Bush Poetry - Bob Magor

[Paul]

Aussie Bush Verse at its Very Best.

Every now and then, priceless gems of literature emerge from unlikely places, and the Australian Bush is no exception. The works of Australian greats such as Henry Lawson and Banjo Patterson are readily available to all who desire to read them, but works written by the "Bush Poets", can be harder to find.

Some years ago, Bob Magor, a farmer who lives close to the Township of Myponga, developed the "creative itch", and the result is a fine collection of humorous verse.

Bob grew up in the area around Myponga which is located on the peninsula South of Adelaide. When he left school he worked the family sheep property, later he spent time in the shearing sheds, first as a roustabout and then as a shearer.

Bob's knowledge of the farm and country is reflected in his books, "Blasted Crows", "Blood on the Board" and "Snakes Alive". His humour and verse will become part of Australian folklore, for countless future generations to enjoy.

A Dog's Life.

There's wond'rous tales of canine deeds
Of dogs worth twenty men
That solo herd ten thousand sheep
And lock them in a pen.
They cart the wood and kill the snakes,
Hunt possums out of trees;
At shearing time they brand the sheep
And count them out by threes.

Down through the years, the cockies old,
From dogs that can't be beat,
Have bred each generation new
Of canine pups elite.
(No mention though of faces red
And man-made plans astray
When chosen suitors missed the bus
And stray dogs had their day)

And so it was, my father took
Our dog, old Ben to mate
Craig Martin's Bess, a super dog,
Then started two months' wait.
Since Dad could have the litter's pick
The bloodlines guaranteed -
The progeny was sure to be
The best of Kelpie breed.

Now when at last Dad went to choose
His purebred kelpie whelp
He viewed the scene with puzzled brows,
Assessed each puppy yelp.
'Cos floppy ears and blotches grey
On Kelpies don't look right.
He asked if Bess had entertained
Some sly dog in the night.

The Martin fam'ly stood their ground
Defending Bess's name
But maligned instead Ben's parentage
and asked from where he came.
So in a rage Dad snatched a pup
and steered a homeward course;
He'd show them all that he could train
A dog from any source.

So day by day he worked the pup
It grew both tall and round,
With feet as big as dinner plates
And ears down to the ground.
Our neighbours came with taunt and gibe
When training did begin,
With slobbering licks of ecstasy
Dog wet them to the skin.

But try as he might for six long months,
Dad gave the pup his best
And though he toiled from dawn 'till dark
Dog never passed the test.
He wouldn't sit, he wouldn't come,
He brought Dad close to tears
To see him bounding through the sheep
While treading on his ears.

He plucked all mother's white Leghorns
And ate the fam'ly cat,
He dug the garden full of holes
and laid the vegies flat.
Whenever he was cold or wet
Or rolled in something dead
He'd scratch ajar the kitchen door
And sleep on Father's bed.

The only thing this dog could do
(Apart from eat and sleep)
Was rush about at breakneck speed
And bisect a mob of sheep.
And though he tried his ev'ry trick
Dad never solved the riddle,
Why when he cast him out around
It went straight through the middle.

At last I saw his patience wane;
The dog with pointed toe
Was booted out the sheepyard gate
With "That dog's got to go!"
I expected Dad to get his gun
And seal the dog's demise
Instead of that he winked and said,
"I think I'll advertise".

I thought he'd sell the useless mutt
For someone's fam'ly pet
"Cos Dog was quite affectionate,
He'd lick you sopping wet.
The paper came, I read the ad,
Aghast at what it said,
'MUST SELL, DUE TO ILL HEALTH,
A WELL TRAINED DOG' it said.


"A Well Trained Dog?" I read aloud,
"How could you print such lies?
They'll throw us both in gaol for life,
It's called false advertise!"
"He's had his chance", defended Dad,
"I've shown him ev'ry trick,
And mentioning the 'ill health' bit,
That's true - he makes me sick!"

And as we argued to and fro
A Jag pulled up outside.
"Bloody Jehovahs," Father said,
And looked around to hide.
Then peeping out a nearby shed
We watched them all alight;
They mentioned something 'bout a dog
And hoped he wouldn't bite.

But Dog was there to greet his guests
With clumsy leaping bounds.
He landed on the Jag's black roof
With high pitched scratching sounds.
I grabbed the mutt, (that made it worse)
He dug his toes in more
As down the Jag's black duco's gloss
His feet did gouge and score.

By stroke of luck, (for us and dog)
The damage went unseen
As Dog gave ev'ry smiling face
A sticky soggy sheen.
And as the driver dried his face
he spluttered out to Dad,
"I've come to see the well-trained dog
Described here in this ad".

