

Two bays - Bewitched, Bedazzled….Witch and Dazza if you must.
A pair of well matched Clydesdales in whom Jack had total trust.
Old Witchy fancied apples and most days she ate a few
but Dazza was a carrot bloke – munched the odd one or two.
They were retired and both old now; by Jack owned many years.
His ergonomic lawn mowers. Hay burners without peers.
They'd done the hard yards in their day and withstood every test,
both held their own at local shows, were lauded as the best.

Bewitched was out of Moonlight Magic sired by Merlin's Son.
Bedazzled had a dad called Barry none recalled his Mum.
They both were bays, with feathers white, both stood at eighteen hands
though Daz was broader through the chest by an extra hand-span.
They’d feet the size of dinner plates, both had temperaments sweet
and mouths as soft as velvet, whiskered muzzles that would greet
Jack every morning, whickering, then search pockets for sugar
Old Jack would say ‘Sod off you pair - you’re bloody greedy buggers.’


Last night a storm had whistled through and up there on the ridge
a huge Ironbark had fallen right across the trestle bridge
that led to upper paddocks where Jack sometimes had to go,
to fetch down sheep and cattle to warmer pastures below.
The road was steep and winding, not a road, hardly a track.
His tractor wouldn’t make it. He’d rely on these two’s backs.
They’d once more wear the traces, heavy collars, metal hames
and he’d be sure to throw in extra ropes and snigging chains.

Eagles were flying when they left, soaring on thermals cold.
A Boggabilla morning with a light frost so 'twas told.
That frost would cause a problem though that fact they couldn’t know
and a friendship beyond price would stand the test - events will show.
They snigged the log and pulled it slow to the side of the track
across ground slick and slippery. On one side it dropped back
into a rocky gully , deep and dark with granite sides
where running water had eroded soil, caused small rock slides.

Old Witchy felt the ground beneath her back hoof start to go
and threw her weight into the trace, her uphill struggle slow.
Old Dazza got the message he was nimbler than she,
he took the strain and held her. Witchy fell onto her knees.
Jack sized the situation up real quick and cut the trace
and let the big log tumble o’er the edge into the race
of water flowing far below – then with a gentle hand
he grabbed old Witchy’s bridle and gave a calm command.

‘Hold hard Dazza. Hold hard’ he cried and he knew Dazza would
they’d a perfect understanding of each other as one should.
Though Dazza’s breath was coming hard his muscles took the strain,
till Jack got Witchy to her feet and on the road again.
A simple act of courage by one horse to save his mate;
she could have took him over – but he did not hesitate.
He never gave a thought to that, just did what must be done
and yet there’s those who still believe that animals are dumb.

Maureen Clifford ©
The Scribbly Bark Poet






MATESHIP

Two bays - Bewitched, Bedazzled….Witch and Dazza if you must.
A pair of well matched Clydesdales in whom Jack had total trust.
Old Witchy fancied apples and most days she ate a few
but Dazza was a carrot bloke – munched the odd one or two.
They were retired and both old now; by Jack owned many years.
His ergonomic lawn mowers. Hay burners without peers.
They'd done the hard yards in their day and withstood every test,
both held their own at local shows, were lauded as the best.

Bewitched was out of Moonlight Magic sired by Merlin's Son.
Bedazzled had a dad called Barry none recalled his Mum.
They were both bays, with feathers white both stood at eighteen hands
though Daz was broader through the chest by an extra hand-span.
They’d feet the size of dinner plates, both had temperaments sweet
and mouths as soft as velvet, whiskered muzzles that would greet
Jack every morning, whickering, then search pockets for sugar
Old Jack would say ‘Sod off you pair - you’re bloody greedy buggers.’


Last night a storm had whistled through and up there on the ridge
a huge Ironbark had fallen right across the trestle bridge
that led to upper pastures where Jack sometimes had to go,
to fetch down sheep and cattle to warmer pastures below.
The road was steep and winding, not a road, hardly a track.
His tractor wouldn’t make it. He’d rely on these two’s backs.
They’d once more wear the traces, heavy collars, metal hames
and he’d be sure to throw in extra ropes and snigging chains.

Eagles were flying when they left, soaring on thermals cold.
A Boggabilla morning with a light frost so 'twas told,
and frost would cause a problem though that fact they couldn’t know
but a friendship beyond price would stand the test as events show.
They snigged the log and pulled it slow to the side of the track
across ground slick and slippery. On one side it dropped back
into a rocky gully , deep and dark with granite sides
where the force of running water had eroded small rock slides.

Old Witchy felt the ground beneath her back hoof start to go
and she threw her weight into the trace her uphill struggle slow.
Old Dazza got the message he was nimbler than she,
he took the strain and held her. Witchy fell onto her knees.
Jack sized the situation up real quick and cut the trace
and let the big log tumble o’er the edge into the race
of water flowing far below – then with a gentle hand
he grabbed old Witchy’s bridle and gave a calm command.

‘Hold hard Dazza. Hold hard’ he cried and he knew Dazza would
they’d a perfect understanding of each other as one should.
Though Dazza’s breath was coming hard his muscles took the strain,
till Jack got Witchy to her feet and on the road again.
A simple act of courage by one horse to his old mate
for she could have took him over – but he did not hesitate.
He never gave a thought to that, just did what must be done
and yet there’s those who still believe that animals are dumb.

Maureen Clifford ©
The Scribbly Bark Poet

http://scribblybarkpoetry.blogspot.com.au/

[Maureen]

thank you Liz for your help and suggestions some of which I have used.

We are a bit short on meadows here in Australia but paddocks are pretty common so used that to eliminate the two pastures in close proximity to each other. Good pick up there thank you, because I had missed it.

A Boggabilla morning.... Boggabilla is one of those blink and you'll miss it towns - it has a small population of around 700, sits on the junction of two main highways, could hardly even be called a town with only a shop and a pub , a police station and motel but it is a rural community just across the Queensland border in NSW only about 12 klm from Goondiwindi. What it lacks in size is made up by the friendliness of the locals, and the beauty of the surrounding area where mornings generally are crisp and clean, with skies so free of pollution their blueness almost hurts your eyes.


One of the best ways to get a feel for an area is not to look at the piccies shown on the tourist web sites but to check out the piccies shown on the local real estate guides.

If you have the time and would like to have a stickybeak here is a link


Boggabilla Real Estate


Cheers

Maureen

[AMETHYST]

Hi Maureen,

Paddocks is perfect. It also adds to the alliteration between pastures, while it also adds a charisma to the visual images the reader receives. I loved the detailed additions of the bays - and the poem is so full of emotion.

The small towns in which you describe are exactly what I have always dreamed to live in - literally, ever since I was child I felt a need or longing, almost a deep seeded dream of a small and under populated country side town. Sometimes I can feel it so deep in me. I will surely check out that link. Thank you for that treasure.

When I get home from work I will reread the edits, but what I have read this far the changes really have enhanced the entire pleasure of the poem. Including adding some further depth to the experience of the reader.

Blessings to you, Liz
PS Thank you for such a wonderful poem!!!