A LETTER TO HOME

A few years ago the FNQ town of Rockhampton was inundated by flood - a fairly regular thing up there and something that the locals take in their stride and are quite blase about - then my own town was inundated with floods in 2011 and again in 2013 so water was very much on my mind when I wrote this.

 A LETTER TO HOME

Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet


G’day Mum,

New Years Eve came and went, taking hopes and dreams with it but without the usual celebrations of night fire, fireworks and sparklers. Everything is too bloody wet up here at the moment. Sydney put on a good show though – saw that on the telly before the power went off. We’ll be right, the generator is keeping the fridges going and we’re not out of beer – yet.

rain dampens spirits
firework display fizzles out –
but there’s always beer

The corner shop has run out of almost everything now and the water is up over the counter and cash register now anyway. We tie the tinny up to the verandah post and then wade inside to salvage what little is left. The owner is a good bloke – he put a sign on the door saying ‘take what you need – slightly water damaged stock’. The man’s a comedian, but the water came up so quick he couldn’t get it out so he moved it to the top shelves to try and save what might be useful. Most folks will settle up with him when the waters go down. The river hasn’t peaked yet, she is still rising and they expect her to go over the 9.4 metre mark.

shore to door service
the joys of waterfront living -
boat vendors

Everything now is starting to stink – the sewage plant has been inundated. Maybe they could get the air force to drop a few of those new dri wave baby nappies upstream from the town or some of those ‘Depend’ undergarments, although I don’t suppose even they can handle a leak this big.

caught short by nature
saturation point exceeded -
reached and breached

The mossies are out for blood, and here we are wading in waters where no doubt crocs are on the move. They could pop up anywhere now, no longer restricted to the river and river banks – their playground has expanded by thousands of miles; and the snakes – you see them swimming through the muddy waters, clinging to fence posts, and no doubt when able getting into houses, onto veranda’s. Survival of the fittest here Mate. (Have to make a mental note – don’t go out on the verandah to check flood levels without first making sure first that crocs and snakes aren’t there.) There are just so many extra perils to think of at the moment. They are not the type of croc’s one wants on the front verandah.

garden ornaments
take on a new perspective –
they’ve gone live

But spirits are still high. Bowed but not beaten. Everyone is pitching in and doing what they can. Good intentions all round. Lots of new friendships are now being forged through adversity. The ANZAC spirit seems to be coming out. Mind you there are always the low lives. We have got looters – can you imagine? Not to mention the bloody tourists roaring through in their tinnies - rubbernecking. They are going so fast that they are pushing up a bow wave that surges and slaps the water into the houses – as if we haven’t got enough problems. Police are putting a stop to that though. God those blokes and girls have been wonderful – real morale boosters they are and the SES brigade, and the Salvo’s all trying to do something to help, and they are just as wet as the rest of us.

riding the waves
generated by idiots -
street surfing


The local showground looks like Noahs Ark. It is full of horses and cattle and goats and dogs – those that could be saved, and heaps of chooks and ducks in makeshift enclosures. They put them on the racecourse at first but then it went under, so now the showground is packed – but they are desperate now for stock feed. It will have to be trucked in from interstate and then airdropped. The amazing thing is that all of these animals seem to be getting on so well together. No doubt they realize the gravity of the situation they are in and everyone seems to be on their best behaviour.

local showground
Noah’s Ark re-enactment –
room at the inn

Stock losses on properties though will be huge, farmers were cutting fences and opening gates to give their stock the best chance of survival but doubt many would have made it. With no high ground even the strongest of horses and cattle can’t swim indefinitely, and standing neck high in water for days on end with no tucker isn’t the greatest deal either. The little calves and foals would stand no chance. 

from waters birthed
now washed away in death -
a watery demise

It seems silly with so much water around us but the first thing I am going to do when this starts to ease is have a shower in clean water. The newest fashion shade up here at the moment is ‘River Brown’ – described as a sepia shade reminiscent of soft sludge silt – I think the whole countryside around here has gone for it in a big way. Even the residents seem to have embraced it wholeheartedly. I wonder if those city slickers will latch onto it – it would make a nice change from the latte shades that have been popular for so long. Although come to think of it, it isn’t that different – kind of a strong cappuccino colour.

