HORSE BREAKING by Don Johnson...how the old time Aussie Drovers did it..

Temp.Diversional Therapist available Brisbane area in Australia..Or Activities Officer...

Don Johnson's Town & Country Verse.

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    From the book "Town n Country Verse".

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    NO GOOD WORRYING][ 4 NEW POEMS COMICAL][ Old Sheep][ Clive][ Electron][ Eliza][ Pickles][ Thighs][Crocodile Dream][ Bally Watson][

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      If you want a CD copy of 50 of my
       audio recorded verses? 
       send me a few  dollars:)
      Post to Don Johnson 
      144 Redbank Plains rd Bellbird
      Queensland Australia
      
  
                                                        
      
  
       

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    Old Sheep

    Old sheep you're a humble thing, from when the world was new.
    Almighty gave us many things, thank God he thought of you.
    We don't know when your life began, not mentioned in the Ark,
    We didn't know you were around,
    until the dogs did bark.
    We talk of persecution, and wicked things we do,
    They never think to mention, the torment done to you.
    I've seen you born in millions, or sometimes just a few.
    I wonder where we'd be today, If it wasn't for the Ewe.
    When first you're born you are forlorn, On shaky legs that's new.
    Look out old sheep your lamb's at stake,
    they're all out after you.
    The Wedge Tailed Eagle, one mile up,
    can take it in a stride.
    And Jack the Crow is always there,
    he hasn't any pride.
    The old bitch Fox is hungry,
    and the Dingo they're not new.
    Domesticated dogs are bad, they'll put it in the stew.
    And if the grass is green and sweet, and water is close by.
    At nine weeks old a sight behold, although it's rather shy.

    If you think it's lucky, you have missed the mark a mile.
    It hasn't even started life, you will have to wait awhile.
    So we put them to a muster, and take them to a yard.
    This is sometimes very easy,
    and sometimes awful hard.
    For it has been said they have no head,
    It should be on their rear.
    What others said won't be read,
    nor will be stated here.
    So it's over the rails and off with their tails,
    all of them done in a row.
    Ear marked, castrated, mulesed,
    and tarred as off they go.
    Look out old sheep you've lost it again.
    And you know it's all up to you,
    but all over blood, perhaps out in the mud,
    you may win, I just hope you do.
    Through dust storms, drought and no feed about,
    and water has gone by the way.
    And down by the creek old Goanna is sleek,
    He's getting fat so they say.
    Look out old sheep the mud is deep,
    and you're likely to fall to his prey.
    So down comes the rain there's mud on the plain,
    they are bogging out there every day.
    So make your way out, To the sand hills about,
    Some will, and some won't no doubt.
    For there's just nothing left in the drought.
    It's clear overhead, and back in the shed,
    all done by some big rouseabout,
    Dogged, Bogged sometimes flogged,
    Some with their eyes gouged out,
    Shorn, dumped belted and bashed,
    Jumped on, cut, sewed up and tarred.
    Teeth knocked out, shoulders broken,
    Rams and red eyed weathers bared.
    Kicked out the chute by a great big boot,
    till the pen is smothering full.
    Put down the race to be branded,
    after they have taken the wool.
    Look out old sheep, there's no guts on the heap.
    They want a killer today,
    so just dodge about, miss the big rouseabout,
    and you might just get away.

    by D H Johnson.

    From the book "Horsemen Bold".

    Our Tin Pot Navy

    OUR TIN POT NAVY so THEY SAID in 1914 Sydney in the first World War 1

    In 1914 German cruisers were cut loose
    and Emden she was one…………….…(fired 38lb shells)
    the indian ocean she did for hunting choose
    and 9 ships were sunk by gun…….

    Then she sailed and shelled Madras , I say
    captured 10 more ships, when off Ceylon…
    Penang harbour a night visit,… hey!
    sank Frog and Ruski warships, and was gone ….(Emden was daring!)

    November 8, morse code it said… strange ship a passing there,
    out near cocos island, the German raider caused a stir
    Cruiser Sydney she raced west at 25 knots or more
    And sighted wily Emden who opened fire for sure
    Sydney took 15 hits before, she then hit back …..(with 100lb shells)
    blew away her steering gear and knocked her funnels flat (emden)

    .. ………..demise………..

    The Scrap Iron Flotilla they said in 1940

    Light Cruiser Sydney in World War 2

    Light Cruiser Sydney had some 6 inch guns
    she met Italians in the med.
    sank destroyer Espero not for fun
    in nineteen forty, yes its said

    17th july Sydney was on patrol, when,
    she was called into a fight
    2 Italian cruisers waited, then,
    sprung some pommy destroyers in flight

    Yes Sydney came to even up
    the poms out gunned for sure
    when she arrived with blazing guns
    the Italians run for shore

    Bande Nere and Colleoni rushed a bit
    made smoke to get away
    Band Nere then she took a funnel hit
    as Sydney passed her way

    Collenoni then she wore the brunt
    stopped dead by Sydney's shell
    so Band Nere escaped the hunt
    Sydney's out of ammo… well?.:)

    But if you live by the sword you die by the sword
    cunning German's had their day
    Sydney met a ship with hidden guns aboard
    Raider Kormoran made her play

    Koroman she hid behind a Dutch flag
    and when Sydney came in range ………a.sitting duck
    she fired first, jerked down the rag……...old navy trick
    two equals did exchange………………….similar guns…

    Though mortally wounded Sydney, still,
    had some guns to fire,
    x turret still fired with a bitter will
    burnt Kornoran …'the liar'…….Don Johnson

    ……….demise of both……….
    http://www.home.gil.com.au/~djohnson/ RHYMING COUNTRY VERSE
    To bounce backto the top?

    The Old Ways Worked

    PERHAPS THE OLD SYSTEM WORKED

    Oh 50 years passed by with the flick of an eye
    and our people got so soft don't you see
    Back in the fifties people worked oh so hard
    just to bring home the bacon for ye

    Well the machines oh they came and the work it all went
    till there was nothing to do don't you see
    it was better back then when the kids had respect
    for their elders who sired them with glee

    Oh the people grow fat for there's nothing to do
    no crowbar or shovel for ye
    No sweat of the brow of a days work well done
    and a cold beer at sunset for me….

    Minority groups have stuffed up the world
    full of great ideas so they think
    So now the kids are out of control
    anarchy comes to the bar for a drink…)

    Oh I got the cane at school yes too right..
    teachers got some respect just from me..
    I didn't steal cars & didn't do time
    and im drugs and alcohol free???

    SOMETHING WORKED THEN……..Don Johnson

    Of Clive's Aspirations.............

    When just a lad Clive often thought,
    of the best job for the city bred,
    he'd spring a job with a hooker sort,
    and he'd work from under her bed.

    When they'd ask he'd say "I'm the bump up man,
    I lurk beneath her bed,
    and when it's out of steam she's ran,
    I hoist her ass instead."

    Clive got the idea while in the pub,
    when the boys said "would he dare",
    ask the massage parlour madam for a five dollar rub,
    got a slap from the bouncer there.

    so now he sticks to farming bee's ,
    they sting more than they slap,
    the bump up man has smokers wheese,
    the bees don't give a crap....

    Clive does swedish massage now in Brisbane Australia 07-32082362
    by D Johnson

    Some of my verses.One..of my g/grandfathers favourite saying...

    Comments welcome


    No good worrying till the crows build a nest in your ass?
    Then you got to worry how they got the sticks
    there without you feeling it???? ... Joe White
    ............................................
    If your horse runs off and leaves you (lover)
    If it wont come back... that's right
    Just hit it over the ass with the bridle
    Till it runs right out of sight.....
    (what to do to a horse (lover) you don't want to catch no more)

    so you're bound to catch a new one
    if you cast the rope just right
    to saddle up mount and ride
    all through the starry night

    No need to bloody worry mate
    if the sticks don't fit just right?
    how did they get in your underpants?
    guess the crows did build at night?
    ...................................
    Or no good worrying till the crows build a nest in your ass :)
    Don Johnson....

    ........http://home.gil.com.au/~djohnson

    To bounce backto the top?

    Diversional Therapist Temp. Brisbane area in Australia..Or Activities Officer...

    HORSE BREAKING by Don Johnson...how the old time Aussie Drovers did it..

      More about Clive

      Old Clive flew down the Bollon road with pride
      His grader revving steady
      Steering gear to bootlace tied
      Read a dead wood dick bout Neddy

      (deadwood dick US Western Cowboy paperback)...

      Some time had passed his eye did cast
      Saw the car just passing by
      The grader lurched the driver smirked
      And the car began to fly

      It landed hard in a cloud of dust
      The people cursed and swore
      Clive thought "that got rid of the rust!"
      But still couldn't get off the floor

      So he hung there his foot in the air
      And did his best to explain
      The air was blue with language rare
      As they drove off to catch the train

      Don Johnson


      BADASS-FRANK

      Now Badass-Frank he weren't a yank
      He was Canadiannnnnn.
      He didn't like the burglar Hank.
      He'd stuff him up again!
      Old Hank arrived at quarter to 5.
      With jimmy bar and bag...
      He sidled up to a window Clive
      . And stopped to have a fag....:)

      He didn't see the electric wire
      A pulsing in the dark
      He felt the spark his voice got higher
      As the live window left its mark
      The "ac line" said Frank "was fine
      For robbers in the dark"..
      He'd screwed hot wire to the window frame
      With the cutout switch in park?

      Oh the coppers came said you're to blame
      You near killed poor burglar Hank
      He's having you up on "kill and maim"
      Frank laughed "it turned his crank.....:)"

      Old Frank rethunk "bout here's a thought"
      Use the elecric fence for same...
      Used 20 thousand volts for sport
      Delay caused Hank some pain...;-)

      The timer switch it was a bitch
      As Hank crawled through the frame
      The power switched Hank danced a bit
      Till his gonads were enflamed

      The coppers said "no he aint dead
      He might never be the same
      His hair is frizzed his face is red
      You ought to be ashamed

      ..... NOPE hehehe....D Johnson

      DROUGHT


      >>>Yes i've wandered cross the country
      >>>where the roos can die of thirst
      >>>and the rivers often dry up
      >>>and the ground cracks like a curse
      >>>where you watch the storms a coming
      >>>but they dont bring bloody rain
      >>>the wind has treetops humming
      >>>left to scratch yer head again
      >>Oh the years they pass so slowly
      without the hiss of rain
      though you listen to the tin roof
      will it ever rain again?
      a willy willy passes through
      about 100 yards across
      sheets of iron in the twister too
      just our roof says the boss
      2 years of drought and the rain it comes
      and buckets down for days
      fills up all the empty drums
      in this grey and murky haze
      oh the rivers coming down old mate
      get the stock to the higher ground
      they'll drown in the bottom paddock, great!
      put em on the sandhill clown!
      now flood does bring mosquito
      in the millions they'll be found
      and the sandflies eat the eyes out of the chooks
      upon the ground
      so we light the smoke fires in the hope
      some smoke can help a beast
      for the horses are a trotting
      while the mossies have their feast

      Mulga bush was thick out there (18% protien stock food)
      Back in the long ago
      Useless bastards bulldozed out
      And the topsoil off did flow
      And the stock do die in thousands
      Where the mulga tree did grow
      Their bones do bleach on bare red soil
      Where there aint no grass to mow

      Don Johnson


      COLIN ROSS

      Colin Ross the squatter man
      He wore a suit of black
      He carried a pistol on his hip
      And a cross of gold hung slack

      Deadfox Dancy looked up from his sheep ...
      (so called for raffling a dead fox in the pub)
      His shearing interrupted
      was it god from the devils deep
      and almost spoke but stuttered

      Yyyyyyesssirrr no pissing in the shed
      Got ..if you do...I'll do to you
      What cannot be now uttered
      I'll jerk your chain and cook your brain
      And have your balls well buttered

      Old Sam McEwan had the uniform on
      His bayonet fixed and ready
      Charge said Colin his sabre drawn
      And the wild pigs trotted steady

      Old Bill got work with Colin Ross
      And met the bosses wife
      He was caught right soon
      Beneath the moon
      His pants around his ankles
      She looked for a bite
      Of a snake or mite
      And Colin sure was thankful

      Bill was 65 just then and she was twenty seven
      A child arrived , Colin often smiled and said it's the will of heaven
      3 years went by and Bill was spry, 3 children in the house
      till someone spoke , said Bills the bloke
      and Colin flogged the louse

      Bill climbed aboard his old racehorse
      His stockwhip hanging coiled
      Colin came to the gate no pistol mate
      And lash of the whip did force
      A run and a chase to the common gate
      And Bill got no divorce

      Of happenings in the 60s about 400 miles west of here......Brisbane.Queensland Australia

      Don Johnson

      To bounce backto the top?