"You've found the place and that's the dog"'
My father cried with glee.
He held dog by his shaggy neck
Displayed for all to see.
"The finest dog in all the hills,
of that just take my word",
(I hid beneath a dandelion
And wished I hadn't heard).

The stranger said, "Forgive me sir,
Ourselves I'll introduce,
I'm Doctor Stokes and wife Simone
That's Jenny, John and Bruce.
We've just acquired a property,
A farmlet more precise,
The rural call has beckoned us
To country paradise."

"Though it's only twenty acres
Mixed farming is our game
"And each weekend we'll do our best
This savage land we'll tame.
We've seven goats , a cow a bull
And Jenny's Arab horse,
A ram and twenty crossbred sheep
And wethers in due course".


"So you see it's quite essential,
A dog is what we need".
The Doctor looked Dog up and down
"Now tell me what's his breed?"
"I'm glad you asked me that," said Dad,
".Developed it myself,
A multipurpose working breed
That's proved to be top shelf."

"Now it's mother's side was dingo
For intelligence and guile
With just a touch of greyhound blood
To give it speed and style.
While his father's part retriever
Plus a dash of shepherd breed,
He'll work your stock and guard your house
And fill your ev'ry need".

"The only drawback with this dog
He'll only work for me.
A one man dog , that's what he's called,
But surely you will see
That when you get him to your farm
His loyalty you'll woo;
He'll stand no chance, he'll soon obey
A learned man like you.

The Doctor with importance puffed,
His fam'ly stood in awe
As Father fairly turned it on,
Cajolery galore.
Throughout his shonky salesmanship
Dad patted Dog's great girth
'Till beaming Doc and family
All chorused, "What's he worth?"

Dad stroked his chin with poker face
Quite unabashed he said,
"A grand or more for sheepdog trials..."
(I stood and hung my head)
Then on he went "...but as you're new
I'd like to help you out,
'Cos seeing that he likes you all
You'll treat him well no doubt".

"That means a lot to men like me
Who breed the very best;
I'd never sell him normally
But as I have to rest
To protect my heart condition
I will give the dog away;
A bargain - you can have him for -
A mere five hundred say".

The Doc looked pleased and I felt sick
And then Dad looked concerned.
The Doctor patted Dog's dumb head
And said, "One thing I've learned,
When buying something 'off the cuff',
Check all information.
So could we please, if possible,
Have a demonstration.

I laughed out loud - old Dad was sprung
He'd gone too far this time.
Unwittingly, the Doc would catch
His false pretences crime.
But Dad said, "That's a wise idea -
Let's go and find some sheep.
I'll let him loose and show you how
He'll yard them all three deep".

So that was that, Dad's goose was cooked;
We went out 'mongst the sheep;
I stood well back to see Dog's date
With destiny to keep.
I'd visions of him rushing out,
The sheep under attack,
And Jag complete with Doc and Co
Retreating down the track.

But Dad said, "Look, this isn't fair,
Let's give him something hard,
'Cos any dog can round up sheep
And put them in a yard.
So to prove he's almost human
And comprehends my word
I'll give him now a strange command
I'll swear he's never heard".

We all looked on as Dad grabbed Dog
And glared him in the eye,
And for succour celestial
He gazed up to the sky.
"Now Dog ol' son, you've heard me say
To go way back and git'em,
Well just this once, to show the Doc,
Go through the mob and split'em".

Well Dog took off and did his trick
The sheep peeled left and right
The doctor's clan all cheered and clapped
His aimless headlong flight.
They patted Dog and praised him up,
Dog couldn't work it out.
He did the same as he always did
But never got the clout.

So Dog was sold, the deal was sealed,
His tail with joy did wag.
He travelled forth in pride of place;
The front seat of the Jag.
And Father moaned, (with tongue in cheek)
"To see him work those sheep;
I let the doctor rip me off,
I sold the dog too cheap!"

© Bob Magor. All Rights Reserved

[Paul]

Hounded

Dame Nature with her myst'ry ways
To propagate her kind,
Has many ways to lure a male;
Seduction undefined.
And strongest vibes are those of dogs
Who's lust cannot be beat,
Which drag a male dog twenty k's
To catch a bitch on heat.

This was the case with our dog Floss:
She'd cast her siren scent,
And suitors came from farms around
Their ardour for to vent.
But Floss caged up with mesh and lock
Caused canine lust to clog
And frenzied lovers dug and tore
As all posts smelt of dog.

But after days of lechery
My Dad had had enough,
And from his rifle shots rang out;
Erotic fires he'd snuff.
The salvos passing overhead
Made canine lust erode.
Debauchery fired from their minds
Ten dogs sped up the road.

