Candle

A candle lit at both ends,
Despite its beauty,
Ability to lighten a darkened space,
And provide solace when the lights have gone out.
Is likely-
Even if the utmost care and precision is taken in its lighting,
Minimising all assessed hazards
And making your best possible effort

-To burn your backside.

Yet we persist.

The Country Talent Quest

It's that time of year again
Yeah haw!
The annual Country Music Talent Quest time.
So it's out with the sheet music,
Google chords and lyrics,
And check out all the versions,
Of the best country has to offer on You Tube.
Finding the right key for junior cowgirls and boys.
Practising and getting decked in just the right kit.
Then there's the dry run on club night.
Haggling over what sections to enter.
Sleepovers for other young hopefuls,
Who tag along with your family singers.
The comedy skits and the last minute dummy spits.
These culminate in a long long day at the local RSL.
Bring along a blanket, some books and colouring in,
To keep all ages occupied.
The smell of the makeup and hairspray.
The frocks, boots and bulging love handles.
The singers and the ear splitters.
The blood and the tears.
Wholesome entertainment for the whole family.

Swimming Lessons

The water in the wood heated pool may have been twenty seven degrees celsius,
The outside air temperature definitely was not.
Overcast with a moderate breeze,
The bathers all dangly legs and arms braved the conditions,
Enjoying the comparative warmth the water afforded.
They frolicked and porpoised,
Back stroked haphazardly in undefined directions,
Splashed, spluttered and gingerly put screwed up faces in....
Momentarily.
Squeals of delight and the odd whinge;
"He hurt me. "
"Yes but he hit me with the kick board."
And then the lower lips start convulsing and turning blue.
Tremors rack the little bodies,
With little stores of body fat for insulation.
It is time to reboot in the warm showers.
The motley crew trundles off with oversize towels and uniforms dragging.
More squeals as cool flesh greets warm water.
Chattering as damp bodies are thrust into reluctant clothes.
Then follows the intermittent parade out of change rooms,
Only to have final inspection on the concourse.
Bedraggled, with lolly bags clasped more tightly than their clothes,
They slowly amble out in friendly gaggles onto the waiting bus.

Missing Someone

Not such a heavy weight,
More a soft tugging,
Within the cavity of your chest.
A feeling of concern,
And hope too,
That things are going well.
When your mind drifts to their image.
And you can sense them.
But you cannot see them face to face,
To be reassured.
It is whispered,
Not all encompassing.
Life's responsibilities drown it out.
But it still comes,
In the quiet moments,
The anxiety,
For those you care for,
Who are absent. 

Pedagogy-The Pleasure of inspiring Learning

It is not teaching that I do,
Rather,,
Facilitate learning.
Encourage an emotional attachment in my diminutive scholars.
If not in what they discover,
But in my own excitement for each subject.
For example;
In expressing the unfathomable patterns of written English. 
I want them to feel sympathy for all the letters that make up their words.
To understand how letters react as they come together.
'e' is so bossy making those vowels say their name.
And 'h' has such a calming influence on 's','t' and 'p'.
And how numerals combine magically in tens,
Just like our fingers and toes.
The wonderful patterns when multiplying 9 and 11,
And the mystery of pi.
I don't impart knowledge and facts,
Like horrible medicine that can only be regurgitated,
With little understanding or application.
No I embrace the role of pedagogue
And feel that it is the practice of my art
To inspire wonder.

Losing the Plot

What is the remedy for losing the plot and being an unpleasant creature to be around?
On those occasions when you think that your responsibilities are just...
Too much!
You know that compared to most, life is pretty good.
But........?
There's too many plates threatening to fall off their spinning stick and bury you,
Because of the silly choices you keep making.

When you have a full life,
It is hard to fit in the unexpected,
Like needing more sleep, illnesses, forgotten appointments and put-off household chores.

So......,
You get yourself a plan,
With a bit of light at the end of the tunnel.
You drag your sorry head off the pillow,
Get up, get active, sing and.......,
Clean the shed. 

Racking the Currant Wine

My currant wine has stopped,
Bubble, plop, bubbling.
It is now plop .......,
An hour  or so later .........,
Plop!
So time to decant into bottles,
And rack.
I think that means you lay the bottles on a rack?
But it's irrelevant.
So I check the specific gravity.
Have a little quaff.
Mmmmm, but sweet.
Tastes very alcoholic.
Get out the siphoning hose.
Suck, suck, mouthful of ambrosia,
Swallow, suck, put end in the jug.
No pressure just an old man's dribble.
Another try,
Another mouthful.
I can't take much more of this boozy cordial.
Finally find the trick.
Suck with the hose up.
Then drop it down to the low jug.
A gush.
Thank goodness,
I was getting a headache.
Thirty bottles and the merlot grapes aren't even ripe yet.
There's still the cider to press.
And I can't say,
We actually drink very much.

Revisiting memories

It was just an underpass,
Rusted,
From a long defunct railway line,
On an obscure dirt track,
Which had at one time,
Been the main road,
To Nimmitabel.