      ELECTRON

      The silver sphere did glimmer queer,
      as it flashed across the void,
      inside a craft androids did steer,
      valve electrons were employed.
      In outer space a negative base,
      balanced the electron car,
      the speed of light a course did trace,
      aligned to a positive star.

      D Johnson vk4pr

      To bounce backto the top?

      Lake Eliza

      Out by bloody Lake Elisa lived a moody ancient miser.
      Who bemoaned his fate throughout the livelong day.
      lived further west than Isa out where the heat and flies are.
      So he plotted as he moaned "I'll find a way?".

      Oh this fellow loved a lady one Cherolyn O'Grady,
      so besotted while he sauntered from insanity to mad.
      For it seems she was his sister Joe O'Grady never kissed her,
      She'd run off to Coolgardie selling favours to the sad.

      Oh it seems his mind could wander,
      through the desert just out yonder.
      It got sunstruck when his hat it blew away.
      In his youth there'd been a Rhonda.
      Who'd enticed him made him fonder.
      But the tribe had gone on walkabout the next day .

      Though bloody none the wiser, he set out from the Isa,
      Went to Brisbane met a shiela sweet and gay.
      It was down in the Valley, she had whiskers this O'Malley,
      blue round the jowls, Joe loved her anyway.

      She took him home to her place into the bedroom they raced,
      Joe's mouth it opened slackjawed in suprise .
      For it seems she wasn't dinkum through the haze of grog he's drinking.
      Saw parts of her to trade for many lies.

      This city woman strange wanted money had no change,
      Took his fifty as she pushed him out the door .
      Hooked like a dog to mange, could a wedding he arrange?
      But she dumped him anyhow the bloody whore.

      So back to Lake Elisa went this sodden whinging miser.
      Drowning sorrows O.P. rum, drinking bottles by the score,
      Just a little sad but wiser, now he'd never leave Elisa.
      So he drank himself to death there by her shore...

      by Don Johnson

      To bounce backto the top?

      A LITTLE SOCIALISING

      In the kitchen of a large sheep station in western Queensland
      at Dirranbandi the boss lady was talking to the staff..
      She was going to the ball that evening and was parading about
      in her evening wear.

      Finally it came, her turn to speak to Pickles Graham..
      She said, looking down her long nose."do you dance Pickles?."
      "No missus"
      Oh she said "You must dance Pickles?" He said "Well yes missus
      I do the bullockys polka missus."

      "Oh" she said pretending interest, yawning.."What is it how does it go."

      "Well said Pickles."You grab the ladies and swing them quick
      and shake them till the shit flies out of them."

      Come back Lisa?

      To a Maiden fair..

      To slip between your creamy thighs,
      to nuzzle at your breast.
      to feel your contented sighs,
      as your hands do me caress,
      the best of all the natural highs,
      with you i'm surely blessed

      D Johnson

      Bally


      Bronco Don Johnson and Bally Watson

      Oh they speak of Bally Watson and the Dirran boys don’t laugh
      Yet they tell in whispers how his ear was shot in half
      Old Bronco Don had shot him for everyone to see
      Witnesses could not be found though the coppers asked all three

      Bally he bolted, drove fast to get away
      For a bullet had his number, safer up old Mitchell way
      Yes it was in the fifties an old soldier got a win
      Don was locked up for the night for the drunken driving sin?

      Don had been to Kokoda and the Middle East war too
      He was quick on the trigger mate and never missed, they knew.
      A mob had come to bash him, back in nineteen forty five
      Don’s down the stairs a shooting quick, they were glad to be alive?

      7 years had come and gone, Bally appeared they say
      Sent word he wanted to see old Don out the Culgoa river way
      Mark John went as backup a rifle in his hand
      Mark did cover the drovers, shoot low was the command.

      Bally got no permission was told to stay away
      Just bypass the town is what old Don did say
      So Bally is known throughout the west
      the earmark worn by him
      The “Sheriff” really did his best
      To make his ear hole ring…

      When you get a car door slammed on your head ?
      Broken cheek bone!
      You might get tempted to shoot a man dead ?…perhaps.. ..Don Johnson

      Some of the Soldiers who came back from the hell of the Kokoda Trail New Guinea 1942,
      were known to to use a gun very quick to sort out their problems.
      They called it "casting fear"

      Don Johnson

      To bounce backto the top?

      Crocodile Dream

      I wandered down a murky hall
      the slime so green it covered all
      the water half way up the wall
      but I just didn't care...

      This place deserted in a swamp
      held one surprise or two
      round a corner what's that hump
      a crocodile's brown hue ...

      I somehow knew he'd let me pass
      three strides his length did measure
      he said the cows don't eat our grass
      no meat for me displeasure...

      As I passed I spied a tag
      upon his tail that wagged
      1994 released it said
      "I'm free" of course he bragged...

      On looking back just now I know
      he never spoke a word
      the thoughts within my mind did flow
      his accent slightly slurred...

      I passed from sight into a room
      and spoke to someone there
      we both agreed the croc did need
      the meat of cows done rare...

      On my return the croc did speak
      "No cows for me tonight
      The lost children I must eat
      I don't want to its not right."...

      He slipped away across the hall
      where children wandered lost
      a meal or two stopped hungers call
      much pain the croc did cost...

      A dog did bark and I did wake
      as running footsteps fall
      the sound that only children make
      no crocodiles at all......

      A dream Chris remembered & related to me?

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      WANT to hear from SANDRA HARTMANN

      Brisbane ph 07 32883532

      Hello Sandra

      This is a long shot, if you were born Sandra Hartmann
      perhaps you can relate to the verse below???

      I am looking for the son the lady had in 1969.
      Thank you very much ...
      sincerely yours ...Don

      Sandra Hartmann???

      Met her on the Balmoral tram in 68 or 9
      She was short and sweet our eyes did lock
      Dark hair, she'd brought some wine

      We came together once sublime and then she went away.
      Our fate to meet, a child to make, & parted from that day.

      A boy was born in 69 perhaps an adopted fate,
      where is he now this Dan or Nathan maybe 28?

      Don Johnson http://www.gil.com.au/~djohnson

      Jump up to the top index

    Welcome!

    COMATOSE

    by Don Johnson

    Some call it verse without the rhyme
    Marcel Marceau without the mime
    The wasted words get joined in prose
    and leave me mostly comatose.....

    Yes busted prose is comatose
    like coffins in a hearse
    modern verse is for the crows
    for making nests or worse...

    Get a firm grip or off the planet you'll slip -

    To check out my new home page and the words
    I just slipped in.
    Follow your nose if you want I suppose.
    And make sure your head doesn't spin.
    And when it's time for you to go,
    be sure you're glad you left?
    For here inside the verse does flow?
    Of fractured prose bereft.

    Return to Don's verse index

    Hello Mr Burglar a warm welcome here for you

    by Don Johnson
    Annerley, Australia

    MR BURGLAR

    Oh hello Mr burglar mate,

    it's to you that I will speak.
    When you come to visit me so late,
    you'll think me old and weak .
    I'm old and bowed and past my prime,
    my hair's as white as snow.
    You'll case our house another time,
    before you have a go.

    We watch the telly often here,
    see death and murder there.
    The old and weak they live in fear,
    for murder isn't rare.
    You're just a thief I hear you say,
    I see it in your mind.
    You think it quite a game you play,
    just break in rob me blind.
    Self preservation lingers here,
    and death does lie in wait.
    For in my house you'll share my fear,
    my shot gun wont miss mate.

    Yes then they'll come to cart me off,
    when your soul's gone out the gate.
    Don't underestimate old pensioner pop,
    or you'll find out just too late.

    Return to Don's verse index

    School Bus

    by Don Johnson
    Annerley..Brisbane. Australia.

    DID YOU EVER DRIVE A BUS TO SCHOOL,
    AND LEAVE EM AT THE GATE.
    THE LITTLE DARLINGS ARE SO COOL,
    THEY'LL EVEN CALL YOU MATE.

    BUT GOING HOME WELL JUST LOOK OUT,
    AS SOON AS YOU ARE DRIVING.
    THE NOISE IT STARTS THEY'LL SQUEAK AND SHOUT,
    FOR THE LOUDEST SQUEAL THEY'RE STRIVING.

    SO YOU STOP THE BUS AND TALK AWHILE,
    PUT THE LOUD MOUTHS DOWN THE BACK.
    BEFORE YOU GO ANOTHER MILE,
    AT YOU THEY'LL HAVE A CRACK.

    SO WHEN YOU TURN THE OTHER EAR,
    IT'S THEN A FIGHT BREAKS OUT.
    YOU'LL HAVE TO BLOODY INTERFERE,
    TO SORT THE FIGHTERS OUT.

    AT LAST THEY'VE GONE, GOT OFF THE BUS,
    YOUR MOOD IT ISN'T BLACK.
    NO SCREAMING NOW JUST THE RATTLES PLUS,
    CAR DRIVERS YOU'VE HELD BACK...

    Return to Don's verse index

    DORA'S CURSE

    by Don Johnson

    Annerley, Queensland,
    Australia.

    What was that curse thou did rehearse, just ye and me and him?

    How 40 sailors went to sea and not a one could swim.
    And yet he said that they were dead, his memory of it dim.
    And ye agreed as such with me, most drowned except for Jim.

    A storm was blamed the hurricane, hid the evil dreadful sin.
    For yet we knew just me and you, life boat's let the water in.
    The owner Fred "God strike him dead". "Swore the boats as
    good as new."
    But ye and me and Jim could see, beams, daylight shining through.

    Old Dora wallowed o'er the waves, her timbers cracked and creaked.
    Her bilges full of briny swill, and the pumps they squawked
    and squeaked.
    The inquest said of good old Fred, that his ship was sound and true.
    But ye and me and Jim agree, t'was rotten through and through.

    The wind it blew and blew and blew, there came a clap like thunder.
    The mast came down the helmsman drowned and the crew begin to wonder.
    I tried to speak and Jim did shriek and ye was in a huddle.
    We can't agree not ye and me and Jim sat in his puddle.

    The sea came in where the pitch was thin,
    And the planks they gaped asunder.
    The Captain frowned as Dora drowned,
    her worn out planks went under.

    The Judge he said of good old Fred," His Captain made a blunder."
    Won't hear what ye and me have said.
    Why the rotten scow went under.

    A bad dream I remembered and wrote down.... Return to Don's verse index

    Sargasso

    ..by D Johnson

    Fourteen days adrift time slowly slipped
    on the good ship Cavalier
    Becalmed, morose, no water they sipped
    drank rum to calm their fear

    The fog was thick o'er water and ship
    On the swell it heaved and slid
    They cooked a brew of weevily stew
    while the scurvy came unbid

    For days on end they searched a way
    to leave this fog behind
    no salt sea spray but the fog did stay
    And the captain lost his mind

    The men aloft could see not much
    And the cook he often swore
    The meat was full of maggots and such
    and green as the forest floor

    the boatswains mate didn't hesitate
    he swung from the mast at four
    the knot he made to hold his weight
    was said by some quite poor

    Old Will he said it should be done
    ten coils on the noose for sure
    they lingered on this end of one
    for soon there'd be four more

    though darkness came who was to blame
    who brought the curse on the ship
    they searched in vain for the old boatswain
    then over the side he'd slip

    come dawn of day a ship they say
    came looming from the fog
    its masts were bent and sheets were rent
    and the captain called for grog

    just one man stood near the deck fore grate
    it's timber ghostly grey
    perhaps he was the masters mate
    n'er a glance he cast our way

    we hailed him then with all our might
    not a move e'er came from him
    as the ship was drifting out of sight
    the head rolled from his skeleton thin

    Old Will now said "yes mates we're dead
    this is the sargasso sea
    there's no escape from this" he said
    "only death will set you free"

    so madness came some went insane
    rat poison cook did share
    the captain with an axe was slain
    and death was everywhere

    corpses now bobbed around the ship
    like jelly fish near a beach
    their accusing eyes attention grip
    stone dead but out of reach

    when I alone was left to moan
    the fate befallen me
    a breeze had made the rigging groan
    and we moved upon the sea

    all night I stood on the deck of wood
    till day brought clear sunlight
    the bloody fog was gone for good
    but something wasn't right

    a whiff of smoke from an old clay pipe
    like the one old Will did use
    I turned and ducked and dodged the swipe
    but the blade my arm did bruise

    Old Will he says "You have to die
    to break the curse you used"
    His eye was dead but his grin was wry
    and death walked in his shoes

    he swung the axe as he lumbered forth
    and it lodged in the mast close by
    I punched him south west east and north
    and over the side to die.

    climb the ladder?

