POEMS FOR A LAZY DAY by JIMMY BROOK - HTML preview

THE BIRD ON THE MOUNTAIN

SOMETIMES YOU MAY NEVER NOTICE IT

AND OTHER TIMES IT IS ALWAYS THERE

IT’S PART OF THE MOUNTAIN MAJESTY

THAT PARTICULAR CALL COMING ON THE CRISP AIR

IT WAS DOWN ON THE PATTERSON RIVER

THAT THE LAST TIME I RECALL IT’S SOUND

WE’D STOPPED TO FILL OUR BOTTLES

WHEN THE LILTING CALL WAS FOUND

IT WAS ONLY FAINT AND SHORT THEN

WE SCARCELY GAVE IT A SECOND THOUGHT

BUT AS WE ROUNDED CARRABOLLA’S GRASSY SIDE

IT WAS REPEATED LIKE A PLAINTIFF CRY CUT SHORT

OUR THOUGHTS WERE CAUGHT UP IN THE RAINFOREST

THE BIG LEAVES AND VINES ENTWINING

THE SCURRY OF A SCRUB TURKEY WOULD TURN OUR HEAD

OR THE WAVERING ODOUR OF PERFUMES UNDEFINING

AS WE LAY AROUND THE FIRE THAT NIGHT

WITH THOUGHTS OF THE CLIMB AHEAD

IT CAME SO LOUD AND CLEAR

THAT MINDS STOPPED IN TRACK AND VOICES SHED

WE LABOURED UP THE MOUNT ROYAL RANGE

THE VALLEY MISTS SCARECELY HAD LIFTED

THE BRUSHBOXES AND MOUNTAIN ASHES

WERE MAJESTIC SENTINALS THAT NEVER SHIFTED

IT’S CALL WAS NOW MORE OFTEN

IT’S CLARITY UNHEARD OF IN OUR MEMORIES

WAS IT A SERENADE, A SOLILOQUY OR A SONATA?

IT BLENDED WITH THE LOFTY AIRIES

THE LAWYER VINE CLUNG AND GRABBED US

THE FALLEN LEAVES MUFFLED OUR TREAD

THE GRASS TUSSOCKS AMONG THE TREES

WERE SOFT TO US AS ON LUNCH WE FED

NO CALL CAME TO US AT REPAST

WE WONDERED AND CALCULATED ITS FATE

AND AS CAREYS PEAK LOOMED INTO VIEW

IT SEEMED WE AND THE BUSH HAD LOST A MATE

THAT EVENING ON BARRINGTON’S ALPINE MEADOWS

WE WERE SILENT AND ALL FELT A LOSS

NO TALKING THAT NIGHT AROUND WARM FLAMES

OUR MINDS WERE ELSEWHERE, COLD LIKE MOSS

THE RISING SUN TIPPED THE GUMS WITH GOLD

THEN IN ALL ITS GLORY IT LIT THE LEAVES

AND WITH IT, UPON US LIKE THE WIND

THE MORNING CHORUS ROLLED IN LIKE THE SEAS

IT’S SONG WAS JOY, IT’S SONG WAS A WELCOME

IT LIFTED OUR HEARTS, OUR HAPPINESS GUSHED LIKE A FOUNTAIN

IT WAS A SINGLE SYMPHONY ON TOP OF THE WORLD

IT WAS- IT WAS THE BIRD ON THE MOUNTAIN

Jimmy Brook

[This poem is inspired by visits to the Barrington Tops area north of Sydney. Carrabolla is one of those scrubby peaks that walkers love. Leeches excluded.]

STRAWBERRIES

With time on my hands, and some land out the back I told my dear wife I’d save money to keep in the black We’d always loved strawberries, that wonderful red delight So I would put in some rows, and Mavis would smile at the sight Then soon they were planted, and with straw all around They quickly grew up and it looked really grand Then dismay and despair, the flowers were few And nothing bore fruit that I longed soon to chew I turned to my mate one day at the pub

And asked his advice, he was in the garden club He whispered his secret and home to my plot I did as he told me and dreamed of eating the lot My wife just yelled and began to scream

“You’re supposed to use manure and not flaming whip cream”

Jimmy Brook

THE COCKY

THE COCKATOO IS A NOISY CREATURE

IT SCREETCHES AND EATS LIKE IT’S NEVER BEEN FED

AND NOT CONTENT WITH NUTS AND GRASS SEEDS

EATS THE ROOF AND THE HAIR OFF YOUR HEAD

WHILST OTHER BIRDS MOVE QUICKLY AWAY

LEAVING US LOOKING AT A MASS OF WHITE FOAM

A SOLITARY EAGLE HAS SECOND THOUGHTS

THE PROMISING MEAL JUST TASTES LIKE A STONE

SO THE MORAL OF THIS BIRDS STRANGE EXISTENCE

IS YET TO BE GLEANED AND WONDER

WE WILL FOREVER AND EVER BE NOISELLY ASSAILED

AND JUST WISELY, DUCK FOR COVER.

Jimmy Brook

[A cocky is a larger type bird and the white ones with sulphur crests, congregate together in large numbers. They are noisy and messy, but a pleasure to watch.]