But many winters ago,
Almost fifteen,
This was where we had held each other,
For the first time,
After a long time parted,
At a particularly crucial stage in our,
Relatively young relationship.

Here under this bridge,
On that cold, dark, drizzly night,
When I was shivering,
With stress and trepidation,
At the consequences,
I knew would inevitably follow,
You held onto me.

Just as you did today.

This Sacred Vessel

Notice.

In each moment,
All that it is.

The great,
Elderflower champagne.

The modest,
A hard boiled egg.

The intrinsic beauty of everyday objects,
My red Fergie tractor.

The joy in the simplicity of activities labelled mundane,
Warm dishwater.

Let all off your senses be attuned,
Eau de cologne of wet dog.

Be truly present.

Then you will appreciate this precious life,
And the sacred vessel in which you travel.

Vive

To me, those that appear happiest,
Realise their blessings.
Despite any privations they suffer.
Any discomfort, pain, failed aspirations or misfortunes,
They smile.
While suffering the most terrible hardships,
They battle on almost oblivious to their difficulties.
And without any hesitation,
Offer a helping hand to any man or beast,
With equanimity
To see the world through these rainbow lenses,
Is like living in a constant state of grace.
Vive!

Drafting the kids

It's the time of year for separation.
The fecund from the barren.
Those to be eaten from those that are to be saved for breeding.
For the wooly members of our community it is into these two flocks.
A little looking about for estranged offspring by nursing ewes.
But interest is not maintained longer than the udder discomfort.

For the nannies and kids the separation is a greater wrench.
Bleating pitifully, straining against the leads with blue tongues bulging, choking
The young are dragged, pushed and with tails twisted, almost carried to their separate paddocks.
For escapees that brave the electric and barb, it is into the jug of the goat shed.

For two days we hear them crying.
Each new morning brings their bawling growing more feeble and  hoarse.
By day three their mothers no longer return their pathetic bleats and return to grazing unperturbed.
So just when we suspect that they may have succumbed to their own misery they are released.
Cautiously they move around their new flock.
Have heads butted by the more dominant.
Then find their own niche.

Friends

It is a strange concept, friendship.
Spend the evening gossiping,
I mean in earnest discussion,
With friends I have known a quarter of a century.
They watched me grow up, marry and raise children.
They know my history and I know theirs.
Enjoyed the others company and had sympathy for each other.
And this a friendship.
There's the 'Mummies' I socialize with.
Kids the same ages.
Lots of things in common,
And we have shared much
The amusing, entertaining and life shatteringly sad.
And these are friends too.
But what is the measure of friendship?
The genuine distress you feel when a friend is hurting.
And the strong desire to fix it and make it better for them.

Zen and theTractor

It is not that you drive the tractor.
It is that you fully experience each moment of driving the tractor.
The tension in your thigh as you push down and double clutch.
The force of the key against your fingers held before ignition,
Mentally count to twenty to warm the glow plug.
A cough and you release your hand,
Ignition realised.
The unity of acceleration and release.
The posture that allows you to sit fully in the seat and maintain concentration.
Listen to the engines song as it labours up each hill.
Enter the exact moment when you decelerate and gently apply the brakes.
Notice the lay of the land.
Look for every obstacle, hole, tree-stump.
And memorise the exact point where that baby hare scrabbled slowly away through the grass.
Drink when you are thirsty.
Gauge when you think that more fuel might be needed.
Navigate the land so that needless traversing is minimised.
Feel the wind in your hair and the warmth of the sun.
Smell the fresh cut grass.
And Peppermint Eucalyptus as you slash a misplaced shrub.
realise that there is no where else in this moment you should be,
But on this little red Fergie tractor, slashing.

The Birthday Party

She strove for excellence
As close to perfection as she could get with one week of preparation to execute.
Identifying appropriate recipes.
Acknowledgement that a sit down meal would not work with the number of guests.
Finger-food.
That would work as long as it was real food.
Beautiful, tasty, unique and easily carried and held in the hands.
Exotic, but not too spicy.
Or challenging to an unused palate.
Vegetables, aquatic and terrestrial meats.
Pre- prepared and warmed in the oven or quickly roasted on the BBQ.
Then dessert.
Not too heavy with  a rich chocolate Birthday cake to follow.
Fresh fruit.
Berries in season.
Drinks?
 People are welcome to bring their own.
An assortment of exotic fresh fruit punches.
Alcohol of various intensities.

This was what greeted us at the most thoughtfully prepared party I ever attended.
It was sublime food as mindful as analytic meditation.
And true art.
  

SES Training

Not a very big unit.
Membership reducing,
Members ages increasing.
In line with rural decline.
Measure annual call-outs,
On one hand.
Atmosphere slightly ribald,
But with trust and camaraderie
We cut up cars,
Climb up on roofs
Practise First Aid.
And then adjourn for beer o'clock.

The Pull

When you are up early,
Feeding-out and fencing.
The weather mild,
And everything a picture,
Of rural idyll.
That is when the feelings of being torn begin.
Between your 'away from farm' work life.
That pays for life's necessities,
And this more simple existence.
Grounded, practical and life affirming.
How it should be.