    Old Flossy

    by Don Johnson
    Annerley-Brisbane-Australia

    IT WAS THERE ON SHARPEN STATION,
    WEST NEAR ADAVALE I'D BE.
    BACK IN THE EARLY THIRTIES,
    WORST DROUGHT YOU'D EVER SEE.
    FIVE THOUSAND COWS WERE DYING SLOW,
    BROUGHT FROM LAKE NASH TO ADAVALE.
    THEY LIVED ON MULGA BUSHES LOW,
    TO FEED THEIR BODIES FRAIL.
    I WAS THE BOY WHO MANNED THE PUMP,
    FAT CROWS IN THOUSANDS WAITED.
    WITH NOT A BLADE OF GRASS OR SINGLE CLUMP,
    THOSE CROWS FOR SURE I HATED.
    THE CATTLE BITCH OLD FLOSSY HAD NINE PUPS,
    MORE COMPANY FOR ME.
    FOR I'D GET A VISIT ONCE A MONTH,
    YES IT'S THEN THE BOSS I'D SEE.
    THE DEAD COWS AROUND THE TROUGH DID LIE,
    AND I'D SNIG THEM RIGHT AWAY.
    I'D SHIFTED HUNDREDS BY AND BY,
    CUT AND QUARTERED WHERE THEY LAY.
    THE PUPS WERE DISAPPEARING FAST,
    ONE EVERY DAY FOR SURE.
    I CHECKED THE CAMP AND MISSED THE LAST,
    SAW SNAKE TRACKS UPON THE FLOOR.

    OLD MULGA SNAKE WOULD BREATHE NO MORE,
    HE'D HAD HIS LAST PUP MEAL.
    HE WAS BIG AS NINE FOOT FOUR,
    WHEN THE LAST PUP HE DID STEAL.
    OLD FLOSSY FOUGHT HIM TOOTH AND NAIL,
    HE'D BIT HER ALSO TOO.
    SHE CHEWED HIS HEAD OFF DIDN`T FAIL,
    WAS DYING THIS SHE KNEW.
    I HELD HER DYING WITH MY ARM,
    HER PLEADING EYES I SAW.
    SHE WENT TO SLEEP SO VERY CALM,
    PASSED ON THROUGH DEATH'S FRONT DOOR.

    In 1936 old yellow Flossy died game!

    Return to Don's verse index

    Hunted

    by Don Johnson
    Annerley-Brisbane-Australia.

    On a bitter cold and moonless night,

    there came a gentle knock at the door.
    Only half heard Joe did stir from sleep, alight,
    to meet a stranger exhausted and footsore.
    The hunted man did look in doubt,
    quick eyed he searched this place.
    Then he asked "Any traps about?"
    Joe whispered "Not a trace!"

    Joe made a meal for this hungry man,
    of corned meat and damper too.
    They drank strong tea from a pannican,
    in dull light of the lantern's hue.
    Before the dawn could break he rode away ,
    this man with the haunted look.
    Long gone he'd be by the light of day,
    when the traps did wake the cook.
    "Our tracker says he came past here,
    it's here we lost his trail.
    The bounder flogged his overseer,
    we'll take him back to jail!"

    These police it's then they rode away,
    with tracker and packhorse too.
    The tracker searched and couldn't say,
    why no tracks, just a blank he drew?

    But word did come on the grapevine,
    of our convict's good escape.
    From the men of the first fleet convict line,
    good men make no mistake!

    In the 1880's there were thousands of ex convicts
    who associated with the deported Irish rebels and local
    Bushrangers in Australia - Their enemy the rich landowners
    and the Police.

    Return to Don's verse index

    Old Star

    by Don Johnson

    Annerley..Brisbane Aust.

    Old Star stood in the horse pad-dock so dry,
    with the others he'd just been run in.
    The Manager gave orders, he now had to die,
    the Jackaroo's job was to kill him.
    Brown Star was Tuppy's favourite horse,
    he'd shoulder a beast with the best.
    He was smart and still game at campdrafting of course,
    he'd been one of the best in the west.
    But this was the pay off, for death had arrived,
    his sickle was shining and sharp.
    The Jackaroo pointed the rifle and fired,
    tried to shoot him right through his game heart.
    The old horse did canter was whinnying still,
    five times round the paddock he'd run.
    The dumb Jackaroo was still shooting to kill,
    when Tuppy took from him the gun.
    She whistled for Star and he cantered up,
    with the blood gushing out of his side.
    she stroked him a while like a young cattle pup,
    one bullet and poor old Star died.

    THE PAY OFF!
    In the old days on the big Company
    properties in Australia a horse was broke in at 4 years,
    and deemed to be worn out at 8 years. So
    Star was just a liability with young
    horses waiting their turn to serve their
    calculating masters. So horses good and
    smart were killed along with the rogue
    horses and buckjumpers, when they'd been
    8 years on the Company books!!??

    Return to Don's verse index

    A Bagman

    by Don Johnson
    Annerley..Brisbane.. Australia.

    THERE HE WALKED AN UNKNOWN BAGMAN,

    WHO CAMPED UPON THE TRACK.
    SO SAD HE SEEMED THIS SWAGMAN,
    HIS JINGLING BILLY BURNT AND BLACK.
    YES MATE HE'D BEEN AWAY WITH FRIENDS,
    CROSSED THE SEA AT ANY RATE.
    THE SOMME SO CRUEL BROUGHT DEADLY ENDS,
    BULLET RIDDLED T'WAS THEIR FATE.
    UP THEY'D RISE AND CHARGE THE GUNS,
    TO BE CUT DOWN LIKE THE FLOWERS.
    TO BE SHOT DEAD BACKING POMMIE'S SONS,
    OR LAY WOUNDED THERE FOR HOURS.
    IF THE GUNS THEY'D MISSED YOU JUST A BIT,
    WHEN YOU GOT BACK IN THE TRENCH.
    DEAD MATES INTO THE WALLS YOU'D FIT,
    WITH THE SMELL OF DEATH THE STENCH.
    THEN HE CAME HOME FROM THE WAR,
    SO SHELL SHOCKED AND ALONE.
    TO FACE MANKIND NO NEVER MORE,
    NOW THE ROAD WAS IT HIS HOME?
    YET WHEN THEY SAW HIM ON THE TRACK,
    THEY'D SAY "THERE GOES A MADMAN?"
    THREE YEARS OF DEATH NO FRIENDS CAME BACK.
    POOR OUTCAST BRAVE OLD BAGMAN.

    Return to Don's verse index

    Great Grandfather Joe White.

    JOE WHITE

    by Don Johnson

    Back in 1880 you will find, Joe White he was about.
    The brumby runner master mind. Of this I'll leave no doubt.
    He took from Mugan station, 600 brumbies yes my friend.
    Had the best riders of the nation, on which he could depend.
    From Mungindi to Sydney town, drove brumbies didn't fail.
    They'd stop em block em right around, horse broke em for the sale.
    The horse who broke and left the mob, got grabbed by the tail and threw.
    A sideline or a hobble's job, made of green hide it'd do.
    Wet greenhide sideline when applied, front to back the legs were held.
    He couldn't canter if he tried, to stay he was compelled.
    Joe saw the difference in every track,
    to read from them he knew.
    He was as good as any black, he'd track ants across the dew.
    Two Dancy boys they wandered lost, were gone a day or two.
    At black tracker's, oh these kid's did scoff,
    Joe found them pay his due.
    These small dark boys they had some fun,
    yes hid their tracks with care.
    Joe saw the tracks of only one, or the other ones were there.
    One boy would carry piggy back, then came the others turn.
    A way to hide one fellows track, gave the tracker some concern?
    Joe followed cantered in their wake, knew their tracks in any bunch.
    To find them was a piece of cake, so he took em home for lunch.
    Joe's brother Dick was branded bad, now an outlaw on the run.
    A publican robbed him, made him mad, Dick smashed his grog, the bum.
    The traps they came but couldn't find,
    Dick's cave the hideout site,
    Couldn't follow the White's, who didn't mind,
    scrub galloping day or night.

    So Dick White he then set off, with brothers Joe and Charlie too.
    They rode due west three states they'd cross,
    till Broome came into view.
    Dick's wife and kids by ship did pass,
    then on to Broome by overland.
    Joe left Dick there safe at last,
    rode east through desert sand.

    Joe and Charlie back they came,
    through the land that worked the horse.
    They'd throw scrubbers, brumbies they were game,
    horse breakers yes of course.
    They'd throw a brumby on his side,
    quickly lugged his head by force.
    Would saddle up and mount and ride,
    and coax him home a horse.
    Joe entered the open campdraft mate,
    with a wee small handicap.
    Left his bridle and girth straps on the gate,
    won the Mungindi cup old chap.
    Joe's brumby runners one was Dan,
    at Glenrowan hadn't died.
    Alex Wilkie chased as off they ran,
    and Moffat he could ride.
    The legend lives of Joe this man,
    true master of the horse.
    The drovers talked of him and Dan,
    and Hippy yes of course.

    Joe White and Dan Kelly were running brumbies near Mungindi at Mugan Station in 1900.
    This fact was well known in the Mungindi & Hebel border towns.
    Steve Hart had also escaped the fire at Glenrowan.........

    by Don Johnson
    Jump back to the index

    POISON!

    by Don Johnson

    I was coming up from Tamworth, riding on a tired horse.

    Past Barraba we wandered north, on a slow and dusty course.
    Near Barraba I drew short rein, and paused
    to watch a sight.
    A boy was thrown off again, a black horse
    who'd buck and fight.
    It's there I made an offer grim, to the
    farmer and his son.
    Swop you horses and I'll ride him,
    with this bastard I'll have fun.
    I mounted and he bucked away, I spurred and drove him on.
    I was the winner on the day, cantered off and I was gone.
    He was a black and evil thing, he wouldn't give me half a chance.
    He'd bite and kick like lightning, surely
    buck and root and prance.
    Saturday morning in Moree,
    saw aunt Mona at the pub.
    She said "get a paper for me",
    said "I'll get it for you love."

    Dirty Shirt Molloy got a paper
    for me, for I couldn't leave the horse.
    Black Poison rooted like a flea, reefed his head up, used some force.
    An Irish cop he grabbed the reins, and held them in his hand.
    Arrested us we had no brains, he'd jail us both quite grand.
    My spurs they gouged him proper, the black lurched down the street.
    He bucked and kicked the copper, clean bowled him off his feet.
    We galloped for the border through a sea of clinging mud.
    Coppers chased us in flivver, to a river choked by flood.
    So I dived him in the Gwyder, off a steep sharp falling bank.
    Then we surfaced horse and rider, wet as shags from nose to flank.
    Ride round the coppers came the order,
    and bypass all the towns.
    Swam the river at the border,
    dodged the police, we'd lost those clowns.

    A true story of my father's visit to Tamworth in 1936...

    Return to Don's verse index

    Big Ball Billy

    by Don Johnson
    Annerley.Brisbane .Australia.

    Near old Dirran, on the river, an old time

    pub had its day.
    Billy Richardson was the owner, had a
    rupture so they say.
    There he sold the watered whisky and the rum
    to all who'd pay.
    Earned a quid and made a nest egg till the
    Murrays' came his way.
    Sitting on his front verandah chanting
    calling laughing low,
    "big ball Billy, big ball Billy," soon the
    rum began to flow.
    So enlarged was Billy's rupture, so apparent his dismay,
    every time the chanting started, fiery rum,
    he'd have to pay.
    In the early nineteen hundreds medicine was
    touch and go,
    poisons nasty, drugs so deadly, all were
    used by the medico.
    Not the knife for big ball Billy, fifty
    fifty die that way.
    Better get another keg, stop the Murrays
    chanting, hey?