ANGEL OF NATURE

MY GREAT GRANDFATHER HAD LEFT US A FRIGHTENING TALE

AS A STORY FOR US YOUNG CHILDREN, IT WOULD NEVER FAIL

THAT BOYS MY AGE NEVER DOUBTED MUM’S RETELLING

THAT YOU HALF TAKE IN WHILST YOUR BABY BROTHER IS YELLING

I MAY HAVE FORGOTTEN IT NOW, BUT SOMEWHERE THERE WAS A MEMORY

THAT SURFACED IN DREAMS AS I LAY THERE IN MY REVERY

FOR SOME YEARS LATER IT CAME TO ME LOUD AND VERY CLEAR

LIKE A BOLT OF LIGHTENING THAT GIVES YOU A TERRIBLE FEAR

WHILST CRAWLING AIMLESLY ON MT.WARRABY’S WILD SIDE LIKE A GRUB

I STUMBLED INTO A SMALL GULLY AND THERE POKING UP THROUGH THE

SCRUB

WITH BANDED SLENDER TRUNKS AND A CROWN WITH SPRAY LIKE GREEN

GRASS

AND BUNCHES OF FRUIT ALL HANGING AND SHINING LIKE BITS OF YELLOW

BRASS

THERE WERE THREE OR FOUR TALL PALM TREES THE LIKES I HAD NEVER SEEN

THEY STRUCK AWE AND WONDER IN ME, IN THIS WORLD OF OLIVE GREEN

SO LOST IN MY ABSORPTION OF THIS NOVELTY AMONGST THE GUMS

AND WITH THE LITTLE BIRDS DARTING AS THEY SEARCHED FOR BUSH PLUMS

THAT I FAILED AT FIRST TO HEED THE DANGER THAT WAS LURKING CLOSE TO

ME

SO ENGROSED IN THESE ODDITIES, THAT I JUST FAILED TO SEE

A GRUNT SHOOK MY REVERIE ASIDE, AND I TURNED MY FACE WANTING TO

CRY

A BLACK AND ANGRY BOAR WAS ABOUT TO RUSH ME, AND I KNEW THAT I WOULD DIE

A STEP BACK AND A ROOT ENDED, ANY CHANCE OF ESCAPING THE DEMON I SAW

I FELL ON MY BACK AND THAT WILD PIG WOULD SOON HAVE ME IN ITS JAW

DEATH MAY HAVE COME TO ME THEN AND I HAD ONLY MANAGED TWELVE

YEARS

BUT THERE WAS AN ANGEL HOVERING ABOVE, AND IT CAME AS I GUSHED

OUT THE TEARS

A BIG AND OLD DEAD FROND WITH NUTS AGED WITH DECAY

JUST THEN SILENTLY CHOSE THIS TIME, TO LEAVE ITS HOME OF MANY A DAY

AND QUICKLY CLOUTED THE DEVIL INCARNATE AS IT STARTED ON ITS MOVE

I SAW IT ENVELOPE THE BOAR, AND ITS IMPACT WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN

SMOOTH

THIS UNERVED THE ANIMAL AND IT TWISTED SIDEWAYS IN CONFUSUN

WITH DEAD PALM FRONDS COVERING ITS EYES, IT WAS DISRACTED BY THE

BRANCHE’S INTRUSION

TURNING AND THEN BOLTING TO A THICKET AND NOT STOPPING

I JUST LAY THERE SHAKING AND WONDERING, WHAT NEXT LIFE WOULD BRING

PALE AND MUCH OUT OF BREATH, DID OUR VERANDAH I REACH

COLLAPSING INTO THE CHAIR AND CLINGING TO IT LIKE A LEECH

I FLICKED THROUGH THE PAGES OF DADS BIG TREE BOOK SO FAST

AND THERE I FOUND IT, A STATELY TREE JUST BUILT TO LAST

THEY WERE CALLED BANGALOW PALMS AND HERE WAS THEIR SOUTHERN

LINE

WITH AN EXPLODING CANOPY OF GREEN VERDENT WONDER EVER SO FINE

LONG SLENDER TRUNKS WITH BLACK RINGS SO PRECISE

THAT I KNEW THAT THEY WOULD ALWAYS PROTECT ME, FROM DINGOES AND

EVEN MICE

THEY ARE MY HEROES FOR LIFE AND I FEEL SAFE WHEN STANDING UNDER

NATURE IS SOMETHING TO RESPECT AND ALWAYS ABOUNDS WITH WONDER

A GIANT GUARDIAN OF THE FOREST AND OF LUCKY PEOPLE LIKE ME

BANGALOW PALMS ARE MY LIFE AND MY TREE

Jimmy Brook

[Bangalow palms are graceful and stately temperate forest palms that grow quite tall.

Bangalow is a nice town in northern New South Wales, and the palms have grown naturally, over large areas of the state. I did come face to face with a black pig on a solo walk, but it was more frightened of me than I was of him.]

