Cast o’er with grey, the blue sky hides and takes with it the sun
A lightning flash and thunderclap brings raindrops on the run
The crystal jewels that hail from high bequeathed by nature’s hand
Refresh the earth and bring forth life, replenishing the land.
Then as the sun recalls its strength and banishes the cloud
It calls upon the rainbow band’s mute witness to the crowd
For though we think we’re masters here, have but to beck and call
If it weren’t for our Creator, we’d not be here at all.
© dave bowen
The Stockman’s Last Ride
Please someone just hand me my stockwhip
Bear me up to the saddle once more
Though I now hardly move, my last ride will prove
I’m a stockman right through to the core
My cobbers, you’ve known me for cent’ries
You young bucks for maybe a year
But the bond with my horse was legend, of course
And his passing brought more than a tear
So boil up that blackened old billy
To toast me with tea, not with tears
Then someone please croon my favourite tune
Let’s look back on those wonderful years
’Cause now it’s the turn of the master
To ride that last trail into night
While your campfire burns, when this horse returns
You’ll know I arrived there all right.
© dave bowen
Feast of Poetry Competition
The Rhyming Romeo
The women came from everywhere, from every country town
They’d travel in from homesteads to lay their blankets down
To sit and listen to him speak, to hear the things he wrote
And each would feel a teary eye, a breath caught in their throat
For it’s true, he was their lover, at least in all their dreams
He walked with each one hand in hand beside the woodland streams
And whispered in their shell-like ears such words of sweet romance
As he guided them around the floor embraced in courtly dance
The rhyming romeo would raise an eyebrow now and then
Or tip a wink to right or left, for pause, and start again
Knowing well that every word, that each well-chosen phrase
Brought back a memory to the girls of treasured halcyon days
Reminded them of stolen looks, or more daringly a kiss
Oh yes, his words relit their fires, and fanned the flames of bliss
What would they give to have this man all to their very selves?
To lead them into forest glades where pixies and sweet elves
Prepared for them a leafy dell, a floral-laced boudoir
Fit only for a princess in a sylvan palace. Far
From Cinderella’s chores, the drudge, the daily grind
The Poet Prince would take them, if only in their mind
His words would captivate each heart and make of it his own
While pulses raced and girls, red-faced, emitted with a moan
Their murmured sighs of lust and love, their happiness in capture
Oh would this moment never end, this all-pervading rapture
But all good things must end, they say, and all too soon the poet
Closed his eyes and took a bow, to finish off the show. It
Was the sweetest moment, for he held each lady there
And everyone, for just a second, whispered up a prayer
Of thanks, for giving of his time to share his mind and soul
His magic words that gave them joy, and made them all feel whole
A blessing on this Romeo, with his cunning lingual skills
For giving tongue to thoughts, that brought a paradise of thrills
As each one left at end of day, fulfilled in that fine hour
They took with them the echo of his words, with all the power
To keep them oh so happy and their hearts and minds aglow
And all with treasured memories of the rhyming romeo.
Winner - Cooma Feast of Poetry - Bush Verse - 2006
(c) dave bowen
Gustav hold still; your mind is spinning round
Take your time and smell the roses
Keep your feet firm on the ground
But not this lad, he heard a different drum
Heaven’s stars were in his orbit
Not revolving round his mum
Can you hear the drums Fernando?
Is the trumpet volunt’ry?
Will the rhythm in your young mind
Help to set the music free?
What symphony! Such pleasure to be found
Making time to hear the music
Simply soaring with the sound
For the universe itself is at our very feet
As we rule with awesome majesty
In tune with Gustav’s Planet Suite.
Life never seems to go to plan; it has us all in thrall
When we think we have it mastered, we’re just heading for a fall
From the moment we start scheming, and mapping out our life
We learn that nothing in this world is without a share of strife.
Oh, what hardships some men suffer in their never-ending grind
To scrape a living from the earth, or live on what they find
From richer people’s cast-offs, it can hardly be a life
For the ever-hungry children and the poor, downtrodden wife.
While some, they get it easy and their sailing’s mostly smooth
In their ocean-going cruisers, they’re always on the move
Funded by their self-made empires controlled by click of mouse
And managed from the comfort of a million-dollar house.
Yet what these have in common from the cradle to the grave
Is the one perennial problem that their lives they cannot save
Neither with, nor without money; not sat in power’s seat
Nor even with their bellies full of all the planet’s wheat.
I close my eyes in wonder at the awe-inspiring sound
Of Holst’s heavenly sweet music as it goes round and round
Playing on my old, but treasured gramophone
It’s the only thing I own
That keeps me calm.
Besides, of course, my Bible in its weathered leather case
And the photo of my lost love with her ever-smiling face.
It’s relaxing as the music soothes away the past
And although it doesn’t last
It’s such sweet balm.
As I survey our earthly home from the music’s universe
I give thanks to our Creator, for we have no need of purse
He so freely gives, and promises much more
It’s right there in the score
In the rhythm, in the beat.
In the universal harmony to match His written word
The truth of all His prophesies that I have read and heard
This powers my belief, though some may think it odd
My faith’s in our great God
That He did... plan it sweet.
Coastal Writers Comp
Suite of three poems
For other db poems see under ’poetry’ in the book categories