And as they slowed, with fervent glance,
Their passion bid them stay.
Dad fired a shot above their heads
some half a k away.
This reinforced their homeward course
As of again they sped,
Except one dog who crossed his legs
And slid upon his head.

Dad rushed aghast to find the dog
His parting shot had fell,
The pool of blood, the lifeless form
Pronounced the dog's farewell.
He recognised the lifeless corpse
There folded on the track;
'Twas neighbour Stacey's sheepdog Boss;
The finest in the pack.

Now Dad was not a man to shirk
His duty when at fault.
He stuffed the carcass in a bag;
Potential strife he'd halt.
The bag he carried down the hill,
To where two gullies met,
Then threw it 'mongst the briars and bush;
The crime he'd then forget.

But no such luck, for phone and door -
Bell rang into the night,
As Staceys combed the farms around,
Their absent dog to sight.
But not a soul had seen poor Boss,
The neighbours or my Dad,
And through the night with call and light,
No sign of dog they had.

'Twas after they went to bed,
First light they'd search anew,
And try the farmers further out;
The quest they would renew.
But when they rose, out in the porch
The floor showed blood-stained trail.
With bullet hole and coat all torn
Boss wagged his wounded tail.

So straight away they sought the Vet
To operate and mend,
And no expense was spared that morn
To heal their doggy friend.
And with a day in hospital
The Stacey clan rejoiced -
As bandaged Boss was carried home
Each Stacey eye was moist.

Now unaware of these events,
Two days had passed in guilt.
And Dad went out to feed poor Floss
Whose passion had been jilt.
Imagine his dilemma and
His disbelief and dread,
When there amongst her entourage
Was Boss, back from the dead.

Salaciously he tottered 'round,
His body stiff and sore,
Skin clipped just like a poodle from
The bandages he wore.
And although just off his deathbed,
His purpose there was plain
For his love for Floss burned brightly
Overriding any pain.

When Dad cast of his puzzlement
And saw their love was real,
He opened up the prison gate
To end their chaste ordeal.
His conscience locked them both inside
Reflecting his foul play.
Through time and distance, pain and shell
True love had found a way.


© Bob Magor. All Rights Reserved.

Bob Magor and his knowledge of the farm and country is reflected in his books, "Blasted Crows", "Blood on the Board" and "Snakes Alive". His humour and verse will become part of Australian folklore, for countless future generations to enjoy.

[Paul]

The Demise of Fred

There are dogs worth twenty stockmen,
There are lazy dogs and keen,
There are dogs not worth a bullet
And a thousand in between.
There are dogs that round up cattle
And dogs that round up sheep
And dogs that round up abstract things
In hope to earn their keep.

And so it was with Dad's dog Fred -
He hearded cars and utes,
His working life was based around
Mechanical persuits.
And though he never captured one
It never curbed his lust,
He'd pounce and snap, but only filled
His lungs with dirt and dust.

But ev'ry dog must have his day
And late one afternoon
We heard a passing motorist
Play out a deadly tune.
The thump, the bump, the muffled yelp,
The skid of tyre and hair:
We hurried to the skirmish scene
To find how Fred did fare.

Seemed Fred had pulled a clanger
As he'd charged the car's rear wheel,
For he'd failed to see the horse float
That the car's dust had concealed!
Just imagine Fred's discomfort,
His eyes fixed on his game
When tandem set of crossplys
Traversed his hairy frame.

The driver viewed the broken corpse
With horror and remorse,
Apologised for what he'd done -
He'd compensate of course.
I started to dispel his guilt -
The murder charge to clear,
But Dad cut in, he'd handle things,
He smelt a profit here.

He cradled Fred's dumb lifeless head
And spoke in broken tone,
He'd lost the only friend he had
And now was all alone.
He told how Fred had saved his life
From raging floods and fire,
And now, without him on the farm,
Three men he'd have to hire.

The driver now reduced to tears
Had opened up his purse,
"I know it won't bring back your dog
But let me reimburse."
Dad shook his head, he couldn't speak,
(And I was too ashamed)
'Cos Dad was Judge and Jury too;
This chap was clearly framed.

The Father summoned up his thoughts
And staged the second act.
He looked his victim in the eye
And said, "I know for a fact,
Your money cannot ease my grief
The anguish and the pain
But with p'raps a hundred dollars
I could buy a pup to train".

The victim paid up gladly,
But still Dad wasn't through
"Cos summers ground is hard as rock
And holes are hard to hew.
"I hate to be a nuisance Sir,
But could you condescend
To reduce my loss and grieving
And bury my best friend?"

The chap agreed, we loaded Fred,
Dad choked a last goodbye
And sent him to where good dogs go,
That kennel in the sky.
Dad danced around and rubbed his hands
And gave a crafty smirk,
"A hundred bills and rid of Fred;
That's not a bad day's work!"