THE LITTLE BLACK DOG

The clouds were a massing, and thunder rumbled a tune Old Jack gathered the washing in, and none too soon The first splats of rain rattled on the tin He stared through the window, and listened to the din It lasted for an hour, or so it seemed

And when it had gone, the earth smelled sweet and all cleaned Then he saw the little black dog, dripping all wet Shivering under the bushes, with wide eyes, starting to fret Jack opened the door, and waited with eyes kindly knit But it just shivered and cowered, and shrank back a bit So it was by need, to go out and offer a hand And finally to lead it inside, to sit on dry land It nuzzled his calloused fingers, and licked on his nail So Jack offered some cold meat, and it wagged its short tail With a fire now lit, and cosy warmth slowly spreading It curled up next to Jack’s feet, and started snoring That was some months ago, and he has never left Jacks side Even down to the local shop, it follows in his stride Its origin is a mystery, but we should never wonder For to seek may find no answers, with this child of the thunder Old Jack smiles at the joy, now in his happy life And thinks that it is some heavenly present, from his late wife

The house resounds to the barking, and to the patter of little feet And each day is a new experience, happily, that both man and his friend meet And when a storm comes a calling, it’s with kind thoughts that both look at the rain

Then nuzzle each other, and realise their life no longer should feel any pain.

The fun time walks are pleasant times, as along the road they jog One purpose filled man, and one equally happy, little black dog Jimmy Brook

OUR DOG

I HAVE TO TELL YOU OF OUR LITTLE DOG

WE SORT OF GOT HIM WHEN DOWN IN THE CITY

HE LATCHED ON TO US AND ENDED UP HOME

A REDDISH PALE COLOUR SO WE CALLED HIM PINKY

THERE WERE HOLES IN THE FRONT YARD AND ALL OVER THE PLACE

AND HIS BONES ENDED UP UNDER OUR BED

BUT MY MISSUS WAS LOVING HIM JUST TO DEATH

AND WOULD YOU KNOW IT, SHE STARTED CALLING HIM RED

HIS BARKING WAS LOUD AND CARRIED AFAR

AND SOON NEXT DOOR COMPLAINED TO NAME A FEW

BUT MY LOVELY WIFE WAS DEAF TO THE WORLD AT LARGE

AND DECIDED HE NOW BE KNOWN AS BLUE

THE POOR DOG WAS NOW GETTING A NAME COMPLEX

AND STARTED HIDING IN THE SHED OR DOWN IN THE CELLAR

BUT THE DAY DOWN THERE HE UPENDED MY DAFFODIL PAINT

I DECIDED HIS NAME FROM NOW ON WOULD BE YELLA WHEN MY COUSIN FREIDA CAME TO VISIT US

AND BROUGHT HER YOUNG DAUGHTER SHE CALLED JACKIE

YOU GUESSED IT, SHE WAS NOT EVEN OUT THE FRONT GATE

AND OUR CANINE NEMISES NOW GOT REFERRED TO AS BLACKIE

NOW OUR POOR CONFUSED LITTLE DOG

WAS MENTALLY CHALLENGED JUST SO YOU SHOULD KNOW

SO I TOOK A LOOK IN THE KIDS FAIRY TALE BOOK

AND SOLVED IT ALL BY CALLING HIM RAINBOW

Jimmy Brook

BOMBAY BERTHA

Now if you have a kindness for an animal or two I can relate to you the good info on a person of standing She lived at the edge of town, just go left at the big grey gum And across the dry creek bed the old track keeps meandering The farm is a mess with sheds hardly upright And the smell tantalises your breath when you stop moving The noise is a cacophony of grunts and high shrieks One treads most carefully, or the droppings start clinging A donkey nuzzles your back, obviously with food on its mind And chooks and ducks start squawking and mill about your feet Pigs set up a grunting that would drown out the town band Whilst next to the duck pond it’s finally Bertha you do meet A woman weathered dark to make you look twice She came from India, so Bombay came to people’s lips The shadow of a man who seemed to trail behind One day got kicked out, and left for overseas on one of the big ships She replaced him with more furry and feathered friends Not counting the cockatoos and lorikeets that ate her avian delight

When offered a black tea in the kitchen you share a seat with white mice If they haven’t been eaten by a mangy cat in a one sided fight Once I asked for milk and was told to look in the freezer Saw a couple of cold rabbits who didn’t look too good So I passed on this option and stayed with just tea And made my excuses as a carpet snake came out of the firewood My feet squished and squashed and were covered by runny khaki And no amount of cleaning seemed to do the trick I now just wave and move quickly along, the thought of drinking black tea makes me a bit sick

So now I live on the South Coast and go beach fishing and like being a wind surfer

But thoughts sometimes return of my life in that town Like turning left at the big grey gum and coming face to face with Bombay Bertha

Jimmy Brook

A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE

A GROUP OF FRIENDS SAILED FORTH ONE DAY,

FACING THE UNKNOWN AND WITH LOADS OF LUGGAGE FOR THE TRIP

WITH CAMERAS READY AND WALLETS BULGING

THEY BRAVED THE SWELL AND THE WINDS THAT HAD QUITE A NIP

THE SHIP MAYBE A BOAT AND THE BOAT MAYBE A SHIP, SOME COULD NOT AGREE

IT DID NOT MATTER TO ANY AS LONG AS THEY RELAXED

WITH AN ICED BEER OR TEA

THE WAVES WERE HIGH, THE VESSEL PITCHED AND ROLLED

MILFORD SOUND WAS JUST TOO ELUSIVE FOR THE LIKES OF US

SOON THE SLOPING HILLS OF PORT CHALMERS GRACED OUR EYES

WE ALL WERE EAGER TO SLIP ASHORE AND GET INTO THAT BUS

SOME RODE THE TAIREI TRAIN AND OTHERS WANDERED

AS LOCALS SMILED AND TRIED TO IMPRESS

THE SHOPS WERE SCOURED AND THERE WAS TALK OF THE WEATHER

THE WORRIES OF WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE, BECOMING LESS