    The Murrays were Aboriginal people living on the Murray river.near the south west Queensland town of Dirranbandi.

    Return to Don's verse index

    Dougal Cameron

    by Don Johnson
    Annerley..Brisbane..Australia.

    Old Dougal Cameron was the man,

    the cruel red desert country crossed.
    Drove cattle cross the trackless plains,
    out where Burke and Wills were lost.
    He'd travel o'er a hundred mile ,
    with bawling cattle parched with thirst.
    He'd find em water bushman style,
    though dry creek beds made him curse.
    Little crippled Murrays' loved him best
    he'd find em on a water hole.
    Left to perish nature's test,
    yes old Dougall's heart was gold.
    Fed on sugared damper with a grin,
    and a drop of billy tea.
    Dougal cared enough to take em with him,
    got them homes with friends he'd see.
    Rodger Beadmore came with Dougall,
    till they found the Bollon road.
    Was there adopted by old Beadmore,
    and a swopped horse Dougall rode.
    Many children left to perish,
    owe their lives to Dougal's care.
    Many of these Boori's cherish,
    one old drover who was there.

    Return to Don's verse index

    Efogi Clearing

    by Don Johnson

    Annerley..Brisbane..Australia.

    The Japs turned tail and headed north on

    twenty eighth September forty two.
    They'd struggled round on mountains fought
    stopped near Moresby by the few.
    Eighteen hundred went to stop ten thousand
    in the jungle mountains high.
    Fought and skirmished over land in a
    rainforest never dry.
    Our fresh Brigade now drove them off and
    followed as they ran,
    in places high we'd count the cost where our
    mates died every man.
    Near Efogi in a clearing up among the
    mountains high,
    stopped to wonder at the scene, dead men
    round a circle lie.
    All around a circle green, bloated rotten stinking high,
    dead Japs were piled up everywhere,
    by the dozen just to die.
    So many died why came the thought?
    What killed them though they tried?
    There in a pit our brave men fought,
    two Bren gunners fought and died.
    Sat back to back to watch the clearing,
    even bullet riddled, soldiered on.
    Slowly died with each bullet searing,
    fought till their last bullet fired and gone.
    Two marksmen stayed upon the trail,
    let the wounded, get away,
    Japs in thousands were a coming,
    o'er the mountains narrow way.
    Bren machine gun bullet spenders,
    deadly accurate this I say,
    all around the bullets humming,
    squealing Japs were turned to clay.
    Kokoda trail held till they died,
    slowed the Jap a little way,
    though surrounded no surrender,
    at the time had death to pay.
    21st Brigade men fought and died,
    two lives given on the day,
    like Horatious at the bridge,
    didn't falter there to stay...

    September 1942 two men were discovered near Efogi in New Guinea...

    Return to Don's verse index

    Crow

    by Don Johnson
    Annerley..Brisbane..Australia.

    Dick Ravenscroft that was his name,

    but we all called him Crow.
    His shooting surely earned him fame,
    you have the right to know.
    As a Sniper in the Middle East,
    he used an extra long threeo'.
    With high powered scope he got the beast,
    who shot Jack and George and Joe.
    The Froggy Sniper he'd had a ball,
    he'd blazed a deadly trail.
    A Rangefinder let me call,
    the distance to post his mail.
    Seventeen hundred yards, I called to Crow.
    Crow watched with patience rare,
    the Frog rose later on to go,
    Crow fired and death was there.
    From one mile off he'd done the deed,
    cut short the deadly hail.
    No sniper now to make us bleed,
    the wind gone from his sail.

    In Syria in 1941 the Australian Army was
    engaged in a Middle eastern
    war with the German led Vichy French, The
    French Foreign Legion, and the Arab peoples .
    During this 8 week war snipers were used by both sides in the
    desperate struggle.
    Australian troops won this war though the enemy outnumbered
    them by more than two to one.

    Return to Don's verse index

    Beatle Dougan

    by Don Johnson
    Annerley..Brisbane..Australia.

    BEATLE DOUGAN ON THE SCHOOL BUS

    BEATLE CRAWLING ON THE FLOOR
    BEATLE DIVING IN AND OUT SEATS
    BEATLE BEGGING TO DO SOME MORE

    BEATLE WRIGGLING UNDER BUS SEATS
    BEATLE SHOOTING THE BAD GUYS ALL
    BEATLE HAS THE SYSTEM BEAT
    BEATLE DRINKS THE RED CORDIAL

    BEATLE DOUGAN'S DOWN THE FRONT SEAT
    BEATLE'S IN THE HOT SEAT NOW
    BEATLE SAYS IN HIS SEAT HE'LL KEEP
    BEATLE DOUGAN DON'T KNOW HOW

    Beatle was a 9 year old on my school bus
    who was likeable but uncontrollable...

    Return to Don's verse index

    Drover Dick

    by Don Johnson
    Annerley..Brisbane..Australia.

    Our Colonel was Dick Marson,

    on the New Guinea campaign,
    He was for us, old Drover Dick,
    who down the Cooper came.
    The one who rode with Redford, the cattle
    duffer mate.
    They took a thousand head, to South
    Australia straight.
    This man who was our hero, was a first war
    veteran true.
    He led us up the Kokoda trail, we'd take tea
    with a Jap or two.
    The bursting shrapnel sliced his gut,
    his stomach it dropped out.
    There was no doctor to stitch him up,
    just the Muleteer about.

    I had used a mule team in the Middle East,
    with the Second Twenty Fifth.
    We took supplies to the troops at least,
    till they blew my mules to bits.
    I used to stitch their packs up,
    and counter line them too.
    Old Dick knew I could do the job, to make
    him good as new.

    So he said just send for Johno, to put me
    guts in straight.
    The muleteer can counterline,
    or I'll be just crowbait.
    I blanket stitched him mate, was as neat as
    I could be.
    He stood erect said, "That's first rate"
    then he called out....

    "Follow me !"

    New Guinea, September 1942.. Aussies versus the Japanese.....Kokoda trail..

    Return to Don's verse index

  • A bit more rhyme?

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  • Ipswich City Web, Qld.

  • Check out Frank ======================================== Halliwell's excellent Home Page & verse .

  • See my verse index??.

  • mail 4 Don Johnson

      Updated 17th June 1996.

      More of Town & Country Verse.

      Since 17th June 1996, there have been

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      visitors to this second page. All conversation welcome

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      Slouch Hat ][ Dan Kelly lived ][ KNOCKER.B ][ TIME][ The Test ][ Aubrey Mc Govern ][ THE PIEBALD COLT ][ Rodger Beadmore ][ Zip ][ Squatter Jack ][ Cattle Pup ][ 1 Crest Road ][ Landlubber ][ Rebel & Patch ][ Going Mustering ][ Rocky ][Done Droving ][ more later?]

      Slouch Hat

      When you see the hat or hear the tune so fair,

      you'll know what its about.
      The old "Slouch hat" that our Digger's wear,
      and the "Waltzing Matilda" no doubt.
      Yes we have some pride in what we've done,
      of the convict blood in this race.
      We'll never be happy unless we've won,
      to lose is a big disgrace.
      Whenever asked, well we've been there,
      to aid our friends in a War.
      Our boys they've died, yes died with flair,
      since the Breaker fought the Boer.
      Well now we're multicultural, mixed, all sorts,
      but all Aussies any rate.
      New Aussies can be good at sports,
      so say "Good on you mate."
      It doesn't matter how smart you are,
      don't try politics, be a clown.
      You can be very popular,
      till the newsmen pull you down.
      Character assassination is their trade,
      they cut tall poppies short.
      Brainwashing by the sentence made,
      they got Bondy didn't they sport?
      When you see our Diggers on a farewell parade,
      all races so proudly march there .
      And the Waltzing Matilda so loudly is played,
      it picks up your feet with its flair.
      The Bayonets are fixed and Sabres displayed
      for the Diggers its walking on air.
      They're off to do battle with the tools of their trade,
      the young and the brave proudly there.

      by D H Johnson.

      Go back up the ladder?

      Dan Kelly lived

      I know you've heard the story, of the Kellys, how they fell.
      At Glenrowan Dan and Steve, were said to die as well.
      Well listen to me friend, and a true story I will tell,
      How Dan and Steve the youngsters, escaped that fiery hell.
      Ned Kelly had said to them, I'll cover your escape,
      go north to Sydney you young men, I'll stay to meet my fate.
      Two of their saddle horses, were never to be found,
      just Ned and Joe's two mounts were there,
      The rest were northward bound.
      Two horses they were ridden hard, to dodge the traps with care.
      Steve and Dan's two horses travelled well, two riders they did bear.
      So they went with remount horses, from Sydney town my friend.
      By ship they left the country, to India and then.
      The Boer war it got going hard, so a hand they went to lend.
      Stand by your mates is what they said, on this you may depend.
      The war came and they soldiered on, of death they had no fear.
      For no one waited to care for them, or to shed a tear.
      They fought the Boer at his own game, and made him pay quite dear.
      They thought his war was pretty tame, and drank his laager beer.
      A Journalist confronted them, the Kelly gang old mate.
      He changed his mind on who they were, His death he said could wait.
      The War was over and they came back,to the Aussie bush once more.
      Liked the solitude upon the track, down near the Dungel bore.
      Young Steve and Dan they did ride north,
      rode right across the state .
      Stayed with the Whites of Mungindi, then came to Queensland mate.
      Joe White took them brumby running, and taught them of the trade.
      On how to catch the brumby horse, to read the tracks he made.
      They knew Joe from days they'd spent at Sydney's horse sales too.
      When buying mounts they'd met him there, he always sold a few.
      The General he did tell them, of safe places that he knew.
      Of Thunderbolt and of his haunts,
      of a people good and true.
      They soon found work they did so well,
      breaking horses for their pay.
      And they met together secretly, but never in the light of day.
      Dan Kelly with some humour, took a new name right away.
      From an Irish highway man, the notorious Jack O'day.

      And Steve Hart the bushranger, of him to you I'll tell,
      he became Fred Layton horse breaker, and station hand as well.
      Another used Dan Kellys name, in Brisbane he did find.
      That his pockets they might maybe fill?
      his mouth with low grade wine.
      J Ryan a first cousin knew, the Kelly saga well,
      this gardener grew in stature too,
      when Dan's story he did tell.
      He got his story into print, as the papers surely tell,
      of his claim to the Kelly name,
      did they line his pockets well?
      His accidental death, run down,
      came quickly to him mate.
      The train he met near Ipswich town,
      has signed and sealed his fate.
      J Ryan has gone ahead, to meet Gabriel at the gate.
      Dan's legend lives, but died with him.
      He was no Kelly mate.
      Ned by his subtle quote so rare,
      Spoke of Dan Kelly's fate,
      Three of the Gang some thought died there,
      Ned knew how two escaped.
      When the train did past Glenrowan go,
      Prison chains Ned had to wear,
      They heard him say of his mate Joe,
      "a good man had died there".

      by D.H.JOHNSON.

      The Kelly gang were supposed to have all died at Glenrowan
      but a recent book paints a different picture....... Zoom up the page

      KNOCKER.B

      Yes here we are in the great south land,
      right amongst the knockers be.
      Don't stick your nose up or be grand,
      they'll stomp yer like a flea.
      In the land of knockers they take joy,
      the newsmen shout it loud.
      The business people they'll annoy,
      if you died they'd steal yer shroud.
      These up jumped yokels never were a cut above the rest,
      the politicians know and hate the awful bloody pest.
      But if you stand a little tall or stand out with the best,
      they'll cut you down and paint you black put feathers in your vest.
      Perhaps the country'd go ahead with out the knocker be.
      if our monied people had the guts to back a progidy.
      Our inventors must go overseas to get a backer, gee?
      no one to back the under dog, not cricket, do you see.

      by D H Johnson

      Jump back to the top

      TIME

      ALAS OLD AGE UPON ME CREEPS,
      LAST WEEK I WAS A CHILD.
      NOW EVERY DAY MY BODY CREAKS,
      OLD AGE HAS GOT ME RILED.
      IF I COULD GO BACK TWENTY YEARS,
      AND PERHAPS FOR TWENTY MORE.
      BACK THEN I NEVER HAD NO FEARS,
      I`D NOT GROW OLD FOR SURE.
      TIME ONWARD EVER ONWARD GOES,
      YES TIME IS PASSING QUICK.
      NEXT WEEK I`LL BE TURNING UP MY TOES,
      THERE TO WELCOME ME OLD NICK?

