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24.01.2022 TIME AND SPACE I wake up at first light when the kookaburras call On a crisp and dewy morning beside a raging waterfall. The embers of the campfire are still tw...inkling I see. So I fill the blackened billy to boil water for my tea. Soon the fire's crackling as the flames begin to rise. But I huddle close around it though the smoke gets in my eyes. When the fire dies a little and only red coals can be seen. It is time to toast the bread above the embers that still gleam. Then it's time to drink hot tea with thickly-buttered toast. This is the one time in every day that I enjoy the most. Communing with Mother Nature with just the simple things in life. Far from the bustling cities and their ever-present strife. The trees are filled with birdlife and their songs now fill the air. Some you'll never see, even though you know they're there. The sharp crack of the whipcracker, the bellbird's pealing sound Can be heard above the waterfall, letting you know they are around. In the distance on a hilltop I see an old man kangaroo Feeding with two others on some grass still moist with dew. While in the scrub behind me a wombat roams around Constantly digging for any edible roots he finds beneath the ground. The red -flowered mountain lilies stand tall like sentinels Above the fields of buttercups and vines of chocolate bell. And a glorious golden wattle evolves from a sea of green. Our Australian bush in Springtime is a wonder to be seen! All the humdrum of the city is forgotten for a while. As I soak in my surroundings and walk a country mile. The solitude and beauty sometimes takes my breath away. If time and space allows it, you should try it too some day. Bill Charlton c 2016

24.01.2022 AUSTRALIANA POEM THIRTY ONE SILENT FLOCKS Like silent flocks the clouds drift by... Bound for distant pasture And on their heels the shepherd wind A cold and stormy master And thunder barks a warning clear As lightning strikes the way Past mountain crest and valley green Through night and sunlit day ‘Cross oceans wide and deserts bare The flock keep rolling on O’er country town and city square, As the wind howls out its song And raindrops drum across the roofs Then beat against the panes. As frogs in deepest baritone, Chorus from the drains The creeks cry out crescendo As the rivers fill and swell And townsfolk heed the warning Of the frantic village bell The sky is filled with menace And the thunder drums out loud As lightning whips electric blue Throughout the errant clouds And domiciled the flock retreats As the wind licks at its heel The growling of the thunder dies And the world seems so surreal Then solar beams disperse the flock And the pasture empty now Reverts to fields of endless blue Un-harrowed by the plough Bill Charlton c 2001

23.01.2022 POEM SEVENTEEN - AUSTRALIANA - SILENT FLOCKS SILENT FLOCKS Like silent flocks the clouds drift by... Bound for distant pasture And on their heels the shepherd wind A cold and stormy master And thunder barks a warning clear As lightning strikes the way Past mountain crest and valley green Through night and sunlit day ‘Cross oceans wide and deserts bare The flock keep rolling on O’er country town and city square As the wind howls out its song And raindrops drum across the roofs Then beat against the panes. As frogs in deepest baritone, Chorus from the drains The creeks cry out crescendo As the rivers fill and swell And townsfolk heed the warning Of the frantic village bell The sky is filled with menace And the thunder drums out loud As lightning whips electric blue Throughout the errant clouds And domiciled the flock retreats As the wind licks at its heel The growling of the thunder dies And the world seems so surreal Then solar beams disperse the flock And - the pasture empty now Reverts to fields of endless blue Unharrowed by the plough Bill Charlton c 2001

22.01.2022 A LIFETIME At age of just five You learn how to survive By the time you are ten... You're still not grown-up by then But by age of fifteen You are starting to dream. There is work and employment, Good times and enjoyment. By the time you are twenty, You'll have nothing or plenty. It's now time to date, And look out for a mate. By twenty five you've wed, Another mouth to be fed. Soon you'll have kids, And be thankful you did. When you are thirty the kids start school. Most families enjoy this time as a rule. By forty, things are wearing you down. And the kids are running all over town. By fifty the children are leaving home. Ready to face the world on their own. Both parents are working to pay off their debts. And see that the mortgage payments are met. By sixty most people travel overseas. Holidaying, wherever they please. They've money to spend and time to spare. Some even have enough to share. By seventy they are struggling to stay alive. Even the healthy find it hard to survive. As each hidden ailment is revealed. Those age-related conditions that have been concealed. By seventy five you're more dead than alive. Means of existing are hard to contrive. You rely on your doctor and a handful of pills To keep your heart pumping and hope that it will. By eighty there's not much left for you. There's nothing available for you to do. You still have your wits and you sit in your chair. Grateful for the fact that you're still there. By ninety of course you will be in a home. Sitting in a wheelchair all alone. Waiting patiently for the dinner bell to ring. Wondering what nasties the day will bring. By ninety five you're still in that chair. But all you do is just sit and stare. Your mind has suddenly taken its leave And your lungs now find it hard to breathe. Then a hundred years will come along. By this time you have been long gone. Your chair is empty and so is your place. Like you've disappeared without a trace! Bill Charlton c 2018