THE DELIGHT TO MANY WAS THE NESTLING VILLAGE OF AKAROA WITH QUAINT SHOPS AND BUILDINGS, IT WAS A MIND BENDER

THE FOOD WITH ITS FRENCH INFLUENCE AND THE TRIM PAINTED HOUSES

HELPED TO LESSEN THE BUMPY RIDE ON THE SHIPS TENDER

THEN ON TO PLACES, JUST SO MANY TO EXPLORE

MOUNTAINS TO CLIMB OR TOWERS TO GAZE FROM IN WONDER

THE MAORI CULTURE WAS ABSORBING AND NOURISHEMNT TO THE MIND

AND AS ALWAYS THE FOOD ON BOARD WOULD TEAR OUR DIETS ASUNDER

ENTERTAINMENT WAS NEVER LACKING

WITH BINGO AND FINE WINE JUST AN ADDED SIDE LINE

THE WAVES ON THE WAY BACK COULD NOT DENY US OUR FUN

WITH THE STRAINS OF GYPSY MUSIC SOUNDING JUST FINE

THEN SOON SYDNEY APPEARED JUST ON SUNRISE

THE TRIP ALMOST OVER, A LITTLE SADNESS WOULD BRIEFLY CROSS THE MIND

BUT THE GOOD MEMORIES WOULD STAY MUCH LONGER

SOME PRINTED FOR YOU AT THIRTY NINE DOLLARS NINTEY NINE!

THE RIDE BACK TO OUR HOUSES WAS SILENT COMPARED TO THE JOURNEYS

OF DAYS AGO

EXPERIENCES WOULD NOT BE FORGOTTEN OR THE TIMES SO ENJOYED, FADE

AWAY.

WE TRAVELLERS WILL STOP AND GRIN AT A MEMORY PASSING BY

THEN CONTINUE ON OUR WAY, HANGING ON, AS THE BODY STILL WANTS TO

SWAY.

Jimmy Brook

[Port Chalmers, Tairei and Akoroa are towns in New Zealand.]

A BUSH MORNING

The time between worlds of dark and light is gone but in an instant It is the natural division of old and new ever repeating The sapphires that hang in the sky know they will fade Their part done in nights and days inevitable meeting.

The first faint splashes of eastern sky start to show pink And a nocturnal world no longer reigns in shadowy solitude The early feathered chords quickly erupt to chase the last stars away And a picaninny dawn announces this morning’s mood.

Shafts of sunlight begin parting the early mist And shadowy shapes evolve into gums of ancient years A furtive wallaby moves between the ferns in a cautious motion Sampling the grass shoots and testing the air to allay its fears.

Too early for cold blooded life forms to yet show their face A hurrying possum moves quickly to its daylight hole The earthy smell of a new day is upon the freshened air And magpies swoop and feed and then to the world air their soul.

The light mist that hung above the eerie and mysterious swamp Is now but all lifted and a warmth invades the flats and creek beds Giving a new day its majesty and Right to Rule An endless cycle of renewing upon the land now quietly treads.

White cockatoos screech from limb to limb

And encourage white spidery flannel flowers to open to the new light Purple bush irises rise up to meet the sun And a hopping mouse knows that shelter is now to avoid a deadly bite.

With the speed of a winters storm approach The day is already warm with purpose and believing That constant cycle of a new time is all around the earth Soon to be absorbed itself by the day and then the coolness of evening

But none would have it any other way or in any other form Millennia has set the pattern that life is attached to sunlight’s rays Colours of every hue abound even if not discerned by all And a bush morning gives life for the ever returning days.

Jimmy Brook

CHARLIE THE HANDY MAN

Charlie was an odd one, he just turned up one week Short of money and long on stubble, and willing to earn his keep The boss eyed him over and would have sent him on his way But a good lunch and a better wool price had decided to let him stay Charlie was slow, with each job eyed over with a long stare Every project was pondered and measured taking great care The sheds were swept and the glass fixed, in windows broken Weeds were removed and sadly many vegetables also went to heaven The fallen leaves were gathered in piles and soon scattered by breezes so quick The boss’s missus just smiled and gave her hubby a feminine wink Smokos were many and taken at any time around the corner The reality of any serious progress was becoming most annoying to the owner As weeks rolled on, Charlie’s expertise was sorely tested The boss was losing patience and his dislike of Charlie, festered When propping up a shaky hen house with wire and wooden pegs There was a creak a groan and behold, flat chooks and flatter eggs Waving a cane and shouting unpleasant things about Charlie’s fate He chased the disgraced handyman around the front yard and out the gate Seeing the last of that rascal was a focus in the boss’s mind But fate looked for a plan, and one it did find

The years rolled on and the manager’s working life was now spent So retired to a nice place in town where he was well off and content One clear and quiet day, the manager’s wife answered a knock at the door An itinerant and shabby person she knew, looking hungry and poor She had a soft streak and offered him a small job Fixing the letter box and painting it for a few bob An hour later Charlie knocked again and she smiled with a tear And said he could do some more painting around in the rear The porch and foundations around there sorely needed a coat And he would find the implements nearby with a tin of creosote As shadows were lengthening, Charlie appeared at the front door

“Finished” he uttered and she passed him a tenner, then a little more The spouse just hovered behind, wishing the man would fly And the diminishing rear view was a delight to his good eye Then Charlie yelled that even he could see it was no porch

“It was a Volvo and I don’t even need a torch.”

