When the currawong calls we go for a wander up to the top paddock
to have a yarn, or just to have a gander and sit in silence.

Poems,  Songs and stories 
======================

Holy Dan

It was in the Queensland drought;

And over hill and dell,

No grass - the water far apart,

All dry and hot as hell.

The wretched bullock teams drew up

Beside a water-hole

They'd struggled on through dust and drought

For days to reach this goal

And though the water rendered forth 
A rank, unholy stench,  
The bullocks and the bullockies
Drank deep their thirst to quench.

Two of the drivers cursed and swore

As only drivers can.

The other one, named Daniel,

Best known as Holy Dan,

Admonished them and said it was

The Lord's all-wise decree;

And if they'd only watch and wait,

A change they'd quickly see.

'Twas strange that of Dan's bullocks

Not one had gone aloft,

But this, he said, was due to prayer

And supplication oft.

At last one died but Dan was calm,

He hardly seemed to care;

He knelt beside the bullock's corpse

And offered up a prayer.

'One bullock Thou has taken, Lord,

And so it seemeth best.

Thy will be done, but see my need

And spare to me the rest!'

A month went by.

Dan's bullocks now

Were dying every day,

But still on each occasion would

The faithful fellow pray,

Another Thou has taken, Lord,

And so it seemeth best.

Thy will be done, but see my need,

And spare to me the rest!'

And still they camped beside the hole,

And still it never rained,

And still Dan's bullocks died and died,

Till only one remained.

Then Dan broke down -good Holy Dan –

The man who never swore.

He knelt beside the latest corpse,

And here's the prayer he prore.

'That's nineteen Thou has taken, Lord,

And now You'll plainly see

You'd better take the bloody lot,

One's no damn good to me.'

The other riders laughed so much

They shook the sky around;

The Lightening flashed, the thunder roared

And Holy Dan was drowned.

      - Anon  

 Whitefella Dreaming

This is my dreaming,
these old worn hills in Gippsland,
these gentle green mounds
with scars of ancient rock.

A chorus of birdsong
greets the first glimmers of new light,
magpies and kookaburras sing duets.

From the hilltop at dawn
shadows begin to move
turn into grazing kangaroos
then back into silent shadows.

Just before sunrise the breeze picks up,
weaving the sound of the river below,
sometimes carrying the sound up to me,
sometimes carrying it away,
now like the ocean
now a distant car
now the rattle of train wheels
bending and curling on the wind.

Rabbits browse . . . nervously
Cows rise from their sheltered corner of the valley
and scatter down the river flat
Sheep clamber over the rocky saddle
to await the sun.
Light touches the top of westward mountains
smoky browns and gold
then dips down into yellow pastures.
A crow chants 'awake' at the edge of hearing
on sound's horizon.

A pair of rosellas flash upstream
a sacred ibis glides the other way.
At first the air is colder than the river
dancing vapour plumes
rise from its surface
and join to form a local fog.

Cows lowing and clearing their throats
grass gently sways
dew glistens
a lonely thumper traverses a distant slope
the earth and I hold our breath

- Che Guava 1995