19.01.2022 ANOTHER PLACE IN TIME There's an old dusty road that winds back through my mind To a place that is somewhere in time. And it follows a course quite familiar to ...me Beside the old railway line. Where the steam trains of old thundered past every day And they'd whistle as they were passing by. Kids waved to the driver from their backyards As they wiped hot cinders from their eyes. And we knew every engine and where each train was bound We could tell the time when certain trains would run That's the Newcastle Flyer my grandparents would say At 5 o'clock when this train would come. The coal trains shunted back and forth From the colliery that was just across the way There were empty skips for miles waiting for a load To get by them you would have to wait all day. So we'd wait till they stopped moving then drag our bikes across Underneath the skips between the wheels. You had to be quite quick before the shunting began again To a ten year old it wasn't a big deal! And of course we would be train drivers when we were old enough When we would be looking for a job. Or firemen on a coal train heading up to Musselbrook What a way to earn a couple of bob! Childhood dreams are fanciful and trains weren't meant to figure. Though we both got to work in a coalmine. But I often dream of steam trains and their lonely, lonely whistle And it takes me back to another place in time! Bill Charlton c 2019

19.01.2022 SHADOWS OF VIETNAM [SONG] I hear the choppers coming, I watch the tracers fly. I wonder if today will be, the day I’m gonna die.... I buckle up my webbing, my rifle’s by my side. I look at those around me, then I sit down and cry. CHORUS These shadows of Vietnam - ghosts who - follow me. Shadows Of Vietnam, never set me free. I fight this war forever, I’m all chopped up inside. I just gotta keep on movin,’but there’s no place to hide. We’re on the jungle trail now, we haven’t seen a soul. I see Skyraiders overhead, they’re on a victory roll. I hear the bullets hummin,’ I hear the rifles crack. And some-one’s son is dying, on a cold dirt track. CHORUS These shadows of Vietnam, ghosts who - follow me. Shadows Of Vietnam, never set me free. I fight this war forever, I’m all chopped up inside. I’ve just gotta keep on movin,’ but there’s no place to hide. I’ve just gotta keep on movin,’but there’s no place to hide. Song lyric of mine recorded by The Huntsmen in 1999.

18.01.2022 FLOWER POWER I wandered lonely as a toad With no friends on a dusty road. Until by luck I chanced to see... A flower swaying gracefully. It mesmerised my very soul A victim with no self control I felt an urge to pick the flower Although I sensed I saw it cower. Despite all this and with no feeling The deed was done and I was wheeling Back along that dusty road A flower and a lonely toad. Then as I on my back reclined I realised it was a dandelion. Too late! Too late! The flower said. And it was right I'd pissed the bed! Bill Charlton c 2018

18.01.2022 THE WHISTLE OF A TRAIN My heart is in the country where I grew up as a boy. The sights, the sounds, the memories, always bring me joy. A patchwork-quilted lands...cape in a hundred shades of green Of yellow gold and umber and all the colours in between. Of rolling, sweeping pastures where herds of cattle graze To the cultivated fields of crops, like corn, lucerne and maize. And here and there a homestead complete with barn and shed Whose precincts boast a shallow dam where long-legged ibis tread. And on the fringe of paperbark the occasional bush path That winds into the distance through the flattened, dying grass. Among the trees the finches fly, with magpies and a crow. While in the creek after the rain the water starts to flow. The fruit trees are in flower, peaches, nectarines, plum. They compliment the garden beside a flowering gum. From the house the home-made bread smell floats upon the breeze And from the blackened chimney smoke drifts off in the trees. Cattle lowing in the distance and quite near a lone steam train Thunders down a cutting as its whistle sounds again. There are freesias in the paddock and along the railway track. Children playing on the gravel road with a cricket ball and bat. The slow and simple easy life was one that we all knew Like heading to the outside dunny through the grass heavy with dew. A Sunday roast with gravy and vegetables from our plot. Followed by fruit salad and cream that really hit the spot. Milking cows, collecting eggs these were pleasurable chores The hum of bee-hives in the yard, fresh air of the great outdoors. Times we will never share again, just memories remain. When we were happy to enjoy the whistle of a train! Bill Charlton c 2017