masquerading as 
the brew that fortifies - 
flood waters seep and rise

One thing about it is that it is a great leveller – Joe Blo’s lawn now looks equally as good as Miss Hoity Toity’s lawn – they both bask resplendent in the Queensland sunshine with tastefully arranged artefacts such as rubber thongs, kiddies wading pools and the occasional blue or red esky reposing amongst the shrubbery. Front fences and hedges are decorated with fringes of tattered shrubbery and long grasses and there are tantalizing glimpses of white and pale blue plastic bags artfully woven through the River Brown layers.


shabby chic
seen everywhere in town –
exterior decorating

Oh and by the way Mum, Jimmy says thank you for the great Christmas present you sent him. He wanted to know how you could possibly have known that flippers and goggles were just what he was going to need. We just told him you were psychic and had the gift of second sight so he said ‘Good oh – she’ll know what to get for my Birthday then.’ But just in case you don’t he’s hoping you’ll take him to Sea World when he gets down to Brisbane. You’d have thought he’d be over the water thing after going through this.

anticipation
fills children with excitement –
wet and wild water park 

Anyway Mum – gotta go – they are filling sandbags at the showground so we are going to give a hand there. Don’t worry we’ll be right. When we are alone I will show you the piccys we took. You will be amazed – God knows we are amazed. Never thought I would be able to afford a property with such extensive water views. Do you reckon the value will have increased much?

waters rise - price drops
extensive water views here
don’t equate to cash


Love from your slightly soggy and almost submerged son

DID YOU GET A BIT LAST NIGHT?

Its been a long time between drinks and once again we are struggling with drought across this country.  Rain or lack of it is a constant source of conversation here in Australia - more so in the country than in the city...

Did you get a bit last night?

Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet  11/14

It never stopped, just kept on coming and running and drummin’.  She hated the sound of it on the tin roof.  When it got really heavy it was she imagined like being in a dugout with a machine gun hammering away in your ear.  Nothing soothing at all in the sound.  Bloody rain.

waterlogged trenches

knee deep in mud and gore –

Flanders Fields

  Ten days now and everything was waterlogged.  If a sinkhole opened up beneath her she wouldn’t be at all surprised. And now the problem was the river at the bottom of the street.  It was rising, a lot faster today because they had finally decided to let some water out of the dam that was now overfull.  After the major floods the city and towns had already experienced over the previous two years, everyone was nervous.

storm surge aftermath

fast flowing rapid water -

rising damp

 She was keeping a wary eye out for snakes.  They were on the move, being forced by floodwaters from their riverbank nooks and crannies.  The sneaky little bastards would be in your house before you knew it, hiding under furniture, lurking in cupboards – one had to be extra vigilant.  One bite from these slithery serpents and it was all over red rover.  They were venomous, they were cranky and they were there.

slithering serpents

sinuously swimming -

seeking respite

It was always a worry.  With two dogs constantly looking for adventure and the little terrier doing what little terriers do – hunt, anything that ventured into the yard was fair game.  They were good dogs and pretty obedient but couldn’t be watched 24/7.  She swore to God they even heard two ants crossing the road, as from a deep sleep suddenly two sets of ears pricked and then hell for leather they both charged down the stairs, nearly ripping the door off its hinges as they burst through the doggie door.  This accompanied by frenzied barking and growling and usually when she went to investigate the cause of the commotion there was nothing there that she could see.

