Heroes

This morning I reworked an old poem I wrote back around 2010. Far from perfect I am trying to write without listening to the rhyme in my head and for me this is difficult because when I write, I also hear a melody in the words I'm thinking.

Thoughts about my forebears come flooding into my mind, people like Ron Lindo who was killed in New Guinea during WW II.

Uncle Doug Symes who ran away from home to go droving before joining the Royal Australian Navy where he served for any years.

I think about the times my own father who grew up on the banks of the Coorong at Goolwa, went on to serve in the RAAF and after the war, made his home in Orroroo where he raised his family on the proceeds from his business Pro Motors.

I think of the many English lesson daydreams I'd have while watching a windmill lazily roll around its axis. My teacher's frustrations as she tried her best to focus my and my classes' attention to the works of C.J, Dennis, Banjo Patterson and Henry Lawson.

Uncle Doug Symes 90th birthday

Today as I try to channel their muses, I find myself regretting I didn't pay proper attention and feeling some of the same frustration when the words don't come. However, now when I read some of my older work, I realise something from those distant days seeped into the grey matter between my ears. Now, as I love listening to those old stories and try my best to write even better ones, I know I'm not there yet. However, the more I write the more confident I am and in that, I know I am spinning a better yarn.

Heroes:

All along the wide and lonely stock route

And across the drying plain,

with horse, stock-whip and saddle

Our Aussie outback heroes

fought flood and fire and famine

And for not much more than tucker, did it all

So kids, when you see his statue

And you feel inclined to climb

And disregard the fall

Take a moment to remember

That he stands here a tribute

To you and me, Australians all.

He’s the one who battled loneliness

and constant demons of his mind.

High of skill yet lowly paid,

the outback in his blood

Leave him rest here where he stands

for he has done more than just his time

He is an icon to us all

Offer up a subtle prayer

or leave fresh flowers at his feet

For he’s our image of ourselves

tempered by Australia's sun

And often wet or dry or lonely

he did his best

Until one day on a deserted plain

his maker, he did meet

For droving 's more than just a job

And there’s nothing more wholesome

Than riding with the mob

Bringing sheep and cattle down

to the town and city’s table

And when called to war

For his country gave it all