17.01.2022 THE LOVE OF THE LAND They shared the same bed for many years. He knew of her faults and had seen her tears. She was controlling and highly strung.... Nothing had changed since time begun. He had fallen in love when he was a child. Just a barefoot lad in the bush running wild. Loved camping with her somewhere by a creek. The two side by side and cheek to cheek. Each morning he marvelled at the sight Of her awakening from sleep in the morning light. The dew on the flowers matched her sparkling eyes She was a timeless beauty under clear blue skies. Across the ranges they travelled for days. Nothing could cure his nomadic ways. Together they shared the highs and the lows. Wherever she took him he surely would go. Sometimes she would test him as some women do. Perhaps to see if his love was true. Through floods and bush-fires his love would stand strong. Whatever the cost, she could do him no wrong. He was raised in the country from real sturdy stock. No curve-ball she threw could come as a shock. So together they'd roam through the bush hand in hand. The bushman from Yuleba* and his love of the land. Inspired by comments from the toad Bill Charlton c 2019

17.01.2022 THE LAST OF THE HUNTER PIT HORSES During my employment as a coal miner I was fortunate enough to spend a few years at the Stockrington No2 Colliery near Minmi N...SW, a mine unique in the fact that it was the last colliery in Australia to use pit horses underground. When I first started at the mine, I commenced a three month familiarisation program on the daywork shift, and at the completion of this period I was forced back onto the much junior dogwatch shift. The first night back on my new roster found me filled with apprehension as I boarded the diesel personnel carrier that would deliver me and my crew into the dark cavernous mouth of the mine. A cold wind rushing down the narrow throat of the tunnel presented the mine as a living, breathing organism, and I shivered involuntarily as I settled down to the bone-jarring ride ahead. Around me, the men sat quietly with heads slumped, as though dozing. This was a time to be lost in your own thoughts, for the noise of the transport obliterated any chance of intelligible conversation. After a journey which seemed interminable, a sudden squeal of brakes shook us from our reverie, and the transport came sliding to a halt outside the underground horse stable. A swift glance at the luminous hands of my wristwatch told me it was 12.35am. We had been travelling for over thirty minutes and were now over nine hundred feet below the surface and more than three miles from the tunnel mouth. The Deputy left the transport, and I saw him vigorously massaging his thighs in an attempt to restorecirculation to his legs. Suddenly he beckoned me to join him, and we stood together in silence as the vehicle moved slowly away. You DO you know how to rig up the horse? It was more of a statement than a question. He was looking away from me and obviously missed my look of apprehension. Yeah, no worries I grunted. Despite this façade of bravado, my stomach was churning and did not improve as I caught sight of the two monstrous horses staring in our direction.. Rightio then! he replied. I’m off to do my inspections. I’ll see you back in the unit.’’ I deliberately waited until the sight of his bobbing lamp diminished in the darkness before reluctantly forcing myself to concentrate on the task at hand. As matters went, I really DID know where all the gear went on the horse, but had never actually been called upon to place it there - and this, coupled with the fact that I had never been in actual contact with a horse before, made the occasion quite traumatic. I skirted the stable perimeter to reach the board where the various ‘horsey’ items were hanging and selected a suitable collar (also known as a ‘heart’) and meant to go around the horse’s neck. This was carefully lifted off its peg and carried over to the horse which I had decided, looked the least dangerous. I lifted the ‘heart’ in an attempt to put it over his head, but each time I did, the horse raised his nose to the roof, making it impossible for me to ‘dress’ him. Due to the fact that I was heavily rugged up, and because of the adrenalin rush I was experiencing in my unsuccessful ‘harnessing’ attempts, I was by now sweating profusely. By the time the Deputy caught up with me an hour later, I was in an absolute lather. What the bloody hell’s been keeping you? he growled. He won’t let me put the ‘heart’ over his head, I countered lamely. The deputy glared at me with disgust - took the ‘heart’ from my hands - undid the little strap at the top, slipped the collar under the horse’s neck and secured the strap again. This ended my first lesson with the pit horses of Stockrington, and would prove to be just one of many that I would experience over the next few years. The following night, I found myself working in the Black Hill section of the mine, where the two largest horses in the mine were working. ‘Sam’ was an old veteran with bladder trouble, who would walk only for a very short distance before stopping to urinate, refusing to move until he was finished, despite constant harassment from his frustrated handler. I often wondered, and have been told since that this was a deliberate pay back and meant to humiliate those of us who were less experienced in the art of horsemanship.