excellent hearing

plus extrasensory perception –

equals high alert

But snakes were quick, lightening quick and one of her dogs was older and slower now and the other one was far too cocky for her own good, a Jack Russell who thought she was six foot high and bulletproof.  A fierce defender of her family and her territory.  A ballsy little bitch that would take on anything and in the frenzy of the hunt completely ignore any directions that were given to her.  That was the worry.   When a dog is hell bent on killing a snake you don’t want to draw their attention away from their attack for a second, for that second might just be when the snake drives home an advantage, but you don’t want the dog attacking the snake in the first place and you sure as hell don’t want to get bitten yourself.  God she hated snakes.  Problem was if one dog was going in for the kill the other one would be there as back up, the whole bloody scene reeked of a disaster waiting for a place to happen.

in like Flynn

all for one and one for all -

united we stand

She often wondered whether an electric fence would keep snakes out.  Of course people laughed and looked at her like she was a slice short of a sandwich, but in reality could it not work?  Her brother told her that once the grass grew a bit it would short out the  hot wire, which to keep a snake out would have to be almost on the ground.  Well she still thought it might work, but men knew best about these things.  Didn’t they?  Then again,  had a bloke even thought of that idea?

never say never

thinking outside the square –

womens intuition

Whilst pondering this she thought she would give her city girl friend Sue a ring and have a chat.  It had been a while since they had spoken and now she was retired she never ventured into the city.  Didn’t have any need to these days, and she hated it anyway.  Too much rush and noise and traffic for her tastes.  Mind you snakes weren’t thick on the ground there.

concrete jungle

dry urban ecology -

black bitumen snakes

The phone rang, and rang and she was about to hang up when it was picked up and her girlfriends voice, a little breathless answered.  They chatted for a while about this and that, family, friends, movies, nothing too earth shattering more about touching base than changing the world.

trivialities

mindless chatter- repartee

explored and noted

Suddenly there was silence on the other end of the phone, she could feel the tension coming down the line and then in a voice dripping with icicles it was so cold Sue tersely replied “ I fail to see why that is any of your business.”

....Well she was a bit taken aback by that response I have to tell you because all she had asked Sue was ‘Did you get a bit last night?  I had just over two inches”

misunderstanding

plus prudish perceptions

equates to cold shoulder

I mean to say that’s a fairly normal question to ask about the weather isn’t it?  The main topic of conversation in the country is how many inches are in the rain gauge.

THEY WERE ONCE SOMEBODY'S DARLING

I used to be a fan of horse racing and as a kid worked in racing stables as a strapper but I can no longer justify the deaths each year of thousands of horses that are by products of the racing industry - the wastage, the ones that don't run fast enough, the ones that don't tick all the boxex. The racehorse breeding industry has become akin to puppy farming. Records reveal that at least 700 horses every month are slaughtered here for the export market. Many of these horses are young and healthy thoroughbreds who simply didn't make it on the race track. An estimate of between 13000 and 18000 horses a year go through Australian knackeries and many of them were once somebody's darling.   

https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=10153265927995299&set=vb.32799215298&type=2&theater

THEY WERE ONCE SOMEBODY’S DARLINGS

Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet

They were once somebody’s darling they were once somebody’s dream,

they were once feted by thousands urged on by whip, hands and scream.

Now they wait in dark – dejected and they’ll no more hear the call

of “they’re off” because tomorrow is the last day for them all.

They don’t sleep in stables stately, they don’t get the brush and gleam

of a fine thoroughbred warmblood – now it’s rough – they hear the scream

of the fallen gone before them, and they know not yet the foe

but they fear the fate awaiting – and they know. Oh yes! They know.

It is hard to be unwanted; it is hard when one falls short

It is hard when expectations don’t equate to dollars sought

So just turn your back and leave them – sell them off and let them go - 

they were once somebody’s darlings but seems now none want to know.

As the rows of Flemington roses pale and drop confetti blooms

the champagne, chicken and chance crowd have departed in the gloom

leaving a trail of trashed tickets, and a divot speckled course

it is doubtful if one punter gives a stuff about the horse.

As last Saturday's Cox Plate celebrations continued into the night … just 20km away, horses stood in knackery pens — and waited. Their last night was exposed in this video

My Sonnet

I don't often write sonnets - but today I did

How about this cover?