      15/Jan./1991....by D JohnsonGo back to to the index?

      The Test

      Yes eighteen days a crawling, through the hot back country dirt.
      Yes 18 days a crawling, crawling, with his pelvis smashed so hurt.
      In the early 1900's he'd rode down the water course,
      a talking to the leatherheads, as he'd ridden on his way.
      Two clumpers, led two clumpers, some might call em cart horse,
      more than forty miles and further down the river to get his pay.
      No mate he never made it, he got smashed up on the way,
      the horses gone, he'd have to show some grit.
      He woke so injured and alone, but yes he'd be ok,
      his memory gone, but not his bloody wit.
      He crawled through Lignum bushes green,
      every move it brought a groan.
      Dodged brown snakes and big old mulga's mean.
      His broken bones were aching, every move would get him home,
      no pain could stop him moving, this string bean.
      He wriggled on through lignum bushes where the wild pigs make their nest.
      He wriggled past the many pigs he'd seen.
      If he could find it, he ate prickly pair fruit with some zest,
      ate whitchety grubs but tucker it was lean.
      Yes he struggled as he wriggled on through the prickly pair,
      he used the old pigs path a well worn track.
      He watched the sun a blazing and it told him just to where,
      he'd have to head if he could make it back.
      A crow did follow in his wake and 'arked' to call a friend,
      they gathered as they waited for a feed.
      Death waited for Joe's life to take, Joe wouldn't let it end.
      He'd starve the crows, keep going yes indeed.
      So he slithered as he concentrated, but no he didn't err,
      though he slept out in the bitter cold and frost.
      He went right on a moving on through thorny khaki burr,
      crawled to the door at home he wasn't lost.
      So they found him and they lodged him in a hospital bed,
      now deep in a coma no surprise.
      One day he woke up and this is what he said,
      "Crows feed down river there on dead mans eyes."
      They found the body where Joe said the crows had got his eyes.
      So drowned and washed up bloated awful dead.
      Those bloody awful crows Joe he did despise.
      They'd got themselves another feed instead.
      Joe returned to the lonely life, and drought.
      To ride fast and hard in the brumbies track.
      Often slept on his saddle, his horse hobbled out,
      with the one that carried his pack.
      Though he'd often ask he never found
      not a man either white or black.
      Who'd tried the test yes down on the ground
      forty miles belly down, a wriggling all the way back.

      by D H Johnson.

      Joe White my Great Grandfather passed the 'Test' in 1900.

      Go back again?

      Aubrey Mc Govern

      Aubrey Mc Govern

      Aubrey McGovern and Eddie O'Keefe
      lived down on Cubbie on damper and beef.
      The damper was easy McGovern could cook
      the beef it was shady and O'Keefe was a crook.
      When the meat bag was empty and had to be filled,
      the first neighbours beast just had to be killed.
      It was a bush law that you don't kill your own,
      when picking one out it was mostly a roan.
      These cattle are softer and won't hurt your gums,
      digestion is better and won't hurt your bums.
      Whips could be made from their soft roan hides,
      and last for years when properly applied.
      You could make hobble straps out of greenhide you know,
      bell straps for the horses,
      but twisting hide ropes was ever so slow.
      They would last for years if you kept them well oiled,
      and kept under cover so they wouldn't be spoiled.
      With head ropes and leg ropes and a Bronco horse,
      the branding was done on the old water course( Cubbie stn)
      McGovern was evil when on the grog,
      Swore until his death he'd met the Devil agog.
      He met him front on with a pot full of spuds,
      he threw it all over him and scalded his duds.
      Yes the Devil took off Mc Govern did say,
      and he didn't come back for many a day.
      The tools of the Bushman are simple and few.
      So he hit the old devil with a bucket of stew.
      Sometimes when sober and a few friends around,
      They'd query him about the Devil,
      he declared the story was sound.

      by D H Johnson.

      Come back Lisa to the top

      This eating of the neighbours cattle or sheep was
      traditional, and IS accepted as the done thing.
      in south west Queensland.

      THE PIEBALD COLT

      THE PIEBALD COLT.

      I was the piebald colt, born on the Barwon River.
      Who used to buck and bolt, with sweat and froth I'd shiver.
      Albert drove me in the wagon, he drove me in the dray,
      he drove me in the wagonette, yes every bloody day.
      So we started out from Mungindi then Dirranbandi we did pass,
      When we came to Wippel's lane, the fat ran out my ass.
      He jerked the winkers from my head, and set my frame alight,
      And he yoked the bally mare up just to keep the chains a tight.
      For they trotted and they wobbled, Albert chuckled with delight,
      One would think that they were hobbled, in their poor and bloody plight.
      For Albert had to be at Moorandoah, at the breaking of the dawn.
      For the Bally cows were waiting, in the stockyard's early morn.
      Old Albert cracked his whip and slowly gave a grin,
      Saying to the manager,"I'll take these Bally bitches in."
      But alas he didn't know it, the route he had to take,
      It was there he met the 'Bushman', at the Bollon common gate.
      Oath said "you can take them through Bullingie, and three boredrains you will pass,
      If that doesn't suit you Albert, You can jam them up your ass."
      Old Galloping Don was on the Balonne, and sitting rather pretty,
      when Albert brought the mob along, Don saw his own cow, a pity.
      Albert had a cow with big down horns her udder swelled and tight.
      So when Johnson came along he knew that cow, on sight.
      For he pointed her out, on open route and swore to do or die,
      Old Albert said he'd have the cow, when he got to Mungindi.
      Old galloping Don spoke up and said,"you'll have her, I'll see to that,
      and if you haven't my colonial boy, I'll have you on the mat."
      At Mungindi Albert tried to truck the cow, but Johnson came along,
      he'd stopped the blighter anyhow, soon put her in the pound yard strong.
      For she never went up the chute, no battery hit her hide.
      Old Albert said he owned the cow, but Johnson said he lied.

      by D H Johnson.

      Spring back up the page

      Rodger Beadmore

      While a droving out near Bollon at about the forty mile,
      just a following sheep through the lime bushes dense.
      Moving down the stock route, a feeding all the while.
      By and by shortly we passed through Beadmore's boundary fence.

      Old Rodger an Aboriginal soon appeared upon the route,
      A character well known for charm and sense,
      Yes Rodger came to keep their sheep from getting out.
      And to put his strays back through their boundary fence.
      The old man said to Rodger, "waters a bit light".
      "How far do you reckon is it to the next boredrain?"
      He knew that Rodger just couldn't read or write,
      But Rodger good old Rodger, he told him just the same.

      He said "Not far not far mate, big straight road all the way."
      "You'll be there by and by directly later on today!"

      Now he said to Rodger "Heres a gun go shoot us a roo."
      So Rodger wandered off to get our dogs a feed.
      But later on when he came back, said he'd seen a big roo too.
      He said "I shoot him nine times and I miss him every time."

      Old Beadmore in bad temper sometimes gave Rodger the sack,
      but before he left the place the boss lady hired him back.
      Though one might sack and send him a walking down the track ,
      the other'd come and fetch him he was family this man black.

      by D Johnson ...of our mate Rodger ...

      Bound up the page?

      "Zip"

      -ZIP- was the horse we bought from Blue ,
      a flea bitten grey of course.
      You couldn`t catch the bastard true,
      He`d root a bit this horse.
      Chrissy rode him bareback,
      he couldn`t tip her off.
      He learnt to jump he wasn't slack ,
      At fences he did scoff.
      He jumped the fence on kessels road,
      and down the road did bound.
      When I came home to catch the toad,
      he was cornered by the pound.

      As I got near he made his break,
      reared and struck and showed no pity.
      He did the Brisbane pound boys shake,
      Cantered south through Garden City.
      We left him west on Kullinjah,
      loose in red mulga country now.
      You won`t catch and ride this old Galah ,
      Old brumby take a bow!

      by D H Johnson.

      In 1977 I bought a horse for Chris . After a few months
      I set him loose on 20,000 acres near StGeorge.

      Go back go back.

      Squatter Jack

      HAVE YOU LIVED AWHILE IN WEST QUEENSLAND
      OUT IN THE RED SOIL DUST
      WHERE THE CROWS WILL PICK YOUR EYES OUT AND
      BORE WATER IS A MUST
      HAVE YOU SEEN A THIN AND STARVING COW
      NOT A BLADE OF GRASS TO EAT
      THE TIMBER`S GONE NO MULGA NOW
      JUST THE DEADLY SUMMER HEAT
      THE SQUATTER FLOGGED HIS PADDOCKS OUT
      TOO MANY CATTLE THERE
      HE THOUGHT GOOD SEASONS WERE ABOUT
      BUT WE KNOW THEY ARE RARE
      SO NOW HE TEARS HIS HAIR OUT
      AND CRIES POOR BLOODY ME
      WE`LL HAVE TO SUBSIDISE THE LOUT
      WHEN HE WHINES SO PUBLICLY
      THE OLD COW BOGGED IN THE DAM TODAY
      AND THERE SHE`LL LIKELY LIE
      THE CROWS WILL TAKE HER EYES AWAY
      BEFORE SHE GETS TO DIE
      SCRUB MULGA`S TUCKER IN A DROUGHT
      ON THE BUSHY LIMBS THEY`LL THRIVE
      WHERE SOME MUGS HAD IT BULLDOZED OUT
      NO CATTLE LEFT ALIVE
      THEN THE RAIN IT COMES AFTER YEARS OF DROUGHT
      AND THE GRASS IS GREEN AND SWEET
      THEY`LL FORGET THE BAD TIMES HAVE NO DOUBT
      TILL DEAD COWS ARE FLYBLOWN MEAT.

      by D H Johnson.

    • Return to Dons index.

      Cattle Pup

      YOUNG CATTLE PUP HE WAS AROUND,
      BACK IN THE EARLY FIFTIES.
      HE WORKED ABOUT OLD DIRRAN. TOWN,
      A DROVER THAT WAS CLIFFY.

      BUT WHEN IN DIRRANBANDI TOWN,
      FOR SPORT ON SATURDAY NIGHT.
      THESE MEN THEY DIDN'T FRIG AROUND,
      THEY SURELY LOVED TO FIGHT.
      OF ONE SUCH FIGHT HERE`S WHAT HE SAID,
      THIS FIGHT I`D DAY HE`D WON.
      "I JUST WENT WOOSH, GOD STRIKE ME DEAD,
      AND HIS PIZZLE WENT TO THE SUN!"
      STILL LATER ON WHEN FULL OF GROG,
      HE FOUGHT A SQUATTER BEAT HIM UP.
      WHEN MONROE CALLED FOR THE CATTLE DOG,
      "HE`S HERE !"SAID THE CATTLE PUP .
      THIS SQUATTER CAME TO EVEN UP,
      HE`D BEEN TAUGHT TO FIGHT SO WELL.
      HE SAID" KEEP YOUR GUARD UP CATTLE PUP,
      DON`T COME OUT TILL THE BELL."
      OLD CATTLE PUP HE`D MET HIS MATCH,
      THOUGH HE`D DODGED BOTH LEFT AND RIGHT.
      MONROE`S STRAIGHT LEFT THE PUP DID CATCH.
      NO HE NEVER WON THAT FIGHT!
      OLD MCGOVERN WAS ON THE SHOW GROUND GATE,
      WHEN I PASSED THROUGH THERE AT NOON.
      I ASKED "HOW MANY IN THERE MATE?"
      SAID " A THOUSAND MCEWANS THERE SOON!"
      OLD CATTLE PUP HIS LIFE FORCE SPENT,
      HIS MUMBER IT CAME UP.
      I WON`T SAY THAT HE TO HEAVEN WENT,
      JUST SEE YOU THERE CATTLE PUP.

      by D H Johnson.

      In the 1950's in western Queensland sport was short
      and fisticuffs was a friendly match.
      By tradition the winner bought the loser a cold beer

    • Go back to the top?