‘Tiger’ was my favourite! This gentle giant was not only the largest horse in the pit, but also the most good-natured and obedient of them all. He was an absolute pleasure to work with, which meant that he was more sought after. Sometimes inadvertently being worked three shifts in a row and only because he was so highly regarded! At the pit bottom loading point, old ‘Podge’ was employed dragging the coal skips into position whenever it was deemed necessary. The gap between the skips and the coal ribs was very minimal, and with his great barrel-chest occupying the rest of the space, it was impossible to get past him, and you didn’t, until you paid the required toll of a piece of fruit or a sandwich from your crib tin. Only then would he move aside sufficiently for you to squeeze by. Despite his advanced age, this old fellow continued to perform his duty faithfully, and was rewarded daily with loaves of bread, brought in by his numerous admirers. Every Friday night the horses were allowed to gallop out of the pit for the weekend, to feed on the green grass in the paddocks, and breathe the fresh air. They were also allowed to run free during the Christmas break, and during one such holiday, I decided to take a large armful of carrots from my vegetable garden to them as a special treat. When we arrived, I could see the horses some distance away in a paddock, so I began walking towards them, weighed down by the carrots. As soon as the horses realised what I was carrying, they galloped eagerly towards me. There were at least a dozen of them, and because I did not recognize any offhand, and not being altogether stupid I promptly dropped the carrots and made for the fence! I really did love those horses, but that did not mean I could ever get used to them, or even trust them as far as they could kick me. ‘Silver’ was one of the men’s favourites and a really good horse to work with, but only if you knew how to handle him, for he was renowned for playing dirty tricks. The ‘outbye snigger’s’ job was to load a sled with materials required at the coal face, and then deliver it to the unit. ‘Silver’ would quite happily drag the fully loaded sled forward until he came to the deepest of a series of waterholes on the road, where he would stop. No end of coaxing would encourage him to go forward, until he would suddenly take off, with the sled bobbing crazily behind him but with all the gear left behind in the waterhole. He did this so often to punish us, and many an hour was spent by some unfortunate miner reloading slippery, waterlogged props and roof bolts - time and time again. Another horse by the name of ‘Nigger’ was a legend, having reputedly won the Pit Horse Derby by ten lengths. He could gallop in total darkness without putting a foot wrong. Whenever he escaped, the faster you chased him, the faster he went. If you stopped, he stopped. The only way to catch him was to turn out your light, circle around the pillars of coal until you were in front of him, and he would immediately concede defeat. It was almost inevitable, that once escaped, a horse would head for the surface, so one night we were rather surprised to find ‘King’ a small pony, hiding in one of the deepest sections of the mine. Apparently he had escaped some days earlier, and it was assumed that he had reached the surface. Knowing full well that he would be returned to his duties had this been the case, he had decided to hide down the pit, and had been quite successful, until we chanced by. These horses were so clever and cunning, and each had their own individual traits - like little ‘Murphy’ who when loaded with even the lightest of sleds, would pretend to be straining to the utmost, his little legs marking time on the spot, as if he could not budge, when he really was not pulling at all! This same horse had to be tied both back and front when left unattended, otherwise he would slip his bridle and escape - every time. My old faithful, ‘Tiger’ could suck the juice from an orange even though it was still in the pocket of a miner’s coat hanging from a prop beside the crib room table. And then there was ‘Danny,’ or ‘Wop-Eye,’ the most under-worked horse in the colliery. He was blind in one eye, and when the light reflected on it, it would take on a really ghostlike appearance, which struck fear into the hearts of many of the miners. So much so, that many would not take him out of the stable. Because of my dubious prowess with horses, it is quite obvious that he would have the same effect on me, and I could see no reason at all why I should endanger my life by harnessing up the devil himself! Apparently he really was a good worker, but seldom got the opportunity to prove it! When the horses had been out in the paddock feeding on green grass, their manure gave off a particularly offensive odour, and one night the miner driver continuously complained about the ‘smell of the stinking horse’ which was working in the unit. It wasn’t until much later in the shift, when he turned around to investigate the now overpowering aroma, that he caught one of the shiftsmen placing the still steaming manure on a ledge just behind his head. Work did not recommence until the offender was caught and a suitable revenge exacted! At pit bottom one night when we were unloading conveyor belt gear, the horse we were using refused simply refused to obey orders. On closer inspection it was found that a large black snake was lying asleep in its path, and no way was that horse going to step over it! The snake eventually made good its escape, and it was quite a while before anyone was venturous enough to sit down inthe dark for a rest. Many people would consider it cruel for horses to be worked underground, in regard to their health and eyesight, but the advanced ages of many of these animals would refute that, with some living to the ripe old age of 40 years and over. Far beyond the age we have come to expect from domestic horses that freely roam the paddocks in a normal environment. Before new technology and space age machinery rendered them obsolete, the pit horses, of not only Stockrington, but all the Southern and Northern Coalfields, helped the pioneers of yester year mould this country into what it is today! I am proud to have been associated with the last of these beautiful creatures, and was saddened to hear of their gradual demise after the colliery was closed. Many of the men I worked with underground, are now just dim shadows of another time and place, but horses by the name of Tiger, Pride, Bluey, Nigger, Podge, Murphy, King, Sam, Silver and Danny have stamped their living images in my mind, and the memory of these amazing animals will stay with me forever! Bill Charlton c 1998 *Dedicated to the beautiful pit ponies of Stockrington.