Jimmy Brook

[Chooks are egg laying chickens]

THE MAN BEHIND THE BLADE

He joined the fight to save a nation

And soon was flying across mountains and deep blue sea From the wide brown land smelling of eucalyptus To a tropical place with strange fruits hanging from the tree At first it was just with metal banjos that they started levelling the land Then later he had his big machine with noises that went clunk click Together they moved mountains and filled the slimy swamps Laying Marston mats so planes could refuel and not sink The planes they came in numbers small but always returned up to the skies

Refuelled by willing hands to stem the enemy tide Often the bombs would wreck their busy work But it didn’t stop them, they were on the winning side It was a thankless task these dedicated men performed Each day was full of challenges and sweat and heat That big bulldozer never rested in its toil Even though he and his mates looked weary and beat There was no time for a rest, a nation was waiting in hope A beer or just a quick swim to break that gruelling day If it wasn’t bombs or bullets there was that dreaded mozzie To take its toll on young men’s health whatever may That monster machine was his friend despite the noise and smell Clearing air strips from dense and impenetrable jungle green Just so they could stem the tide of fear and menace Day in and day out, combating an enemy that was rarely ever seen But they were winning if ever so slow and costly He knew the end would come some lucky day in time His family at home he needed to hold and cry with Even a son he had never ever seen, these visions were so prime Dodging enemy bullets from a plane would soon bring this closer A shattered palm tree took one life and nearly claimed his nuggetty frame It was a vision of a wife and two children that kept his spirit going Through swirling mists and uncertainty, his body was not to be nature’s claim His vision was fulfilled but it took many torturous months of doubt Often dreaming of that big machine with its steel blade so strong He sits with arms cradling his loves so precious and dear And smiles when he hears that diesel roar in his mind like a song The gift he gave his eldest has pride and place in all their lives A little yellow toy bulldozer for sons and wife that would never fade They were times of anguish and yet of pride and achievement He was proud that he was the man behind the blade.

Jimmy Brook

[Metal banjos are spades and shovels. The man was my father]

MY FEATHERED FRIEND

This piece of my life is probably something new It’s about that time that was awkward and never told Winning it in a chook raffle should have been my clue But I’ll just leave the philosophy and let it unfold Assurances it was an ostrich egg are well and fine Particularly as I was light headed, and singing carol after carol I put it in the laundry hamper, its shell seemed so fine And forgot it for a week until I needed some apparel My motherly instinct jumped in and warmth was my appraisal The microwave was what caught my loving eye No settings for emu or ostrich appeared on the label So lamb casserole for 15 seemed worth a try I had a girl friend who ironed my undies, why I’ll be dammed I was in the midst of such a job on my nice clothes When such a large explosion shook the iron from my hand And then pain as the appliance came down and hit my bare toes I took a cautious look whilst the smoke filled the kitchen One could see bits of my oven everywhere

Where once was my egg now stood a big chicken It was squawking and flapping its singed and blackened derriere I realised that casserole was too long, and that rang alarms But no time for other quaint musings that came to mind The newly hatched jumped out and into my arms Motherly instinct came again, it was a marriage of bird and mankind However something nagged in my brain in a few weeks or so I should have taken action and some measures

It was eating me out of house and home and did it grow At least four feet now and a mass of motley feathers My new girl friend soon became my ex girlfriend And enquiries about ostriches yielded nothing to see But it did keep snails away, and females it seemed to offend For now it was taller by a foot than me

I christened it Lenny, no idea of its sex

It drunk the toilet dry if I didn’t keep down the seat There were strong thoughts by me that this was going to be complex And maybe this was no ostrich, that raffle bloke was a cheat No need to keep the side gate locked

Lenny just leaned over and opened the top latch It took to strolling along and the shoppers it shocked And believe me it wasn’t easy to catch

I kept applying band aids to its bony head At eight foot high it ducked through doors with style The carpet was now sparse mohair with hardly a thread As its big claws dug for worms in my nice brown shagpile A visit to the beach was not undertaken with ease Without the skylight in my car’s roof, it was just not on No problem with the bathers, they left like it was an attack of bees And in the rough surf Lenny was clearly no swan Now sleeping was not up for discussion

Lenny had my waterbed, now covered with straw I banged my head against the wall and got a nasty concussion The lounge was where I retired now, to sleep and to snore One day whilst he was browsing, on my Lily of the Nile Digging up worms, rose bushes and the letter box He watched a horse go trotting past in very fine style And in a bound was he also trotting down the road on gangly forelocks The time was coming and he needed a better friend to follow Lenny had to have a proper place and food to mooch on