I am very proud to share this issue with my friends - there is a lot of good reading inside the covers - http://www.theaustraliatimes.com/magazine/poetry/issue/221/

On Line Poetry Magazine

Have you checked out our latest ‪#‎TATPoetryMag‬ yet? Packed full of‪#‎poetry‬ a video clip titled 'The Keeper of the Stones', upcoming events and more! ‪#‎theaustraliatimes‬ http://ow.ly/BTpwq

THOSE HORRIBLE HAIRY HERBIVORES FROM HARRY’S HYDROPONICS.

Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet

That horrid hairy herbivore from Harry’s hydroponics

was want to eat most anything - it had tastes gastronomic.

‘Twas gimlet eyed and known to drive the ladies to hysterics

some folks around would have pink fits and some would turn choleric.

Now Harry grew lettuce and strawberries hydroponically

all safe encased in glasshouses, but plain they were to see.

The lettuces were big. Iceberg and Cos, Rocket, Mizuna

but Billy could not get to them.  They did not need a pruner.

In sheer frustration Billy learnt how to unlatch the gate

and wander off in search of things to eat.  And how he ate.

He’d decimate tomatoes, and green beans he thought a treat.

Cared not a jot where he did feast, favoured no single street.

He’s trampled over my clean sheets and  been chewing my undies.

He’s terrorised the dog and chooks.  Look at my Joe’s Reg Grundies.

Those snow peas were my pride and those blue roses a show winner.

 Now Harry’s horrid herbivore has eaten them for dinner.

The local copper shook his head for he had no solution

but seems the whole town now was crying out for retribution.

The town’s horrible herbivore was Harry’s much loved pet

a bullet straight between the eyes was the most oft heard threat.

There was no fence could keep him in nor gate would keep him out

across the town at random times one would hear someone shout,

Shoo, go away you hairy beast I’ll kill you in a minute,

 then the Police Station phone would ring and Harry was dropped in it.

It was a problem; one which Harry was now forced to ponder.

Cash paid out in recompense was cash he’d not to squander.

He didn’t want to shoot his mate or see him sent away,

there must be a solution to get King Billy to stay.

He thought about it long and hard, weighed up the pros and cons.

He juggled figures, measured lengths, walked back and forth and from

one corner of his property and back out to the road

and these days always wore a frown and looked quite indisposed.

Time passed and nothing much had changed though Harry had been busy,

then bright and early Tuesday morn a man arrived with Lizzie.

Lizzie was quite the femme fatale, a rare beauty was she

who batted her long eyelashes when she saw King Billy.

Lizzie was a small Boer doe – shaded in white and brown

who wore her little nubby horns like a Queen wears her crown.

She flirted - her good genes showed in each dainty step she took.

King Billy stood there drooling, like a pole axed leghorn chook.

In dulcet tones she muttered low – her words were indistinct

but sounded like ‘Come here big boy’ – ( I was the worse for drink.)

King Billy cocked his head and shook his ears, rattled his horns

and ambled over our way, looked at Lizzie,  gave a yawn;

then ambled nonchalant and slow down to the running creek

and Lizzie followed docile as a lamb – I heard her speak.

You stick with me big fellow and I’ll show you such delight

you’ll never leave your home again to wander, day or night.

And though I thought ‘twas just the drink making me hear these voices,

King Billy’s not been seen in town since offered other choices.

I noticed last time that I passed by Harry’s place to town,

two kids now shared the paddock and Billy was lying down.

He looked a tad exhausted as if life was now too much

to handle, although Lizzie grazed oblivious to such

rude rambunctious goat behaviour, as her kids tormented Dad,

by both climbing onto his back.  They were cheeky and bad.

Six months have passed how time has flown.  Now there is consternation

throughout our town as vandalism causes indignation.

With flowers disappearing from gardens on several streets,

and underwear gone missing, which is somewhat indiscreet.

Strange noises and loud footsteps have often been heard at night

on some ladies verandahs.  Said ladies then faint with fright.

No strangers have been noticed, I’ve no inside information

but suspect the horrible herbivores are part of the equation.