15.01.2022 CHILDHOOD DREAMS I love the lonely whistle of a steam train in the night As it thunders through a crossing and disappears from sight. And looking through the wi...ndow as I lay in my bed My imagination would run wild from the thoughts inside my head. First off I'd be the fireman on the engine shovelling coal, As the driver sat beside me, keeping steam under control. Then I'd be a passenger heading off to see the world, To make a mighty fortune and to meet a lovely girl. Then all the sounds would disappear as darkness filled the void. But there were so many other scenarios still left to be enjoyed. The exotic colours of an African market-place were a marvel to my eye. I hoped to visit one in person - sometime before I died. For I'd be a great explorer and become a famous man Helping people of the world unite with some ambitious plan. I would become a great risk-taker and be reckless to a tee, And the person in the spotlight would most certainly be me. But I'd wake up in the morning in familiar surrounds With threadbare sheets and blankets and dew upon the ground. Soon to line up for my breakfast of Vegemite and toast And a cup of boiling Lan Choo tea which was enjoyed the most. On week-days with my home-packed lunch I would walk to school But I was always a daydreamer and didn't learn much as a rule. So I hadn't many options when I left and went to work. Gone were all my dreams - of a job with lots of perks. Then I joined the Army with the hope of serving overseas. It was one way to see the world and do just as I pleased. But I hadn't considered fighting or killing a fellow man. All the horrors that evolve in war just were not in my plan. There was no exploration only in my tortured mind The market-places I saw were the foul offensive kind. I did not make a fortune on seventy- five cents extra every day. And I never became famous because things never came my way. So childhood dreams can be just that - unless you can believe That you are more than capable and willing to achieve. You can be that great explorer or that person going places Or just another one like me in a sea of faces! Bill Charlton c 2017

12.01.2022 OUR BIRD FRIENDS. Kookaburras, Mynah birds, Magpies and Lorikeets Wait with the Butcher Bird for their tiny piece of meat. Not much hassling - harmony's the wor...d There isn't time for arguing when you are a bird. The Kookas live in a termite's nest just down the back. Our mynahs feed their young ones somewhere down the track. Magpies live in a gum tree their nest they closely guard. The Lorikeets prefer a palm tree down in our back yard. But the Butcher Bird is secretive her nest is hard to find. They prefer to live in the forest with others of their kind. Baby Butch is noisy, you always hear him squark. Mother bird will be relieved when he can finally talk. The Lorikeets in the palm tree have built a little nest. Somewhere to have their babies and somewhere safe to rest. We can often hear them squabbling in the tree at night. Such a beautiful couple when they are in flight. Our Magpies are a family they always bring their young. Mum and Dad and Baby are usually first to come. Then they sing for their supper which soon attracts a crowd. Kookas, Mynahs, Magpies all calling out aloud. The Lorikeets are friendly too, they sing their little song. Two of them together, on the verandah all day long. Unafraid of humans they know that we are friends. They too will bring their babies when Spring comes to an end. Bill Charlton c 2017