And I needed to get off that blinkin’ lounge pronto So I racked my brain and came up with a suitable solution I rang the Nowra Zoo and explained my bother The young fellow said they would like to have him real quick Would he be lonely I asked, and was told they would find another It was boost for me, as I thought I was thick We agreed and a deal was set

Lenny now looks after the animals like old Noah I see him regularly and always start to fret But I know that he is happy, Lenny my old pet Moa Jimmy Brook

THE UNKNOWN

The sun burned down from a cloudless sky

I still felt resentment but didn’t know why My parents said summer camp was going to be A place of exploration and most suitable for me I’d rather be on Bondi Beach watching a wave curl Or lounging with my mates watching a pretty girl Now my tutor was being a pain and needed a push Telling me to find a corner and put down thoughts of the bush What did I know, street wise and city bred Nothing was sure to manifest to me, I’d rather be in bed I walked in a haze and flopped under some tree And knew a blank sheet was all he would see Big ants became a nuisance as they walked over my shoe Carrying leaves and sustenance obviously they must chew

I cursed the whistling birds who hovered above And knew there would be no peace, and from me, no love An annoying lizard came by ready to bite

Distracting my thoughts and I was ready for a fight Even the view across the creek was mundane A confusion of colours and hues that just looked so plain I miss my skateboard and my eyes just see bush and trees Somewhere cows are noisy and that drone is probably stingy bees I sauntered back with a bored mind and just wanted to shout There were no thoughts or ideas or feelings, to write about A butterfly circled and landed on my arm, to rest It had a strange symmetry of beauty, and nothing to say I’m a pest I shut my eyes and other things flickered in my mind The sound of a crow cawing was not a bad thing , just it being kind Then it just fell into place, present all the time, those snippets of life The smells and sounds and sights, that cut my ignorance like a knife A revelation of brain senses poured out on to my sheet The fingers cramped from writing and sent tingles down to my feet My tutor just smiled as the pages he read

A new way to see life, with nothing to dread I might come back another time maybe next year But with a new appreciation of the bush, just taking it in and no fear Jimmy Brook

TRILOGY OF A PLATEAU

THIS LAND ABOUT US, HAS SURVIVED FOR UNCOUNTED AGES

THOSE WHO LIVE HERE HAVE NO NEED FOR KNOWING DAYS

WHERE A WARRIOR MAY WALK AND HUNT FOR EVER

AND THE MAJESTIC SANDSTONE CLIFFS GLOW WITH AFTERNOON BLAZE

FROM GULLIES AND SMALL GORGES THE EARTH WAS BOUNTIFUL

THE SONG OF BIRDS AND THE SOUNDS OF WATER FALLING

FOR SOLACE HERE FROM THE HEAT OF DAY OR THE HUNTING LIFE

THIS IS WHERE THE RAINBOW SERPENT RESTED IN HIS UNIVERSE

MAKING

THIS GULLY WHICH IS MAJESTIC BEYOND THE OTHERS NEAR AND FAR

PROVIDES THE SAFTEY FOR LIFE TO FLOURISH AND GROW

WHILST THE PLATEAU ABOVE MAY GIVE FOOD FOR MEN TO HUNT

THIS PLACE WILL ENDURE, AND ALL THE TRIBE WILL KNOW

THE FIRE THAT SWEEPS ACROSS THE VALLEY AND UP

CAN BE NO MATCH FOR THE SANCTUARY OF THE SPIRIT’S LAIR

TO WHICH THE TRIBE MAY FIND THE SAFTEY AND PEACE IT WANTS

AND FEEL THAT LIFE WILL BE ETERNAL OR FORCE THEM TO SHARE

HOW CAN THEY FATHOM THAT OTHERS WILL COME AND TAKE

IS IT NOT BORN FROM THE SERPENTS TRACK?

THERE WILL BE NO CONCEPTION THAT CHANGE WILL COME

BUT NOTHING REMAINS THE SAME AND WE CANNOT GO BACK

THE CLOCK HAS SPED FOREWARD TO NINETEEN O SEVEN

AND THE TRIBE HAS LONG VANISHED, SWALLOWED BY TIME

MAN CLEARS FOR CATTLE AND DIGS THE EARTH FOR ROCK

THE GORGE IS NOW TUNNELED AS THOUGH IT’S NO CRIME

THE SERENITY AND PEACE HAS ALMOST GONE

JUST A FEW GIANT TREE FERNS THAT DIDN’T HINDER THE TRACK

CLANKING AND STEAM REBOUND AS STEEL MONSTERS

SCREETCH THROUGH THE ROCK

BUT NO ANIMALS OR THE HUMANS THAT NEEDED THEM, JUST

SANDSTONE TURNING BLACK

FROM THE VALLEY BELOW THE TRAINS TAKE WITH THEM THE SHALE

STRUGGLING WITH THEIR LOADS UP THROUGH THE CREEK BED

TO DISAPPEAR INTO THE TUNNEL SWATHED IN STEAM AND SOOT

TO REACH THE PLATEAU ABOVE AND WHERE INDUSTRY IS FED

NOW PEACE REIGNS HERE WHERE THE CLIFFLINE IS BROKEN

AND THE CREEK TUMBLES OUT BETWEEN FERNS WHERE MAN HAD

LABOURED TO ALTER

THE TUNNEL REMAINS AND A FEW TWISTED RAILS BUT NEVER THE TRIBE

AND HIGH UP ON THE WALLS PIN POINTS OF LIGHT NEVER SEEM TO

FALTER

MAN HAS BEEN AND LEFT AND HISTORY REPEATS THIS PROGRESSION

NOW HUMANITY IS BACK BUT ONLY TO WONDER AND MARVEL

TO TAKE IN THE PAST AND GAZE AND THEN FEEL THE PRESENT

AND TO LET THE GORGE CONTINUE IN IT’S SURVIVAL

Jimmy Brook

[The old town of Newnes in the wild mountains west of Sydney, inspired this poem. Once a thriving shale oil town, now the remains are being covered by the bush. Steep grades and little tunnels helped the trains take out their hard won bounty.]

