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COLSONS PRIDE
Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet
I was a leader – swift and fleet with my own herd around my feet
I fought and won to keep my mares oblivious to envious stares
from younger stallions who might try to steal them at days first light
my voice would make the mountains ring – their challenge answered – echoing.
But that was then and this is now and change has come about somehow.
We found ourselves so harshly driven and lost the freedom we were given -
freedom that Governments rescind. We can no longer chase the wind
across the mountain slopes again, our lives have changed. I’ve felt its pain.
But I’m the lucky one – I live. I share a bond with those who give
me care and who nurture my pride which they know is still there inside
and when sometimes they see me stare across the paddocks they know where
my heart has gone for just a while, they sympathize and gently smile.
My presence one cannot ignore though I be stallion no more
I still command pride and respect. If given it I’ll not reject
the hand of friendship that you proffer and in return I’ll gladly offer
my fealty to you to keep and we will forge a friendship deep.
I fought and won to keep my mares oblivious to envious stares
from younger stallions who might try to steal them at days first light
my voice would make the mountains ring – their challenge answered – echoing.
But that was then and this is now and change has come about somehow.
We found ourselves so harshly driven and lost the freedom we were given -
freedom that Governments rescind. We can no longer chase the wind
across the mountain slopes again, our lives have changed. I’ve felt its pain.
But I’m the lucky one – I live. I share a bond with those who give
me care and who nurture my pride which they know is still there inside
and when sometimes they see me stare across the paddocks they know where
my heart has gone for just a while, they sympathize and gently smile.
My presence one cannot ignore though I be stallion no more
I still command pride and respect. If given it I’ll not reject
the hand of friendship that you proffer and in return I’ll gladly offer
my fealty to you to keep and we will forge a friendship deep.
The Brumby and the Boy
Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet
He was only a young bloke a tiny wee scrap
and his horse was much bigger than him
but they had a rapport which was quite plain to see
when together - just like Huck and Finn
The horse was a brumby, a fine looking mare
a chestnut with gleaming red hide.
The little bloke’s hat was just a shade too big
but his ears kept it clear of his eyes.
They didn’t need words to express how they felt
they shared every hour of their days,
the little bloke holding onto the lead rope
and the chestnut mare content to graze.
Sometimes in reflection they both sat and stared
at the distant horizon and hills.
She dreamt of the freedom of running the range
and he dreamt of a fast ride and thrills.
He wasn’t quite big enough yet his Dad said
to take Adelong for a ride
but soon he’d be five and then Dad had promised
that he could mount up, sit astride.
She hadn’t been broken to saddle as yet
but they’d both learn together you see.
He’d learn how to guide her and coax her along
and she’d learn she was no longer free.
And yet she was lucky – a small price to pay
for she’d only find gentleness here.
No more would she run from the choppers bright blades,
no more would her heart pound with fear.
For here she was valued – no feral pest this
but a cobber, a friend and a mate
though sometimes a hint of sadness crossed her eye
as she gazed at far hills from the gate.
Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet
He was only a young bloke a tiny wee scrap
and his horse was much bigger than him
but they had a rapport which was quite plain to see
when together - just like Huck and Finn
The horse was a brumby, a fine looking mare
a chestnut with gleaming red hide.
The little bloke’s hat was just a shade too big
but his ears kept it clear of his eyes.
They didn’t need words to express how they felt
they shared every hour of their days,
the little bloke holding onto the lead rope
and the chestnut mare content to graze.
Sometimes in reflection they both sat and stared
at the distant horizon and hills.
She dreamt of the freedom of running the range
and he dreamt of a fast ride and thrills.
He wasn’t quite big enough yet his Dad said
to take Adelong for a ride
but soon he’d be five and then Dad had promised
that he could mount up, sit astride.
She hadn’t been broken to saddle as yet
but they’d both learn together you see.
He’d learn how to guide her and coax her along
and she’d learn she was no longer free.
And yet she was lucky – a small price to pay
for she’d only find gentleness here.
No more would she run from the choppers bright blades,
no more would her heart pound with fear.
For here she was valued – no feral pest this
but a cobber, a friend and a mate
though sometimes a hint of sadness crossed her eye
as she gazed at far hills from the gate.
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Do You See ME?
By Lynette Sutton
Do your eyes see the battle scars that lay inside my past?
Do you recall the men and boys who battled to the last?
Do you see me in harness– ploughing, harrowing a track?
Do you see little children, laughing, riding on my back
Do you see golden wheat fields that my great strength helped to grow or country schoolrooms full of kids we carried to and fro?
Do you see precious letters delivered from near and far?
We brought those too in wind and rain beneath our southern stars.
They set us free as gratitude for deeds so bold and true
We were the beast who carried you through history and new
We served you well and now you’re done, you say we have to go.
So what fate now awaits us? Do you really want to know?
To spend our final days in fields close by you would be great
a place to run or graze alongside our old lifelong mate.
Not chased by choppers with a rifleman sitting above.
Is this what we are destined for? An ending without love.
The saleyard has so many horses lined up in a row
and few will see the end of day or get a chance to grow.
The world now lacks compassion – to the slaughterhouse we’re sent
yet we are the beast of burden whose broad willing backs bent.
We helped to make your country; we helped to make your home
and worked for very little. Is this how you atone?
Do you see through my eyes?
By Lynette Sutton
Do your eyes see the battle scars that lay inside my past?
Do you recall the men and boys who battled to the last?
Do you see me in harness– ploughing, harrowing a track?
Do you see little children, laughing, riding on my back
Do you see golden wheat fields that my great strength helped to grow or country schoolrooms full of kids we carried to and fro?
Do you see precious letters delivered from near and far?
We brought those too in wind and rain beneath our southern stars.
They set us free as gratitude for deeds so bold and true
We were the beast who carried you through history and new
We served you well and now you’re done, you say we have to go.
So what fate now awaits us? Do you really want to know?
To spend our final days in fields close by you would be great
a place to run or graze alongside our old lifelong mate.
Not chased by choppers with a rifleman sitting above.
Is this what we are destined for? An ending without love.
The saleyard has so many horses lined up in a row
and few will see the end of day or get a chance to grow.
The world now lacks compassion – to the slaughterhouse we’re sent
yet we are the beast of burden whose broad willing backs bent.
We helped to make your country; we helped to make your home
and worked for very little. Is this how you atone?
Do you see through my eyes?