      1 Crest Road

      At 1 crest road computers lurk,
      and donkeys they run free.
      Theres Halliwell he's hard at work,
      friend of birds cane toads and me.
      Look for savage dogs theres two or more,
      Luke and Spook will check you out.
      Or a big brown hound with a donkeys roar,
      herself a pooch no doubt.
      R.F. radiation on the short wave burns,
      there's an eerie glow inside.
      Computers talk and packet churns,
      where sometimes chips get fried.
      So just beware if you go there,
      past mean old Itsy at the gate.
      If you dodge the brown with half a prayer,
      you'll get some coffee mate.

      by D H Johnson.vk4pr

      Of Rhymer Frank Halliwell [vk4ave] & his mean brown donkey ....

    • Jump up to index.

      Landlubber

      Yes we sailed on the blue briny water,
      watched the sharks that swam in the deep.
      Trimmed the sails for the wind`s sou`east quarter,
      then a storm swift upon us did sweep.
      Too many sheets were up in the rigging,
      the main mast it snapped and was gone.
      Three men no longer were living,
      dragged drowning to where no sun had shone.
      The rudder was smashed and as we came about,
      the sea surged o`er the port side.
      We`d sink to the bottom I`d never a doubt,
      I lived though many they died.
      Still water it came, but we weren`t alone,
      as I clung to a spar in the swell.
      Around me the injured and dying did moan,
      while those sharks they fed bloody well.
      I hung there so frozen in terror,
      as one nudged and tasted my feet.
      Passed over this one made an error?
      or he`d just had his fill of fresh meat?
      Days passed with time never ending,
      till sand came up under my feet.
      No more sailing the sea or sail mending,
      a landlubber I`ll be if we meet.

      by D H Johnson.
      ..a bad dream remembered...............

    • Return to the index ?

      Rebel & Patch

      The Buck sparrow lurched and dived with ever constant wheeling,
      and squealing loud he fluttered neath the eaves.
      He knew the cat was waiting yes waiting in the ceiling,
      and he squeaked and shrilled c'os he was very peeved.

      You see I'd let the cats in when fumigation didn't work,
      climbed a ladder took a board off from on one side,
      taught two kittens how to climb up through the opening they'd walk.
      To evict the tenants fluttering round inside.
      For generations many of the sparrows gone and past,
      the house had held their family in its keep.
      But birdlice very itchy had brought the cats at last,
      so the owner he'd stop scratching in his sleep.
      For Rebel she slunk among the beams then suddenly she'd pounce,
      or Patches in the ceiling came to play.
      These kittens loved their sparrow yes every bloody ounce,
      just one for breakfast really made their day.

      The only way to shift the lice it was to move the bird,
      for they'd hover and they'd wriggle neath the iron.
      Though every hole was blocked into the house still undeterred.
      These lousy birds I've put into this ryme.

      by D H Johnson

    • Going back to the index?

      Going Mustering

      YES IT`S DAYLIGHT AND THE HORSES ARE CAUGHT
      THEIR HOBBLES A JINGLING DIN
      THEY`VE BRIDLED AND SADDLED EACH HALF BROKEN SORT
      WHO`LL PIGROOT AND SOME JUST MIGHT WIN
      WITH HOBBLES STRAPPED AROUND THEIR NECKS
      AND THEIR TAILS CLAMPED DOWN SO TIGHT
      THE BUSHMAN CLIMBS ABOARD EXPECTS
      THIS HORSE TO SURELY FIGHT
      THEN DOWN WITH IT`S HEAD , IT PIGROOTS NOW
      THEN THE SPURS ARE DRIVEN IN
      YOU`LL REEF IT`S HEAD UP, STOP IT`S ROW
      OR RIDE THIS HORSE TO WIN
      BUT LATER ON YOU MIGHT RELAX
      YOU THINK THIS HORSE IS BEAT
      THE HORSE MIGHT WAIT FOR THE REINS TO SLACK
      THEN HE`LL THROW YOU FROM YOUR SEAT
      SO BACK IN THE SADDLE YOU`LL SORELY GET
      GO ON WITH THE WORK THAT YOU DO
      HE`LL HAVE A GO AT YOU I`LL BET
      NEXT DAY WHEN YOU SADDLE HIM TOO

      by D H JOHNSON.

    • Jump back to the top page

      Rocky

      Our Rocky he`s a cattle dog ,
      He`s coloured black and blue,
      He always lays around asleep
      till work he has to do.
      Two preacher's came walking up our path,
      to sell their line of spiel.
      They told me of their one true god,
      and did it with some zeal.
      At last they left just one sheep short,
      They headed for the gate,
      And then one stopped to look about,
      c`os Rocky`d bit his mate.
      I thought to drive old Rocky off,
      with whip and curses rare,
      I cracked the whip and yelled a lot,
      But terrified the pair.
      They thought the devil on their trail,
      This dog and madman too,
      They leapt in a Ford and did set sail,
      In a cloud of smoke so blue.

      by D H Johnson

    • Bounce back up the page

      Done Droving

      THE SLIPRAILS ARE DOWN THE HORSES ARE GONE
      GOOSE NECK SPURS ALL COVERED IN RUST
      MY QUARTPOT IS BENT I`VE LEFT THE BALONNE
      TO GO TO THE CITY I MUST
      I`M AS DRY AS OLD LAKE ELIZA
      FOR A BEER I`M DYING OF THIRST
      GIVEN HALF A BRAIN I`D BE A BIT WISER
      BUT THEN MY POOR SKULL IT MIGHT BURST
      MY SADDLE NEEDS GREASING THE FLAPS ARE SO DRY
      I`LL MELT DOWN SOME SHEEP KIDNEY FAT
      I`LL RUB IT IN WHILE YOU ASK ME WHY
      IF I CAN KEEP OUT THE DOGS AND THE CAT
      MY HOBBLES THEY HANG THERE ALL COVERED IN RUST
      THEY`VE BEEN ON SOME HORSES OUT WEST
      YES SLOWED SOME HORSES WITH WANDER LUST
      TO FEED ROUND THE CAMP WITH THE BEST
      STAR PICKETS ARE THERE AND THE AWFUL BARBED WIRE
      JUST ONE WIRE KEPT THE CATTLE ON CAMP
      A CAMPOVEN BLACK FROM THE OLD COOKING FIRE
      AND THE SPLUTTERING OLD CARBIDE LAMP
      NO MORE TO ROLL ME SWAG OUT ON THE GROUND
      TO WAKE DAMP FROM THE FROST OR THE DEW
      OUT WHERE THE ROOS IN THOUSANDS BOUND
      OR TO DRINK FROM ME QUARTPOT A BREW
      YES NOW OLD MATE I`M DOWN IN THE CITY
      DOWN HERE THE HORSE`S ARE TOYS
      THE THIN BONY ONES SURE DO GET MY PITY
      PLEASE FEED THAT OLD HORSE GIRLS AND BOYS.

      by D H JOHNSON.

      Return to Don's verse index

    • A bit more rhyme?

    • Ipswich City Web, Qld.

    • Check out Frank Halliwell's excellent Home Page & verse .

    • Go back to the front page?.

    • mail 4 Don Johnson

        Updated 17th June 1996.

        Yet more verse ...

        /

        Aub ][Brownie ][Bouncer ][Bronco ][Charlie ][Cloud ][Dingo ][Done ][Ellen ][Fate ][Heather ][Hippy ][New Guinea 1942 ][Julie ][Kokoda 1942 ][Heartbender ][Mc'Cormac ][1977 Miner's Blues ][The Quest ][Red ][The Rising ][Sowboy ][Wharfie ][WHEELIE BIN JOE ][Waffler ][

        Aub

        AUBREY GORDON JOSEPH MC'GOVERN

        by Don Johnson...

        HE WAS BORN IN 1895 TO A LAND SO DIFFERENT THEN,
        ONE OF THREE BOYS BORN AT BRENDA STATION,
        NEAR TO HEBEL UP THE RIVER NEAR THE WATER ON A BEND.
        THOUGH JUST A CHILD HE TOLD ME OF HIS LIFE UPON THE LAND,
        OF STRANGE THINGS SEEN AND SPACE SHIPS STRANGE, WITH
        COLOURED LIGHTS SO GRAND.
        HOW HE AND WALTER AND THE BOY HAD SEEN IT FLYING PAST ,
        BUT NEVER WENT TO LOOK FOR IT THOUGH IT FELL WITH A MIGHTY BLAST.
        HE DROVE THE COACH FOR COBB & CO, HELD SIX HORSES BY THE REIN,
        THESE 3 MC GOVERN'S NEVER MARRIED THOUGH,
        SO NO MC GOVERN'S WILL REMAIN.
        HE WORKED ON CUBBIE STATION AS A STATION HAND
        THEIR FENCES HE DID MEND, DELIVERED MAIL A SULKY
        MAILMAN TO THE SQUATTERS HE WAS FRIEND.
        NO RADIO ON THE AIRWAVES THEN, THE NEWS WOULD COME BY HIM,
        BY WORD OF MOUTH THE BUSH TELEGRAPH, BARE FACTS WITH NO GARNISHING.
        ONE TIME HE WAS A SHEARERS COOK AND COOKED O'ER AN OPEN FIRE.
        HE WAS ON THE RUM, MAYBE SEEING THINGS, OLD AUB HE WAS NO LIAR.
        AS HE STOOPED TO CHECK THE BOILING POT HE SAW THE DEVIL LUNGE AT HIM.
        SO HE FLOGGED HIM OFF USED HIS BOILING SPUDS,
        MADE A GOODLY CAMPFIRE DIM.

        OLD AUBREY'S GONE WHERE THE OLD DROVERS GO,
        BUT I SURE REMEMBER HIM.
        AS A STORY TELLER I DID KNOW,
        WHEN I WAS SMALL AND THIN.

        Go back to this local index

        BROWNIE

        Old Brownie he used to be, a station owners horse,
        But here he was down in the town, on a quarter acre course.
        He used to live away out west, as he told me with remorse,
        But here he was on a city block, poor starving bloody horse.
        A forty acre paddock, was the home he knew, past tense,
        The dogs would come to yard him up,
        and he`d kick them o`er the fence.
        In his quarter acre paddock,
        of grass he was bereft, He`d get some lucerne hay,
        if five dollars they had left.
        When he was young ten years ago, at least then in his prime,
        He never went for tucker short, scrub mulga it was fine.
        Brownie stood just fifteen hands, surefooted as a flea,
        When you climbed aboard he sure could root,
        if he dropped his head you`d see .
        You only had to rouse on him,
        and pull his head back up,
        If you stopped him pigrooting, slim,
        this gelding wasn`t rough.
        The hungry squatter sold his hide, to a horse meat buyer crude ,
        This squatter couldn`t bloody ride, he`d thrown the little dude .
        His owner had walked home five miles, with a mean bad attitude,
        Old brownie got the stockmen`s smiles,
        When he`d dropped the boss so shrewd.
        The dogger took him in a float, it was a semi trailer ,
        Just him and a few burnt out plugs, dog meat to the can wholesaler.
        The mighty aussie dollar, his life did surely save ,
        The dogger thought him good enough, for the townie riders brave.
        So that left him here my friend, no food for him to find,
        The bark off trees might fill his gut,
        but would his stomach mind?
        Now there was no more root in him, starvation saw to that,
        Green feed might just a pigroot bring, Poor tucker left him flat.
        So when you see your city horse feed, through his quarter acre fence,
        Yes mate he`s hungry for some grass,
        just use your common sense!

        by D H Johnson. Jump up the page...

        Bouncer

        The bouncer strolled on through the bar,
        with Gay people very thick.
        A drag queen called 'you going far'.
        Got 'piss off moll' real quick.
        He brought ice in for the barmaid sweet,
        and said 'I`ll take you out'.
        The barmaid said 'first you must meet,
        a girl who loves you have no doubt'.
        He took one look at the promised lass,
        just shook his head said 'no!'
        A rough drag queen he`d have to pass,
        a voice inside said so.
        A little charmer called to him,
        He said 'a screw just me and you'.
        She said 'I`ll fix your wagon Slim,
        take your girlfriend off you too'.
        Still later on when he came back,
        a fight had broken out.
        To this normal fellow he said 'Jack,
        drop that poofter It`s your shout'.
        `Yes get upstairs with your own type,
        don`t bug these people bent.'
        The barmaid gave the bar a wipe,
        as 'Jack' then off he went.

