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Graham E. McLoughlin
Memories
I took a walk in yesteryear, back where I first had grown.
The places where I ventured once, the memories set in stone
The roads, the houses and the hills, the trees that seemed so tall.
I walked my paths of years ago and now they seemed so small.
I thought of times of happiness, adventure, youth and joy
Of times when things were simpler, when I was just a boy.
I wandered through familiar streets and saw people that I knew.
I spoke to some, I shook their hand… I even hugged a few.
We reminisced about ‘old times’, we talked of things we’d done.
Of other friends that now were gone, of sadness… and of fun
Their memories were much like mine, but never quite the same.
They remembered things that I’d forgot, a place, a date a name.
I realised then the realities I had belonged to me.
The way we thought of similar things was simply ours to see.
The lives we’d led had altered time…Had changed it round somehow.
What we had seen together once all seemed so different now.
The paths we’d walked had changed our view of things we saw today.
Our different lives had changed the course of history in a way.
The past, it’s said, cannot be changed, but memories run like streams.
They ripple, eddy, swirl and flow… quite fluid so it seems.
As true as memories seem to us, to others they’re just stories.
To us they’re insignificant, to them they’re seen as glories.
With different eyes we see the things that once we viewed as one.
With different hearts we think of times, of things that we have done.
I took a walk in yesteryear, back where I first had grown.
And realised that our memories are never set in stone.
© G. McLoughlin 2014
OUR LAND AND FEELINGS
These are some other poems that I have put together as a response to something that has happened in my life, a hurdle I had to cross or an experience I, or others around me, have had. Some are serious... Some are a little more lighthearted... Most were written during or following a road trip I had undertaken... That's where I do my best thinking...Behind the wheel of a car, truck or coach.
ON THIS PAGE:
Seasons
Grey skies...A misting rain... Brown paddocks on the hill.
And by the road tall poplars, contrasting green and still.
They stand like sentinels by the road to the memory that was spring.
Their garb still green in stark retort of the summer’s arid sting.
But soon their fresh green foliage will change from green to gold.
As they swap colours with the grass, with the onset of the cold.
A liitle further down the track, when autumn plays its tune.
Of wind and frosts and falling leaves and winter coming soon.
They stand quite naked, stark and grey, their branches now laid bare.
While raindrops fall and hoarfrost clings and snowflakes fill the air.
And as the wheel turns yet again, their life buds spring and sprout.
Their garb of green returns once more, to lock the winter out.
And so it goes in all our lives, we ebb and flow and worry.
That seasons seem to last too long or that they seem to hurry.
Sometimes we stand proud, tall and green. .. A memory to the past.
Sometimes we shiver, branches bare and hope that it won’t last.
But still the seasons roll around and we still live through the changes.
There’s times we’re happy... Times we’re sad... sometimes when we are strangers.
Our lives can be a Winter... a Summer, Autumn , Spring.
Accepting what the day will hold sees what the seasons bring.
You can’t make summer snowmen or plant pansies in the frost.
Just make the best of your season’s days and your life won’t be lost.
© G. McLoughlin 2014
Have You Ever?
Have you ever crossed the Coopers Creek just South of Inaminka,
Or put a tee shirt on an ant hill down the road from Mataranka?
Watched the lightning from a storm blaze on horizons all around,
Heard the mighty crash of thunder and felt the shaking of the ground?
Have you ever felt a tropic breeze that wafts away the heat,
Or stood in snow up to your knees and couldn’t feel your feet?
Or maybe you’ve dug for pippis on Stockton’s Nine Mile beach,
Or canoed among the willows just downstream from old Swan Reach?
Have you ever had a breakfast at the Barkly Homestead pub,
Or had a bath in Nebo in an ancient old tin tub?
Have you ever heard a dingo howl, at night, while in a tent.
Or wondered why a Gidgee tree turned out so gnarled and bent?
Why drops appeared on your windscreen when the sky was clear and blue,
With just one tiny little cloud above... raining just on you?
Have you driven down a highway with not a bend in sight,
With only you… and miles of tar… and not a car in sight?
Have you felt the whole world tremble and thought you’d lost the plot,
And seen a mountain crashing down, when they fired a Moura shot?
Or maybe climbed Saint Mary’s Peak and viewed the gorge below,
Looked down on to a Cessna taking tourist for a show?
Have you seen a mother Wedge tail, sitting on a road killed roo,
Who doesn’t move, just lifts her head and stares haughtily at you.
Have you ever heard a ringer swear… then seen them apologise,
When the bargirl stares reproachfully and scolds him with her eyes?
Did you ever swim in Berry Springs, before they fenced the pools?
Or changed a wheel in Camoweal… hot sun… and red hot tools.
Have you stopped at night just west of Hay and stood out by your rig,
And looked up to see the billion stars in heavens twice as big?