AS IT WAS

The sun shone hotly on most of the land

And Drury’s place was no exception

It withered the plants and faded the wash

And a hard working farmer had doubts about his selection They were about five mile or so from the end of town His wife took the sulky in each week to sell her crop There was young Adam, ginger hair like his dad and eight summers old A joy to lessen the pain at the timber he would chop The lamb was a gift from the ironmonger in town The family accepted the pet as it set Adam aglow

The bleating wore their nerves thin but the boy’s heart was captured And nowhere did the young one move without it in tow Drury knew that a day would come and it would break the boy’s heart They would need money to heal a lame horse and fix a falling fence Still that could be staved off for another month or two And life continued on as it was, he would just have to use common sense This particular day young Adam walked further than he was allowed With his woolly companion never far from his sight When an old wombat burrow collapsed under the boy’s weight And hitting his head the boy was out like a light Young Clippy, for that was his name, stood and bleated a lot But no response from his young master as the boy lay all quiet Then by some thought that none could ever explain Clippy trotted back home, grabbed Adams mum’s dress and began to bite At first she was annoyed but quickly took to mind That her son was not present and annoyance turned to fear When she shouted Adam’s name, the young woolly pet turned tail and left She just dropped carrots and peeler and followed it with a growing tear The young lamb arrived at the collapsed hole and a sobbing mother cradled her son

There seemed no injury and he was stirring an eye She carried him home and sat on the veranda just as her husband returned Anxiety and relief blended into one, and she started to cry Adam seemed none the worse for his bang on the head And they would see the doctor in town the next morn As for Clippy, no more was he an outcast or taken for granted They would find other ways to mend the old farm, perhaps he could be shorn It may sound like just a small story

And perhaps never really true

But outside there is this big merino ram

And I should know, ‘cause my friends call me Blue Jimmy Brook

GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

I stand on a forgotten corner, in a town where misty eyes can’t see far And wait for a vehicle or two to pass, before heading across the tar This side is a little supermarket, keeping company with a trinket place, for luck With smells and sounds to mix it up from every passing truck The scurry of humanity all bent in following a desire Seems thinner compared to our big cities, but it burns with the same inner fire No longer the warmness that as a youth, I always took for granted Just a detached cordiality, a nod, with heads always downward slanted Besides a clothes emporium, with music giving loud abuse And garments I wouldn’t be seen dead in, for just plain lack of practical use There was a small space of green, a seat and a wilted lonely petal I sat myself down and breathed a sigh, and let my weary life settle When youth was my real world, and everywhere were the caves of Aladdin A little Chinaman lived in this space with mysteries in dark corners, hidden The shop was small but in it was a world, of fancies and delight Things unknown from the Orient, and in jars, things to give me such a fright My mum would shake her finger and threatened me with chores ever more If ever I set foot here again, or even thought of lingering at the door But I did not falter to relish the mysteries, though my visits were always quick Tempted by a free Bulls Eye, and the promise of a new learned trick It blew down in a gale they said, but I had long left this old town A space now too small to profit by, the council just let it lay bare and brown I sat here now and reflected, on how all around had so ended Looking across at a big confused shop, that was so gaudily painted The shop never seemed to settle long, or be an anchor for the residents A coat of paint and crazy signs, and items that made no sense

But I had known its life before, when cloth and flour were such commodities For my grandmother worked so hard here, with a passion and little thought of monies

I swept the floor and raked up the sawdust, but no one was ever offended People came from miles around their credit always over extended But grandmother showed no incline to bring, this to their attention Just gave a nod and talked to them, and usually only the weather got a mention

We sold the fuel in big square tins, of which I shouldn’t touch Around the back and out of sight, the rules were not followed much You grew with the years and made many friends, by loading up their boxes Or polishing up their new bought rifles, to clear out all those foxes I mused on the fun days, when we would go in the open top car We’d drive amongst the olive hills, to talk to shearers at the homestead called Manar

To fix their cuts and broken bones for naught at our little first aid centre They’d pay up front just two and six, even if they had been on a bender The shop sold eucalyptus oil, renown to fix all ills Gran and I would visit the tree cutters, and siphon it direct from the stills And when came the dusk, a time that I felt really bold and brave I chased an old wombat into its den, which could have been my grave My mum blew up when I finally told her, of my dangerous lark I never forgot that wooden spoon she wielded, with skill, and being banished to the wood heap to after dark

We changed the shop window display, so to suit each special season Now, it just seems to be a mixture, without any rhyme or reason Gran still rode a trap which old Bert would come and hitch Pulled by a hack called Banjo, that got swapped in a funny business switch We would parade and scare cyclists, and motorists would dive this way and that