        Back in the lounge he paused awhile,
        and looked about the room.
        Five ladies beckoned with a smile,
        at different tables in the gloom.
        What could he do but tell four why?
        He couldn`t come home soon.
        He`d lost four lovers by and by,
        But Pam stayed in the room.
        So home he went with passionate Pam,
        for a night with little sleep.
        Escaped at dawn bout 5am,
        then home to bed he`d creep?

        by D H Johnson.

        Climb back up the page...

        BRONCO DON JOHNSON

        Yes born to ride in the saddle,
        this baby she nursed on the horse.
        His mother so caring did straddle,
        drove cattle rode with him of course.
        He learned to cling to the monkey,
        or to get a grip on the flap.
        This pigrooting horse was quite bumpy,
        till Tuppy could give him a slap.
        He lived on damper and corn meat,
        with a drop of tomato source.
        Did wait till Tuppy had the brumby beat,
        just to ride a bad brumby horse.
        As a boy he`d start work on a station,
        they`d ask "can you ride?" "Just a bit."
        Given the "killer" the worst in creation ,
        all day on this 'outlaw' he`d sit.
        Rode bucking horses and could scoff,
        at every temperamental brute.
        They couldn`t throw or bash him off,
        he`d spur every horse if he`d root.

        Bronco Don Johnson was the man,
        this rider of bad station horses.
        He`d ride any moorang that ever ran,
        some thought, rode by unnatural forces.
        At brumby running was he great,
        Scrub bashing with spurs applied.
        Rode to the lead and turned them mate,
        and steadied them with pride.
        Scrubber cattle yes he`d throw,
        by the tail right on their side.
        He`d sit on em and hold them though,
        to gore him yes they tried.
        The old ways went the horses too,
        they`d made dog meat of the best.
        No bushmen now are left tis true,
        in this empty place out west.

        by D H Johnson.

        Jump up the page..

        Our Mate Charlie Brummell

        Yes mate we went a droving back in nineteen fifty eight,
        The drovers cook was pretty rough, he couldn`t wash a plate.
        Hector he was fifty two, when he burnt our damper bread,
        Uncle Charley had to show him how, to cook the dough instead.
        While he stood there spluttering, with face, hair and whiskers red,
        his try had just a damper burnt, it`d feed the dogs instead !
        We rolled our swags out round the fire, and slept on the ground so well.
        When daylight came I heard the call, and walked to find the bell.
        The horses they were hobbled out, to feed on grass around .
        The bell would lead me to them mate, through mist I`d track the sound.
        I was the 13 year old kid, who caught the horses there,
        Took the hobbles off as I did fingers numb , frosty buckles bare.
        Back to camp you`d lead em boy to saddle them right up.
        The piebald I`d ride with joy if she didn`t run out of puff.
        Yes mate we had three thousand sheep, to feed on the stock route ,
        We walked them into New Angledool, and stopped to look about.
        The town it was so ghostly bare, few people in the houses,
        No one walked the street so fair, no drunks no upright wowsers.
        We walked the sheep on through the town,
        they camped in a yard that night,
        We camped in a store abandoned, brown,
        a dusty cobwebbed sight .
        I phoned my Mother to let her know,
        her boy was in New South Wales,
        And promised to write a letter soon,
        in time to catch the mails.
        For three long months we followed the sheep ,
        six miles a day for sure,
        For this is the rule our stock routes keep,
        don`t flog the country poor.
        The stock route inspector would check on you,
        if you flogged a paddock out ,
        If you ate some squatters grass a day or two,
        they`d move you down the route.
        Yes we walked these sheep 500 mile.
        through country red and black ,
        We crossed the river at St George,
        and to Dirran. headed back.
        The rain had come, the grass had grown,
        in the home paddocks oh so bare,
        The owner asked Charley to bring them home,
        now he had the grass to spare .
        So we took them down the Hebel road,
        drove then south again old mate ,
        The sheep at home we did unload ,
        yes we left them at the gate .
        The sheep we counted over ,
        the tally it was fair ,
        There were enough stragglers in the mob,
        the owner didn`t care .
        Back to town we`d wander lost,
        our droving surely done ,
        Now to sleep in a bed so soft,
        our wages surely won.

        by D H Johnson

        Back to the index?

        Black Cloud!?*#@+&

        The Black Cloud lurched and swayed a bit,
        and somehow followed on.
        No sir I never needed it,
        and I bid it sir 'Begone'.
        And all I touched it turned to clay,
        yes everything went wrong.
        Though I persisted all the day,
        the black cloud was too strong.

        by D H Johnson vk4pr.

        Go to this index..

        ..DINGO..

        Out in the west the wild Brumbies still roam,
        there you`ll find red Dingo the sheep killer dog.
        Dog netting fences are there to keep the sheep home,
        Roo holes let him through like a Frog.
        Wild Pigs burrow under this fence,
        and leave another hole.
        The cunning dog looks for them with good sense,
        to find a way in is his goal.
        So then he`s in amongst the Sheep ,
        to weed a killer out.
        More than one will go to deathly sleep,
        I have no cause to doubt.

        With dead Sheep laying all about,
        he`ll eat his fill, old Dingo.
        The Fox will watch until he`s gone,
        he`ll starve the Crows by jingo.
        Well daylight comes and the crows arrive,
        will they pick these bones so bare.
        Old man goanna eats away inside.
        Yes the crows do tear their hair.
        A few days do pass, now his stomach it is empty.
        The dog returns to the easy sport,
        of sheep there sure are plenty.
        The worms do bite to feed the thought,
        he`ll kill just two not twenty.

        The doggers rifle shot rings out,
        old red he staggers plenty.
        He stopped to smell piddle fresh about,
        shot dead by a 25. 20.

        Old Johnson the dogger had set his traps,
        on the dingo`s route he knew.
        Dog piss he dripped right across his tracks,
        to a dog trap cruel but true.
        He sometimes used a shotgun trap,
        made of water pipe with care.
        The shell got fired by a 2 inch nail,
        trip wired this deadly snare.

        by D H JOHNSON

        Get up there?

        Done?

        You'll never work out what or why
        until the day has past you by
        and then perhaps you never will
        these idle thoughts that we distil
        but left undone I wonder why?

        by D H Johnson vk4pr

        Jump to the index

        ELLEN MAY JOHNSON.

        Yes Ellen Brummell was her name,
        our good sweet Mother dear .
        We wouldn`t trade this girl so game,
        I`ll surely make that clear.
        When droving sheep with her we went,
        back in the early fifties.
        She drove the truck wherever sent,
        and set up camp so swiftly .
        She fed the mob and kept us neat,
        and educated too.
        She always was so good and sweet,
        of mother this is true.
        She always gave us of her best,
        waited on us hand and foot.
        With such a mother we were blessed,
        these words I`ve poorly put.
        If ever with her down you set,
        She`ll fill your plate my friend.
        The fastest meal you`ll ever get,
        If not your arm she`ll bend.
        How she ever put up with our mob,
        watched over us with care.
        Only mother could just do the job,
        of this of course I swear.
        So when you see her run about,
        too busy to sit down.
        Just you she waits on have no doubt,
        or some stranger from the town.

        : for my sweet little mother

        by Don Johnson.

        Climb up the ladder mate?

        FATE?

        Some say that retribution's fine,
        high intervention seems divine.
        The spark of lightning's suffered break,
        no satisfaction do I take,
        coincidence doth make this rhyme.

        by vk4pr

        Or how a knockers computer got scorched ...

        Jump up the page...

        HEATHER

        A young man caught the train,
        back in nineteen sixty four.
        He was headed down to Brisbane again,
        when this nice blonde sort he saw.
        She got on at Nindi Gully late ,
        she seemed ooze romance.
        He said to a passenger, 'I`ll win her mate',
        the oldtimer said 'No chance!'
        So he sat with her and they talked a while,
        so attentive this young chap.
        The old timer covered up a smile,
        as the boy lay his head on her lap.
        She`d been in a pensive mood so far,
        then her mind on him was made.
        Heather asked him to her sleeper car,
        he joined her there and stayed .
        The old man`s mouth was open wide,
        when they`d gone at 3 o`clock.
        He`d won her hadn`t really tried,
        this young man stunned with shock.
        With the curtains drawn they settled down,
        in fine coal dust of this grimy train.
        The squeak and the rolling rattles did drown,
        their passion's sweet refraim.
        by D H Johnson.

        Climb up the ladder mate?

        Hippy the Mugan Crack

        The heart of a lion, the eye of a fawn.
        Has Hippy the Mugan crack,
        he can travel through from the streak of dawn.
        With twelve stone perched on his back.
        When Jack Day is riding,
        and Hippy is striding.
        Through holes where the dead oak fall,
        to stay on the job, and handle the mob,
        doesn`t bother old Hippy at all.
        When brumbies are stringing,
        and stockwhips are ringing,
        in mad effort to break away.
        The leaders are clinging,
        behind the miles flinging,
        In front is the game old bay.
        Out in the scrub, where the brumbies wheel,
        it gives you heart and pain.
        When he stretches out to hold the lead,
        The tug of old Hippy`s rein.
        by Alec Wilkie :

        Alec Wilkie was a brumby runner back in the 1890's
        who worked at catching wild horses with my great grandfather
        Joe White. Revised from childhood memories with the help of
        my Grandmother and Great Uncle Jim White.
        D.H.Johnson. vk4pr

        Jump to the index

        New Guinea Kokoda Campaign

        In 1942 the Japs appeared, took all the islands north.
        Our troops were mainly school boys and for New Guinea bound.
        13,000 Japs landed, climbed up Kokoda and came forth.
        As defeated Yanks Macarthur's boys took over Melbourne town.
        Churchill said "No we can't help, let them take Australia too,
        we'll take it back later in a few years."
        Our P.M. got most of our men home, to fight our war it's true,
        Though Churchill tried every trick but tears.
        The Thirty Ninth Battalion, old men and school boys.
        400 kids to do the job, oh yes these few.
        They met the Jap whose weapons, were anything but toys.
        Militia boys, with old 'threeo's' there to use.
        Our boys could only hit and run.
        Or be surrounded and slaughtered like the roo's.
        The Jap he had it all, mortars, machine and mountain gun.
        New Guinea we could more than likely lose.
        War seasoned 2/21st Brigade it's then they climbed the trail.
        Came to meet the Jap so many thousands there.
        They tried to stop em, many died, but no they wouldn't fail.
        These men so game and earnest every where.
        Battle hardened 2/25th Brigade now came to do its bit.
        Relaced the dead and wounded, and the few left on the trail.
        Our men charged the Jap trenches as the 25 pounders hit,
        used cold steel, Yank tommy guns and leaden hail.
        The Jap ran back o'er the ranges with fear he was instilled,
        with just three battalions snapping at his rear.
        At Templeton they stopped, got surrounded there and killed.
        Aussies made them pay the price, much dread and fear.
        The Kumusi river was in flood, where Horii's men pulled up.
        The General's men they'd stopped again to fight.
        When five hundred died upon the bank they'd really had enough.
        So they tried to cross the river in the night.
        400 drowned there in the flood with General Horii too,
        from capsized boats and rafts and other craft.
        They retreated back to Gona and to Buna they were through,
        their ranks so thinned, they hadn't cause to laugh.
        Our Pilots flew with the Yanks, to bomb and strafe and kill.
        Then our Tanks appeared with Mortar and Field gun.
        With better support now, we sapped their very will.
        Our mountains choked with dead now Kokoda it was won.

        by D H Johnson. Jump up to the top index

        JULIE

        In 74 I got a room in west end`s wooden slum,
        I worked night shift at the R.B.H , a hospital worker chum.
        No tv for me to see, but my next room neighbour was a bum.
        His dark lady called him white trash, while side stepping on the run.
        One day a big motorbike did appear,
        a young lady rode this one.
        I spoke to the girl in her leather gear,
        we went for a beer, drank some.
        She told me she loved a lady deep ,
        as we swallowed bitter beer.
        She said we could live together cheap,
        like a brother and sister dear.
        A situation slightly queer,
        we slept in a double bed .
        We slept together she was near,
        hours later this she said.
        Yes ok you can do it.
        And I surely had some fun.
        Just don`t kiss me no no not a bit.
        Bout daylight off she run.
        Julie went back to Sydney on her bike,
        the men had lost this one.
        Loved ladies, men she didn`t like,
        Well them`s the breaks old son?

        by D H Johnson. Jump up to the top index

        HEROES of the KOKODA TRAIL!
        The Knights of the Kokoda trail
        were Aussie Bushmen lean,
        Frank Egan made them weep and wail,
        when he brought Japs death unseen.
        This man he went on his own raids,
        Saw Johno in the hills,
        He`d stopped to load up with grenades,
        where Johno primed the Mills.
        These men they whispered as they talked ,
        armed to the teeth I`ll state,
        Frank crawled away, he hadn`t walked ,
        more Japs would meet their fate.
        One man from Goodooga, black,
        yes a Murray so true blue,
        He carried a sugar bag on his back,
        packed with grenades, primed too.
        He left camp wearing a loincloth new,
        went native I`ll relate,
        Went behind the lines to Jap H.Q.,
        fed them hand grenades old mate.
        The Japs, did the natives, brutalize,
        worked them hard as mules as well,
        When a "Fuzzy" fell and couldn`t rise,
        hamstrung him where he fell.
        'Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels' bore our good friends,
        mortally wounded down the track,
        Our Goodooga boy he made amends,
        Joined Jap carrier parties black.
        He killed the Samurai swordsmen, mean,
        set Jap slaves many, free to run,
        Sent them back to the hills so very green,
        this fight for them he`d won.