Flavour FreeToothpaste

It took a while before we realised.
He wasn't using toothpaste.
Then came the various strategies of avoidance.
Different brands were purchased.
But to no avail.
So resorting to 'google'
we type in,
"flavour free toothpaste"
We do not suffer alone it seems.
So for those extra sensitive kids,
Who will do almost anything to avoid,
That fresh, minty taste.
Flavour Free Toothpaste.
Now the challenge?
To stop him voraciously chewing his toothbrush.

ASD and Feeling

How do you explain that you,

Feel too much.

All your waking day,
You put up walls to help insulate you.
So you can function,
As you are 'typically' supposed to.
But behind that wall,
The turbulent miasma,
Of emotional experience builds.
If there is not a slow release of pressure.
When you can,
Under control,
In solitude,
Slowly let them come in,
And gently wash over you,

You drown.

In the rushing waterfall,
Screaming and yelling and fighting till the end.

Or in self-imposed silence.

Country Roads

Country roads are measured in hours.
Monotony broken by the quick wave.
A simple, polite finger lift from the steering wheel.
And the sometimes unknown, but usually known driver,
Passes by.
A sign of solidarity.
Acknowledgement that the journey is inevitably long,
And perilous
Dirt roads furrowed and corrugated.
Pot holes and fallen trees.
Dusk bringing kangaroos and wallabies.
Darkness, wombats stunned by the headlights.
But in that one simple human act,
We know that we are in this together.

Burbia

I've been in Burbia,

Seas of rooftops.
A constant buzz buzz of human activity.
Cars, kids, mowers, music and TV sets up loud.
Chubby people, baggy shorts, tight tees and trackies, wander oblivious,
Their attention on their mobile devices.
Cars drive fast.
No courtesy,  no acknowledgement.
Beep , Beep, Beep,
And the one finger salute.
Feeding time;
They gorge at MacDonalds.
Ignoring toddlers in the undercover playground.
Chubby children entertained by ipads.
Mum and Dad chat on face book,
Hundreds of friends.
Everyone seems to be ignoring each other.
Except,
When they have a 'funny kitten' video they can share.
 

Three Ravens

Three Australian Ravens,
One on each post.
Looking across,
A Monaro pastoral idyll.
In the late afternoon,
They sit still as sentinels.
What care they for the hub bub of the 21st century?
The day is mild and the food plentiful.
They have no better occupation.
I ask you,
What is contentment?

Scouting

Proud to be a Scout.

Promise and Law,

And a Gilwell Woggle.

Learning by doing.

Strong friendships,

And so much ...

Fun! Fun! Fun!

Country Drivers

I am a country driver.
Palms sweating,
Heart in my throat,
I keep the pedal down.
I feel the car shudder.
A maelstrom of high wind area and semi trailer undertow.
The bastard was so slow going up the hill.
Now careering down.
I can't catch him and back off.
Demoralised ashamed,
Metaphorical tail between my legs.
I give up the overtaking lane
Domain of more courageous drivers than me.
Give me the dirt, the fleet footed wallabies and one car an hour.

Dance Practice

Thursdays are dancing days.
A long drive with school wearied children.
Their faces lunch smeared,
Their hair adrift from braids
Arrive.
Always late.
Rush! Rush! Rush!
"Quick out of the car.
Yes I've got your bag
Just lean on me while you get on your tights.
Wrong foot.
Yes I've forgotten the hair brush.
Oh your faces are so dirty."
Look around at the perfect coiffured mummies.
Their perfect painted nails,
Expertly arrange hair.
Their ballerinas immaculate.
My jealousy is palpable.

Feeding Children

Provide farm fresh:
Milk straight from the cow,
Chops and sausages from our sheep and pigs.
Clean clear water straight from heaven.
But,
Garden fresh vegetables,
Zucchini,
Broccoli,
Tomatoes,
Beans,
and all you hear is,
"Yucky!"
"Do I have to eat it to get dessert?"
" Disgusting you know we hate...".

....just about anything green, remotely spicy or with any flavour at all.
The disappointment of feeding children.

On Top of the World

Driving across the Monaro,
I feel like I'm on top of the world.
Scant paddocks of senescing trees and tussock grasses,
Unseasonal  green.
Yet in the distance,
Cloud shrouded mountains.
I peek down over the edge at them.
Wind sweeping emphasises height
And I watch
A long row of turbines on a ridge-top.
Slowly turning.
Not quite in unison.
To my right
A pair of wedgetails circle each other,
In a sensuous dance with the up-drafts.
They appear so close out of my car window.
Yet I know the valley falls away below them.

Small Country Schools

We are more like big families.
With our solidarity and our feuds.
We have our cliques, big fish in small ponds,
Sibling rivalry, jealousy, pettiness,
And the school gate mafia.
And sometimes everyone is just....
Too close.
The teachers know just.....
Too much.
Unpaid social workers.
More time counselling than teaching.
Yet in a small school,
They can cut through the process time.
And each child is taught as an individual.
Teachers know them almost as their own children.
In these small towns,
Country schools are the establishment, the authority.
We are the community.
Kill us off or let us die,
And there goes your community.