11.01.2022 SUNSET IN AUSTRALIA A kaleidoscope of colour changes clouds from grey to pink. While the west turns into molten gold as the sun begins to sink. Far to the east ...the subtle pastel shades of evening paint the sky Ever-changing silver, greys and pinks - so pleasing to the eye. And the mood swings every second as day slowly turns to night As the brush strokes of the master are dominated by the light. Only through a camera lens can the moment now be seized For the colour intermingle stirred by a solar breeze. Dark clouds in bad weather smother the opalescent red Of a sunset which is waning behind a mountain in the west. And from the ocean comes a cold wind that scatters clouds across the bay Silver, black and gold/ pink lustres fill the sky now tinged with grey. On the lake when we look westward the molten sun dips down Golden clouds flash in the water and on the foreshore all around. Soon the silver/black of evening will replace this fiery scene As night consumes the daylight and darkness reigns supreme. Bill Charlton c 2009

10.01.2022 TALKING SPIRITS You can no longer see me. But I am here. I walk with you every day.... In your thoughts, your mind, your heart. And as long as you love me, As you loved me in life. Then so it shall it be. Look in the mirror And know that as long as you live. Then so do I. You will recognize me in laughter or a word. You will hear me in a song or a poem. You will see me in the face of a grandchild In a dimple, a walk or a smile. And you will understand I have not left. I live on. I am here. My spirit is with you. But my work is done. I am at rest. Look around you at the faces at the table And know that I did well. I gave life And was loved in return. What man could ask for more! Bill Charlton c 2013

10.01.2022 THIS IS THE FIRST OF MY AUSTRALIANA POEMS - STONE, MOSS AND LIME In the early 1980s we spent a lot of time at a place called Boorook, A few miles north of Tent...erfield NSW with my wife’s stepfather, John Collins, one of the last remaining gold-miners of the area. Boorook was once a flourishing gold-mining town and in the 1930s Was home to thousands of diggers and their families. Amazingly, fifty years on, there Is hardly any sign at all that the area was even inhabited, except for The occasional bush chimney still standing alone in the scrub. STONE, MOSS AND LIME It’s only a blackened bush chimney, Weathered and worn by time. Built with the stones from the paddock, Cemented with sand and lime. There’s nothing else standing out here in the scrub Amongst a stand of eucalypt trees. The rest of the dwelling has long turned to dust, With its outline the most you will see. By the steps lies an old rusted hairbrush, A penny, a marble, a bead. And the story unfolds of these seekers of gold, With the clues they have left in the weeds. The mother had hair like a raven. The daughter loved jewellery and beads. While the son like all boys, played with money and toys. And the father didn’t leave any leads. I suppose he was just like the others, A hunter of fortune and gold. There’d be good times and bad, or happy and sad, And sometimes the hungry and cold. But then I look back to the chimney. To the songs they would sing round the hearth. Where the mother would toil as the black kettle boiled, And the kids filled a tub for their bath. Here it stands as a symbol for family, Alone in the vastness of time. But where there was love, joy and laughter. There is now only stone, moss and lime.

05.01.2022 POEM TWENTY TWO - AUSTRALIANA - GUMLEAVES IN THE FIRE GUMLEAVES IN THE FIRE There's no softer bed than a cushion of leaves,... Beneath a sprinkling of stars in the sky. Where a ghostly grey cloud masks the face of the moon, And where shadowy dingos cry. And the lowing of cattle, and tinkle of bell, Can be heard in the darkness around. While a mopoke, who sits in the tree by the fire, Is making a haunting, sad sound. Where you listen intent, in the peace and the still, Until solitude closes your eyes. And you rest in a place that is frozen in time, While the whole world is drifting on by. Then the chill of the night will cause you to stir, And bring glowing embers to life. As the kindling ignites and bursts into flame, Cutting into the dark like a knife. And the scent of the gum-leaves rising up from the coals, Is a smell that you will not compare. For there's no place I love, more than here in the bush. In the cool of the mountain fresh air.. Bill Charlton c 2002