Have you ever seen a sunset, so colourful you could cry,
And watched it change from golds and reds, and saw the old day die?
Or stood on a deserted beach and watch a new day born,
with crashing surf and screeching gulls to herald in the dawn?
Or maybe watch the winter sun struggle up o’er outback plain,
A grey blue sky… and not a cloud… two years since any rain?
Or have you seen merino sheep crowded in a red gum shade,
A hill of single file steers, like soldiers on a parade?
If you can answer ‘yes’ to these, with more than the fingers of your hand.
Then chances are you’ve seen a bit of this, our mighty land.
And if you can answer ‘yes’ to all of these, and maybe two or three.
Then I would say, with no argument, you’re as fortunate as me.
This land of ours is precious, its wonderful, wild and wide.
From outback willy-willys, to coastal river tide.
To see it is a privilege… to know it… better still...
I don’t own it… but it owns me… and I pray it always will
© G. McLoughlin 2014
What happened to my Australia?
I well remember, as a boy, the floods of fifty eight.
papers were all full of news of mate assisting mate.
Of heroes in tiny boats, rowing in unbidden.
To rescue people stranded high ...Today it is forbidden
Today the rescue is up to only those who’ve been appointed.
By someone in a Brisbane office, the government’s anointed.
“They’ve had the training, clearance, gear”, quotes some government dunce.
But such a crew are sometimes few... and can’t be everywhere at once.
In my day we all pitched right in and everyone was a member,
Of disaster teams, bushfire crews and other things I remember.
We didn’t wait until someone said, in case someone might sue.
We were ALL the SES in the Australia that I knew.
In sixty three when fires broke out, the year was dry and hot.
Fires started all round our place, they could have burnt the lot.
One fire truck parked fifteen miles away would not have helped at all.
The neighbours, Dad and even me would see these fires stall.
If that had happened yesterday, our farm would be long gone.
Alarm calls, response teams, crowd-management, the list today goes on.
It may have not been ‘coordinated’ but we got the whole job done
.Then we all went home and had a feed, Mum cooked for everyone.
And later on that February, the fires struck all our neighbours.
And we, just like they’d done for us, provided them our labours.
Again no one had told us to. We just saw the smoke and went.
No fire controller, brigade head or police presence were sent.
No public service apathy invaded the Red Cross centre.
Set up in old Jack’s shearing shed ...Anyone could enter.
A cup of tea, tomato sandwich, a lamington or two.
These were what the ‘workers’ ate in the Australia that I knew.
But now you must obey the rules of the disaster control centre.
Evacuate, don’t get in the way, keep out and do not enter.
“We have your situation in hand” “We’ll tell you when we’re through”
You were never treated like a fool in the Australia that I knew.
I think we’ve finally lost control of where our country’s going.
We’re all in boats on time’s great flood and no bugger here is rowing.
There’s some that would but unfortunately the system has some flaws.
The disaster management group has just found out... they forgot to order oars.
Disaster has, in times gone by, brought Aussies all together,
to fight great fires, and deal with floods, in every sort of weather.
We’ve done all this for strangers, mates... the benefits have been few.
We’ve done it because that’s the way it was... in the Australia that I knew.
© G. McLoughlin 2011
Tears
Tears, I’m told, are just our thoughts that leak out through our eyes
And tend to trickle down our cheeks, so that others hear our cries.
Sometimes we tend to hold those thoughts in hearts too full of pain.
We block them off, those teary thoughts, when they should flow like rain.
We think if others heard our cries they may not even care.
Our tear-filled hearts too full to cry, our thoughts to too full to bear.
At times like this we need a friend that doesn’t need to hear
The cries that all the others miss, the loss, the pain the fear
They feel the fullness of our pain without the need to listen
They put our thoughts ahead of theirs and their tears sometimes glisten
Friends like this are hard to find and number very few
I ask you all to think on this… Will that dear friend be you?
© G.Mcloughlin 2014
Mates
A mate is someone who will laugh at your jokes
And share a tomato sanga
They will shout you a beer,
and look after your smokes
And won’t even mind you’re a ‘ranga’
They will help you with shit, when you’re tired of it.
They will even take care of your dog.
And if you’ve knocked your knee
they will rub it a bit
And help you get out of a bog.
They will not even mind If your words seem unkind.
‘cos your minds in a bit of a muddle
Just as you won’t object to the ribbing you get
When you happen to step in a puddle.
A mate might be a brother, a sister, a wife
A sheila, a dog, or a bloke.
There’s one thing for sure…
You need mates in your life.
Without them my life would be broke
.© G.McLoughlin 2014
The Flies of Ilfracombe
It is my wont to travel down the highways of this land,
To drive the lonely by-ways flanked by grass and rusty sand.
I’ve travelled far and wandered wide, from sea to outback stations.
Some trips are easy, some are hard and some have their frustrations.
The sights I see, the things I do, give inspiration for a poem.
