Like me, my paltry poems are based on my paltry life. Vernacular; Australian, LINGUA FRANKLY AUSSIE. GRAB A BIT.
BUNDEMAR and the Bodys. BOONOKE AND OTWAY.
THE BUNDEMAR STUD, aka, MY MAN THE RAM.
City folk, what a joke, wouldn’t know your up ‘em ‘till you coughed.
Who am I, can’t tell a lie, quarter city three thirds country, I dream of the bush do I oft.
Bugger me what an intro, but put your smirks aside and come outback with me.
Let me tell you of the real men of the bush, wooly blokes they are, horny and roamin’ free.
Classic lines escape me now, some more chardonnay; my grammar may sound brand new.
Eagles in my background, THEIR music, not the one’s that soar, and that will please many a wooly ewe.
So see me when I was a little tacker, baggy draws and Blackfriars schooled.
Lovin’ bush stuff, havin’ good times, believe me folks the Merino, well he was the one, he ruled.
We moved from place to place, on my way to the esters I am bound.
I had a galah for a pet, had a shangai and stones, the vast BUNDEMAR property I roamed around.
Then this little wooly lanolin enriched, estrogen bewitched, cloven hoofed bloke entered my bein’
I can see him getting the dock, but retaining his precious cluster, and so his pride will still be liven’.
He was a little wooly bundle, like a puppy really, followed us all around the place.
Me Mum and Dad and I on afternoons, down the creek, along the tracks, I swear I can see his little innocent face.
The little bugger grew, we knew a time would come for us to feel some harrow, give way to his place on earth.
The clue became evident, fall behind, little sounds of quickening hoofs, shunt, on your bum, on his face the look of mirth.
He had a name, God knows what, Dad called him “ratbag”, and he grew and grew, and covered many a Ewe
He became an Aussie wooly bush hero, THE BUNDEMAR STUD, he sold at auction, and he was a record,4500 guineas.
Gives or takes a few.
© john Farley, Boonoke and Bundemar.2008.