05.01.2022 BIRTH OF THE WATTLE The bushfire roared through the bush like a train As it swept all before it with total disdain. And falling to earth the seed from a pod,... Lay in a heel-print where some-one had trod. Then the wind stirred the ashes, and caused them to rise. As a shower of rain spelled the fire’s demise. Whilst snug in the sanctuary of Mother Earth’s womb. A tiny acacia lay waiting to bloom. And for weeks it evolved in the soil and the sun, Till a newly-formed sprout showed its life had begun. A small patch of green reaching out from the earth, Was a sign from the wattle of its moment of birth. At the first hint of rain, it doubled in size And it grew strong and supple, which was no great surprise. For it relished the climate in which it was raised, And in Spring formed the flowers, for which it is praised. And as the years passed it grew into a tree A home by the creek for the bird and the bee. Resplendent in bloom, adding colour and charm To the harsh arid bush, and the drab country farm. Then as fast as it grew, then so would it die. Its branches extended, beseeching the sky. Till an opportune fire sweeps over the plain. And a wattle-seed drops to the ground once again. Bill Charlton c 2005

05.01.2022 POEM TWENTY ONE - AUSTRALIANA - STORM IN THE COUNTRY STORM IN THE COUNTRY The sky was awash with rain clouds,... Scudding like flotsam to shore. And the wind whipped and howled like a banshee, Trapped under the broken screen door. Far away a faint stirring of thunder, In the belly of some troubled storm, Caused a scatter of hens in the fowl yard, As the rooster strutted true to his form. Then a sprinkle or two on the window, Was the signal for mayhem to start. As the rain from the skies, caused the back creek to rise, Soon reaching the flood level mark. And the clouds were seething with lightning. Full of crackle, and menace and spite. Then the thunder joined in, to create quite a din. As it rumbled and rolled through the night. In the morning the sky was a sapphire blue. Not a cloud to be seen, stepping out. While the sun beating down, took its toll on the ground, And the farm settled back into drought. Bill Charlton c 2004

03.01.2022 Old cure-all remedy from the late 1800s SOOTHING SARSAPARILLA ... If you're the sort of fella Doesn't like the Sarsaparilla Here's a testament to what this drink can do. It can cleanse, enrich and strengthen Any type of blood you mention. All in all it is so good for you. Whether you're A plus or O neg. You don't have to drink a keg. A few small sips will ward off all disease. Rheumatism will desert you And you'll have more strength to pull through Sarsaparilla is the tonic that you need. One bottle costs a dollar But there is a course to follow. So it's best to stack up and you should. There's a special offer brewing That's really worth pursuing Six bottles for five bucks is pretty good. Don't ever knock the Sarsaparilla For mate I gotta tell ya. It's the best fly tox that you will ever taste. Then if you don't like the flavour Just give it to your neighbour And be sure that it won't go to waste. Bill Charlton c 2019

01.01.2022 THE AUSTRALIAN PALETTE Beyond the raw sienna fields and grey long distance haze Soft purple mountains reaching out, beseech vermilion skies. ‘Tis here that gold...en wattle sprays adorn a valley green And bloodwoods stand like wounded men proud, aloof, serene. Then as the crow flies on and on, into a desert bare A yellow ochre landscape writhes, wind-rippled and austere. And then you reach a billabong, with lilies pink and white Appearing as a vision and resplendent in full light. The amber glow of the sun sinking low generates warmth to the sky Covering each cloud in a golden shroud as it silently drifts on by. And as night falls a satin moon, paints the world a silvery-grey While the lake seems aglitter with diamonds cast from the Milky Way. In the morning you’ll find there are porcelain skies, willow-patterned in white and blue As green and gold cane fields crowd out the land, soaked in a glistening dew. To a lavender valley lush with growth synthetic - but a joy to behold Wending its way to the gibber plains and sparse fields of beaten gold. Then down to the sea, the emerald sea where the red-brown cliffs stand raw And the green but white-chipped ocean waves, roll gently to the shore. This is our Great Southern Land its earth, its sea, its sky. Painted by nature’s amazing brush in rich ochres, shades and dyes. The sapphire-crested mountains, the rivers of brown and green To the red of the centre, the burnt umber sand, and every colour and hue in between. Gold in the sunset, and silver at night when the moon weaves its magic on high And the shepherd’s warning in the first light of dawn a vivid red glow in the sky. A breath-taking canvas depicting the moods of each season day by day. Controlled by the weather and changing light that brings so many colours in play. The beauty of a desert scene can’t be matched when The Wet floods the land. For the wild flower arrangements are so unique, when painted by nature’s hand. Bill Charlton c 2010