Toowoomba Bush Poets | Community organisation

Toowoomba Bush Poets

Phone: +61 401 130 636

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16.06.2022 Make sure you save these dates! 30th March to 2nd April, 2023. The Oracles of the Bush Tenterfield is 4 days of fun with a variety of events & performances by professional poets & the very popular Looming Legends amateur poetry competition. Check out their page for info & updates.

07.06.2022 A good old Australian classic to start your day. Happy Monday!

27.05.2022 The Bruce Dawe National Poetry Prize - Closes on 6 June 2022. Entries are currently open for The 2022 Bruce Dawe National Poetry Prize. This is not a Bush Poetry competition, there are no thematic or style constraints. So why not enter your bush poem or try your hand at a different style.

22.05.2022 An ANZAC poem written by our President, Peter Frazer. Lest we forget #ANZACDay2022 Will you still remember us?... By Peter Frazer 2008 Standing on the cliff face Above a moonlight sea I waited for the dawn to break Upon Gallipoli. And in the predawn stillness, I said a silent prayer For all the fallen soldiers In wars fought everywhere. Suddenly a voice spoke, And addressed himself to me. Cobber, can I stand with you Till the sun does kiss the sea? I turned to see a young man Twenty-three or twenty-four, Dressed in faded Khaki Where no one stood before. He said his name was Frederick But I should call him Fred. Twas all the same anyway No matter what folks said. His distinctive Aussie accent Came through strong & low. Much the way my Grandad spoke Many years ago. He said he came from Queensland. From a place they call Paroo. A land of sheep and cattle Where the wattle blossom grew. He said I’ve been away a while. A bit too long, I fear I suppose Aussie’s changed a lot Since I come over here. Tell me, Does the wattle still bloom? In the western spring? And have you smelt the gidgee smell That the coming storm doeth bring? Do they still play Two-Up? When the copper is away? Oh how I miss an ice cold beer At the closing of the day. We gather here each year, he said And gestured with his hand. Lest we forget the reasons We left our native land. And standing in the darkness To the left and right of me. Stood rows of Khaki- clad soldiers All staring out to sea. From Flanders Field, we come, he said. Dunkirk and Normandy From Tobruk and El-Alamein. To this Gallipoli. As he paused, a silent tear, Rolled down his sun-tanned cheek, As with glistening eyes he turned to me And again began to speak. We fight for God and Country Or so the billboards say. And how the crowds cheered us, The day we sailed away. But the posters have long faded. And the cheering crowds have too. Somehow we’ve stopped ageing, In the way men usually do. Will folks still remember us? If we never do go home? Or will we be forgotten, Condemned to ever roam? As I struggled to reply, A single bugle blew, And the sky began to glow With a dawning hue. For a moment I stood lost in time Over a century away, With those soldiers clad in Khaki As the hounds of war did bay. And when at last, I turned to speak He’d vanished from sight. He & his fellow soldiers Had faded with the night. But in his place, a sea of poppies Waved to meet the day. And as I held one in my palm, I hear the soldier say. Wear the poppies to remember us, With their petals, so blood red. And take a message to the bush for me. Say G’day, from Paroo Fred.