But out on the river road she would let it have its head, and we’d get to Bombay Crossing in no time flat

A swim and a ham sandwich was heaven to all else Banjo chewed on lack luster grasses, and Gran tasted slowly from a bottle under the front shelf

I’d float down the river, and believe I was a pirate so bold Then come to a sudden halt on rocks and lay until I got cold Bert found her one frosty morning; with Banjo, she fell beside his straw My world collapsed when mum told me, and I knew I could not be here anymore

The town seemed to have a double life, and whilst comfort came from just being here

There also seemed that you had brick walls spring up, and every building exuded fear

Today I’m back to face those fears, and find they have mellowed, perhaps never were

The memories come flowing back and twist and turn, some to stick like an old man burr

One last look at the gaudy shop, but that’s just old paint to brighten What lays beneath is far more important, a life gone, but not forgotten.

Jimmy Brook

[Set in the Braidwood area of NSW and is a portrait of my grandmother who was born and grew up there. Manar is a local sheep grazing property]

AND ON TO GREENWELL POINT

It was billed as historical and sounded very tame, And to not support our Laurie would seem such a shame.

With drifting rain there was no option,

We drove down muddy lanes and disappeared in black gumption.

No nice and tidy paths for us or bushland tracks to float on, We ploughed through dairy farms and ankle deep in cow dung We saw canals to rival Suez and told of trees for 'her' and for 'you', And no mower from our trusty leader, to clear the long kikuyu.

As if we could now of this trip, just make some sense, He had not told us of the last great hurdle, the electric fence.

We yelled and danced as we frizzled and sparked, And we all swore vengeance back at the cars where we parked.

So next time, Laurie, keep your tea flask under lock and key, We all now carry Epsom Salts and just wait for that opportunity.

Jimmy Brook

[Greenwell Point is a seaside village near Nowra, and the place to go to get fish and chips for lunch. Laurie was our intrepid leader that day.]

NELLIE THE MILKER

Nellie was unusual, a life on the dairy farm could not be all there is For she could read and none of the others had even the desire Like a piece of junk mail blown in from the busy highway Entrancing her with all these bargains from Allens she could never aquire.

The reason was further unified deep into her mind Like the colour of her hide on both sides and down the back Whilst all the milkers were black and white you see Our intellectual Nellie knew she was definitely white and black.

The one thing that did escape her was to converse with the hands Or especially the children who came to the gate Moaning or a deep bellow was ever she could muster If only Bessie could talk to them before it’s too late.

One day whilst munching on bland paspalum over near the fence She found broken wires and rashly decided to take a great chance The creek was refreshing and the grasses tasted better Whilst ruminating , a sound made her take a quiet stance.

With four plodding feet and greenery brushed easily aside She confronted a strange mixture of metal and man A quad bike she knew but with wheels on the top And never before had the farmer drove it lying on the ground.

No yelling of obscenities just groans like a sick sheep Nellie stood for a while as her thoughts went into a spin It took a few minutes but a shiver of reason sent a twitch to her tail She knew that this was not normal and doing nothing was a sin.

The vehicle rocked as the hairy hide pushed But the mechanics escaped her and she developed a frown Then trotting back home she stopped at the gate And soon spied the manager going to town.

Bellowing and prancing she got his attention Then galloped back to the scene at a most undignified pace Curiosity niggled the man and he followed in the truck Then Nellie saw him move more quickly and noted the horror on his face.

No longer dreary paspalum or that tough kikuyu Bessie eats wonderful green delights every day of the week Always milked first and never to wait her turn in line She feels like a dairy queen and no longer life seems bleak.

Still waiting that vision from heaven above There is still hope of reading the paper or chatting to the boss But any life is better when you have some special gift And not to use it to help someone would be a terrible loss.

Jimmy Brook

[Allens was a local department store known for it’s famous ‘specials’]

SPARKS

EMBERS ARE STIRRED ON A COLD FROSTY MORN

THE ASHES ARE FAINTLY GLOWING AND JUST STILL WARM

KINDLING IS GATHERED FROM UNDER THE TARPAULIN

AND CAREFULLY ADDED TO ENCOURAGE A BILLY TO BE BOILIN’

AND THE FIRST FLICKER OF A FLAME SO TINY YET

WINKS AT THE AWAKENING WORLD IT NOW HAS MET

SOON A SMOLDER IS CAUGHT BY THE EYE

AND SMOKE STARTS TO CURL UPFLOATING GRACEFULLY TO THE SKY

A STIRING OF THE WOOD AND MORE FUEL IS QUICKLY PLACED

GIVES US THOSE SPARKS WE HOPE FOR AND ITS TRIALS ARE NOT LOST IN THE

HASTE

SPARKS. THE TEST OF A NEW LIFE AS WE SEEK A NEW WORLD

SPARKS. THEY SHOOT UPWARDS TURNED BY THE EDDIES AND WHIRLED

Jimmy Brook

FOR THEE

I have been guided along informally

I have arrived at my sanctuary

I am at home to me

I have welcomed in thee

I have given and I have taken

I have felt my energy and been shaken

I am at peace there is no more

I have my sanctuary on any shore

Jimmy Brook