That’s why I want to tell you of the flies of Ilfracombe.
Leaving Bundy just on light, I travelled well all day.
I made good time to Emerald and saw friends along the way.
The four wheel drive was sounding strong, the boat was towing easy.
My first overnight at Longreach was starting to look breezy.
I was happy with the world, my first day out from home.
Until I changed a blowout… with the flies of Ilfracombe.
Just twenty miles before my promise of a shower and soft bed,
A shudder stirred my reverie as the trailer lost a tread.
I buttoned off to save the rim, put the whole show on the dirt.
The rim was saved, the tyre was stuffed… the cost was going to hurt.
The place I parked was an old case drain, filled with sandy loam.
An ideal spot to change a wheel… without the flies of Ilfracombe!
I’ve been annoyed by many things, by mossies, gnats and fleas.
By people who think cats are great, and kids who don’t say please.
I find those cooking TV shows a little irritating,
And call centres conversations are beyond exasperating.
I don’t like telemarketers selling solar for my home.
But they pale to insignificance...beside the flies of Ilfracombe!
As soon as I alighted, they swarmed from far and near.
At least a hundred in my eyes, three dozen in each ear.
Up my shorts and down my shirt, the little buggers flew.
In my mouth and up my nose, I swallowed quite a few.
To name all the places they invaded would take a lengthy tome.
We’ll say they saw a lot of me… those flies of Ilfracombe!
They covered up my sunnies, so that I could hardly see.
They crawled on the wheel, and on the jack, and over most of me.
It’s very hard to use your left, while swatting with the right.
It took me hours to change the wheel, thank God the nuts weren’t tight.
I used some words on that road side that can’t go in this poem.
Some I made up ‘specially… for the flies of Ilfracombe!
At last I had the spare in place, the tools all stowed on board.
I climbed into the driver’s seat, still followed by the hoard.
I did my best to brush them off, but found it was no good.
At least a hundred got inside and on my windscreen stood.
I think those flies are a lot like me and they too like to roam.
So it looks like I’ll see Darwin… with the flies of Ilfracombe!!
© G. Mcloughlin 2014
Australia Day
Australians all let us rejoice. The lamb is on the grill
Another long weekend rolls ‘round, with lots of time to kill
We’ll dress in singlets, stubbies, thongs and drape flags ‘round our shoulder.
We’ll open copious cans of beer to make our fervour bolder
We’ll dance about our green backyards and picnic on the beach.
Cricket we will watch or play, set a score the poms can’t reach.
Yes we’ll be Aussies, young and free, or that’s what we will say
And we’ll have just the best of fun on this Australia day.
Australians all let us rejoice the, the lamb is on the grill.
It would have been a kangaroo, if we were blackfellas still
Our land rights flags we’ll fly on high, We’ll protest in the street.
The white blokes owe us all a debt more than a well cooked piece of meat.
We’ll meet our brothers in the park, We’ll talk of days gone by.
We’ll remember those who went before, who didn’t have to die
We’ll speak to politicians, listen to what they have to say.
I’m sure we’ll just get screwed again, on this ‘Invasion Day’.
Australians all let us rejoice, the lamb is on the grill.
And we will know its right to eat, ‘cos it is Halal Kill.
We’ll thank Allah that we are here, safe on this sunny shore
We’ll segregate and keep our faith, just like we did before.
With other groups we’ll change this place, to what we’d like to see.
With Sharia law and EEO what a great place it could be.
The apathy the Aussies have will help us all the way
There’ll be no need integrate on our new ‘Citizen’s Day’
There’s many ways of looking at the way things have here ‘mate’
Our cemeteries are full of those who made this country great.
Both black and white and Afghan too, they gave their lives quite gladly
So we could celebrate this day… All disagreeing badly.
Our land abounds in nature’s gifts... which we’ll mine and dam and slaughter.
We’ll sell the rest off to the Chinese, just because they say we orta.
When its all gone and nothing grows and we’re living just on air.
We’ll bitch and cry and wail and moan… Advance Australia Fair.
© G. McLoughlin 2014
The Voice of Summer
The flags on the SCG all fly halfway up the pole.
For a gentle man who has left to us the cricket in his soul.
At eighty four he has carried his bat and won his final test
As a cricketer a legend, as a gentleman... the best.
The leg spinner out of Sydney’s West was the greatest ever seen
And he changed the world of cricket when he donned the baggy green
As a captain he would never lose a series at the helm
As a man and commentator he was a monarch o’er his realm.
Understated cricket commentary, unbiased... factual... true.
You always knew the score was right at “Chew for Chwenty Chew”
Never one to knock things right, but vocal when they were not.
It didn’t matter who held the bat for that “simply marvellous shot”
So thank you sir for what you gave and the cricketing debt we owe
The voice of summer will be sorely missed... The great Ritchie Benaud
(c) G. McLoughlin 2015