But life is full of highs and lows
As Dad was soon to find,
For late that night the chap returned
With good news of a kind.
"Your dogs okay", he beamed out loud,
"I can't believe it's true;
A broken leg and ruptured spleen;
He's mended good as new."

"He woke up at the graveside, so
I rushed him to the vet,
Who very quickly diagnosed
The treatment he should get.
Though he warned repairs were costly
With surgery at night
I explained expense was nothing;
You'd want the dog made right."

Then he brought Fred in the lounge room
And laid him in Dad's chair,
Clothed in bandages and plaster,
Bereft of skin and hair.
And Dad tried to act out grateful
While cursing underneath
As he thanked and smiled profusely,
But only with his teeth.

"You can keep the hundred dollars,"
(Dad brightened up a bit)
"'Cos the Vet's bill's 'round four hundred...",
(Dad nearly had a fit)
"If he's half the dog you reckon
It's money quite well spent
'Cos your actions when I hit him
Showed just how much he meant."

As the man drove out the driveway
Dad was loading up his gun
Planning Fred's assassination;
Poor Fred who couldn't run.
But I managed to disarm him
Stating homicide as rash,
'Cos regardless of the outcome
The vet would want his cash.

So Fred grew strong and mended
Still much to Dad's disgust
As he saw his large investment
Chasing motor-cars and dust;
But no matter how he stalked them -
His automotive foe,
Fred never caught a single car
Nor things they have in tow.

© Bob Magor. All Rights Reserved.

Bob Magor and his knowledge of the farm and country is reflected in his books, "Blasted Crows", "Blood on the Board" and "Snakes Alive". His humour and verse will become part of Australian folklore, for countless future generations to enjoy.

[Paul]

THE DOG WITH NO NAME

With a sense of apprehension
We saw shearing time draw nigh,
For a snake had sent our sheepdog
To that kennel in the sky.

As we thought of dogless musters,
All the swearing and the fuss,
We both mourned his canine passing;
Not for his sake but for us.

Then Dad spied a pleading advert,
In the classified display
Of our local country paper,
For a dog to 'give away".

Seems this chap had sold his holding
To retire, the advert read,
With his sheepdog now redundant,
'Home required' the notice said.

Straightaway Dad phoned the number
And a deal was quickly struck -
The dog they'd send next morning
With a lift on someone's truck.

As per plan the truck delivered
This brown kelpie, sleek and perk,
And with shearing now progressing
It went straightaway to work.

It came eagerly to muster
Though it wouldn't come to 'heel',
For machinery seemed its preference,
Barking at my bike's front wheel.

All the sheep then widely scattered,
Over hills, down gullies deep,
As the dog chased ev'ry rabbit
With no interest in the sheep.

After hours the mob assembled,
All alone I did pursue,
With the dog still chasing rabbits
And the odd grey kangaroo.

With the wood-shed now approaching
I'd convinced myself en route,
That our latest acquisition
Was a yard dog of repute.

But alas, back at the sheepyards
He still failed to make the grade
With a dunk in ev'ry sheep trough
As he sought the nearest shade.

All he did was block the gateways
Like an over eager pup.
Dad said, 'P'raps he's just a shed dog,
He'll do fine at penning up.'

But the pens were not his forte,
He bailed out in fright, the fool.
Raised his leg on ev'ry woolbin
Then stretched out amongst the wool.

Unperturbed Dad said, 'I've got it,
We can't hold the dog to blame.
How on earth can we command him
If we can't call out his name?'

So Dad phoned the dog's ex-owner
And explained his farm debut.
How the dog was not responding
With no name to answer to.

Said the man, 'he hasn't got one;
Well not what you'd call a name,
Fact it's really just a nickname
Though he answers just the same,'

As the missing name was given
Dad was heard to groan,
'We've just always called him "useless"
Said the voice down through the phone.

© Bob Magor. All Rights Reserved.

Bob Magor and his knowledge of the farm and country is reflected in his books, "Blasted Crows", "Blood on the Board" and "Snakes Alive". His humour and verse will become part of Australian folklore, for countless future generations to enjoy.

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[Lukehar]

Luke Bryan is my favourite country singer. His voice takes me away from all troubles of this planet so I start enjoy my life and listen songs created by his voice. Now the singer is going on a tour this year. The concerts scheduled for this year, up to the mid-October. Ticket prices are moderate and available for everyone. If you love country music as mush as I, then you must visit at least one of his concert. All tour dates are available at the lukebryantourdates.com. Open the website and make yourself familiar with all powerful Luke Bryan concerts in 2020!

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