        Of Harry West & Frank Egan ....by D H Johnson. Jump up to the top index

        HEARTBENDER>
        MY LADY LOVE SHE WENT AWAY
        MY HEART WAS SORELY RENT
        MY TORTURED MIND SAID DIE TODAY
        MY BATTERED SOUL NEAR WENT
        SHE DROPPED ME AND SHE RUN AWAY
        SHE SEEMED FROM HEAVEN SENT
        SHE SEEMED TO WANT TO MAKE ME PAY
        SHE DID NOW ME RESENT
        I CAST HER OFF THE OTHER DAY
        I TRAVELLED FAR AND WENT
        I MET ANOTHER GIRL TODAY
        I THINK FOR ME SHE`S MEANT!

        BY D H JOHNSON Jump up to the top index

        JACK MC`CORMACK

        OUR MATE JACK MC'CORMACK WAS A BOOTMAKER OF REKNOWN,
        HE RODE A PUSHBIKE FAR AND WELL.
        HE TRAVELLED UP TO DIRRAN. TOWN,
        CAME UP PAST HEBEL FOR A SPELL.
        ALWAYS SMILED HAD NE`ER A FROWN,
        THOUGH HE RODE IN SUMMER HEAT.
        HE`D HEAD BACK TO SOUTH AUSTRALIA DOWN,
        FIXING SHOES FOR THOSE HE`D MEET.
        HE CARRIED TOOLS ON THE OLD PUSHBIKE,
        USED A SPLIT CORNBAG ON THE BAR.
        FIXED SHOES FOR YOUNG AND OLD ALIKE,
        SERVED THE PEOPLE NEAR AND FAR.
        TO STAY INDOORS WOULD NEVER DO.
        HE`D SOONER CAMP ON THE RIVER BANK,
        TO THROW A LINE FOR A FISH OR TWO,
        WATCHED THE CORK TILL IT BOBBED AND SANK.
        HIS SIMPLE LIFE IT SEEMS WAS BEST,
        NO STRESS FOR HIM BUT RAIN.
        BEST DAMN BOOTMAKER IN THE WEST,
        WILL WE E`ER SEE JACK AGAIN?

        by D H Johnson Jump up to the top index

        1977 BRIDGE SITE MINER`S BLUES.

        Down in old south Brisbane,
        where the derro`s do hang out,
        Where the pipes were stacked 6 high,
        the homeless camped about.
        I was working mate as a miner,
        on a new railway bridge site,
        They lived in pipes on different floors,
        All colours black and white.
        Our crane would pick up with style,
        one of these fifty meter pipes,
        That were used to sleeve the piles,
        into the solid rock so tight.
        Oh each derro screamed when you picked his up,
        and offered sure to fight.
        These quarters were too cramped,
        just a meter wide inside ,
        The metho soaks inside they camped,
        they hadn't any pride.

        Down a hundred foot hole I`d be shafted sent,
        in a 12 gallon bucket too be sure,
        By air winch the bucket lower went,
        dropped me down to level the floor.
        The claustrophobic atmosphere,
        could give your heart a wrench,
        When the roof fell in fifty feet above,
        the shaft my bones did drench.

        My bucket rose up with me
        my life had seemed was through
        Through a yard of mud and rock we climbed to see
        the sky so very blue.
        No more to go down narrow shafts,
        my mining days are spent,
        I was ankle deep in mud that time,
        when the bucket up it went.
        I sprang up more than 7 feet,
        from the muddy bottom floor,
        Caught my rising bucket seat,
        rose up from near deaths door .

        Almost buried early.... by D H Johnson Jump up to the top index

        THE QUEST...
        Yes there she is and if she was,
        that's how she might have been.
        Another card drawn from the deck,
        perhaps a beauty queen.
        A vision fair but not to be,
        another faded scene.
        One captured heart, the young mans quest,
        a soul's search for love serene.

        by D H Johnson Jump up to the top index

        Big Red

        A big red mare she seemed to me of a pretty chestnut hue,
        so placid friendly without vice she took me in it's true.
        Old John Green said when he gave her up,
        "If you can ride her she's for you."
        So Mark and I, we saddled her up.
        He held her halter too .

        I climbed aboard she tensed a bit,
        and sprung into the blue.
        While in the air she twisted it,
        and tried to cast me through.
        As her four feet touched she reared straight back,
        came over on me too.
        I caught the saddle with my knees
        and threw her off too true
        Mark held her still by halter shank as aboard I stepped again.
        She bucked and lurched but couldn't throw so she went to
        ground her game.
        So I mounted up for one last ride and she bucked and
        twisted too.
        She ducked her head did a forward roll so I stepped from the
        saddle blue.
        And brother Mark he said, "no more,
        she might kill you if you do."
        So I said to John "I'd ride her sure
        If she'd stay up long enough too."
        So we sold her off to a breeder then,
        when John he asked me to.
        I told them not to ride her friend,
        the least that I could do.

        In 1987 I rode this lovely mare...or tried to.. by D H Johnson Jump up to the top index

        THE RISING

        T`WAS CHRIS I THINK WHO SAID IT,
        YES SHE MADE THE RUDE REMARK.
        THEY`RE RISING, OH YES JUST A BIT,
        WITH BRAINS DEAD, NOT A SPARK.
        THE RISING OF THE RETARDS DIM,
        LEFT TO BREED UP ON THE DOLE.
        THE FUTURE COMING SURE LOOKS GRIM,
        THE DIM WITS HAVE CONTROL.
        THE WARS THEY TOOK THE HEALTHY,
        MADE THE UNFIT STAY AT HOME.
        THE KILLING MADE SOME WEALTHY,
        LEFT THE RETARDS FREE TO ROAM.
        TILL NOW TODAY THEY SURE BRED UP,
        WHILE WARS HAVE CULLED THE FIT.
        SOME AS SHARP AS A CATTLE PUP,
        BUT NOT ALL HAVE THE WIT.
        IN NATURE ONLY THE STRONG SURVIVE,
        THE WEAK ARE LEFT TO DIE.
        WE KEEP OUR VEGETABLES ALIVE,
        AS IN THEIR BEDS THEY LIE.

        by D H Johnson Jump up to the top index

        SOWBOY

        Sow he was an athlete good,
        and an Murray so dark too.
        He cleared 7 feet where the high jump stood,
        yes at school he had a clue.
        A teacher jammed poor Sowboy's head,
        right through a glass paned door.
        His only crime was as he said,
        you will not talk no more.
        He delivered mail around the town,
        till the boss gave him the sack.
        He lingered at the school was found,
        some dobber knifed his back.
        Sow tried to die he took the pills,
        sucked OP rum as well.
        They pumped his gut some of those dills,
        as yet he lived to tell.
        He told me mate yes he was sad,
        he hated being black.
        Old Jimmy Doble was his dad,
        they lived in a tin walled shack.
        Big brother Podge often flogged poor Sow,
        it really wasn`t cricket.
        When he turned on Podge and flogged the cow,
        he used a steel star picket .
        Big Podge had gone a bit too far,
        he`d bottled some old cheese.
        She`d gone off in the ambulance car,
        Sow took revenge with ease.
        Just seven fractures of the skull,
        big Podge was surely dead.
        poor Podge he`d left this world so dull,
        Dancy`s paddock made his bed.
        Of Jimmy Doble`s death I`ll tell,
        The undertaker put him a coffin short.
        When he broke his legs to fit real well,
        said tall Jimmy was a sport.
        At State Prison Sow time did spend,
        and when they sent him home .
        No mates he had not one good friend,
        he wandered so alone.
        Sow he`d done his fifteen years,
        now he planned a funeral pire.
        His spirit gone so choked with tears,
        he killed himself with fire.

        Of my mate Sow.... by D H Johnson. Jump up to the top index

        WHARFIE?

        Twenty years ago I drove a bus in 1970 day or night,
        For Brisbane council yes I drove blue panthers I'm no skite.
        To New Farm Wharf I drove a load of passengers alright
        But one big wharfie picked on me and ordered me to fight.
        He said I drove a cattle truck I agreed that he was right
        With seventy people on the bus the crowd was packed so tight
        They stood and watched and waited while he and I'd alight
        They'd see the match a blood sport their favourite delight

        He came for me a flailing with arms both left and right
        A straight left flashed to hit his chin he fell against a wall
        His hat flew off it left him it sailed on out of sight
        Though he came again to meet me by the left again he'd fall
        He straightened and he muttered "that's enough" no further brawl
        So I climbed aboard and drove away heard no complaints at all
        But one old tart upon the bus to the council made a call
        I'd hit a pensioner oh so cruel it was her story tall
        But she was known to city hall a ratbag full of spite
        The only one who saw a foul the others thought me right
        To phone up and report the drivers her delight
        You may please a few but never all, oh no no no not quite.

        So for this crime of self defence I answered the report
        What can you do to stop a fight if the other likes the sport?
        No other course was open no escape no last resort
        Of two short jabs in self defence to stop a fight my thought

        by D H Johnson. Jump up to the top index

        WAFFLER?

        YES THERE I WAS SO STRANDED MATE ,
        MY CAR BROKE DOWN YOU SEE,
        I TRIED THE BRISBANE REPEATER ,
        TO CALL SOME HELP FOR ME .
        BUT WHEN I SWITCHED IT ON MATE,
        THE WAFFLE FLOWED QUITE FREE,
        I TRIED TO PUT AS BREAK IN ,
        BUT THEY`D LEAVE NO BREAK FOR ME,
        THEY TALKED YES TALKED AND NOTHING SAID,
        THERE WAS NO HELP TO BE,
        SO DOWN THE ROAD I WALKED INSTEAD,
        AND MURPHY LAUGHED WITH GLEE!

        by D H Johnson
        Ham radio problems.... Jump up to the top index

        WHEELIE BIN JOE

        On the north side of Brisbane lives a man who does no wrong.
        He pongs a bit, he's grubby and his beard and hair are long.
        He sits upon the footpath mid plastic bags all sorts.
        Black garbage round his shoulders and white ones on for shorts.

        A yuppie down the footpath tripped,
        and soon fell over Joe.
        Recoiled in shock as horror gripped,
        climbed off the "so and so."
        So now they leave him on his throne ,
        cross the street to the other side.
        From his house front boards the nails have flown,
        weather boards have gone to hide.

        The prophet peers from neath his robes,
        bags plastic shuffled flies.
        In trance the seer discards his clothes,
        as fresh plastic he applies.

        Oh he'd tell us all of what he knows,
        If he perchance did speak.
        But plastic fumes get up his nose,
        and cause his brain to squeak.

        So if you pass the prophet there,
        do spare a thought for him,
        see his waiscoat's very shiny glare,
        but the plastics getting thin.

        The winter wind it whistles but Joe has cause to grin,
        for the masters call, he's waiting to right some deadly sin.

        by D Johnson jump up the page George?

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