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    The Poetic Ramblings of an Old Australian
    The Poetic Ramblings of an Old Australian
    The Poetic Ramblings of an Old Australian
    Ebook245 pages1 hour

    The Poetic Ramblings of an Old Australian

    By Ken Gower

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    About this ebook

    A collection of poems looking at life in Australia through the eyes of someone who has seen it all. This collection of poems deals with a diverse range of topics from the Coronavirus pandemic to the heroes who fought the raging fires to poems about local towns and their characters. Quintessentially Australian, these poems don't hold back and paint the perfect picture of all the different types of Australian lives.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateDec 22, 2020
    ISBN9781922553102
    The Poetic Ramblings of an Old Australian

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      Book preview

      The Poetic Ramblings of an Old Australian - Ken Gower

      am

      The Silent Traveller

      He travelled down the freeway

      Turned off at a country lane

      The dawn was bright and sunny

      Without the hint of rain

      He passed by the farmers

      Working on their crop

      But the vehicle he was riding in

      Just did not want to stop

      He travelled down the byways

      Over hill and dale

      But his vehicle kept on going

      Like a train upon the rail

      He passed by some villagers

      Some who stopped and stared

      But the driver of the vehicle

      Just turned his head and glared

      They stopped outside a little church

      Inside nice words were read

      The people stood around his coffin

      As he lay inside, quite dead

      They took him to the cemetery

      Inside his family tomb

      I suppose you could almost liken it

      To being back in his mother’s womb

      He lay there in the darkness

      Surrounded by his kin

      And his body slowly withered

      To just some bones and skin

      But the villagers still whisper

      Of the man they buried there

      Of the wooden stake right through his heart

      Does the thought give you a scare?

      The Truckies

      You know when you see those huge great trucks

      Roaring down the road

      Pulling two huge trailers

      Carrying a massive load

      The truckie has a responsibility

      To make sure all is well

      Not to cause an accident

      And send us all to hell

      Some of them like to tailgate

      Their trucks so close and near

      You look back in your mirrors

      And all you feel is fear

      They seem to think the road is theirs

      And we’re just in the way

      We know they have to earn a living

      But is the danger worth the pay

      But some of those trucks are beautiful

      With paint all bright and shiny

      When they stop at the lights beside you

      They make you feel so tiny

      But there are others that are ugly

      All dirt and belching smoke

      Driven by some dickhead

      A really nasty bloke

      We know most of them are good guys

      Who drive quite safe upon our roads

      They drive within the limits

      And know they carry heavy loads

      The big trucks are important

      Most drivers are first class

      But tell the bloody dickheads

      To stay back off my arse

      A Gentleman Asleep

      I sit here writing this poem

      About my Grandson Matt

      He passed away some weeks ago

      But I don’t want to dwell on that

      The future is what we look for

      And Matt would want that too

      Myself, his Mum Pauline

      And all the rest of you

      Matt was just a lovely bloke

      He always gave his all

      Anyone with a problem

      Would just give Matt a call

      Now Matt just loved his motorbike

      I think a Suzuki Marauder

      He loved his job as manager

      As he left everything in order

      Charity work Matt loved most

      And we know that love was real

      For the hours and hours he put in

      Spending time on his company’s appeal

      His favourite colour was purple

      Strange colour for a man

      Just wear some on the 8th April

      Please do the best you can

      His Mum Pauline was proud of him

      He was her tower of strength

      And when his Mum was need of him

      He would go to any length

      In closing off these words of mine

      I would really like to say

      ‘Cheers fella’ and ‘No wukkas mate’

      I’m sure we’ll meet again one day

      Twisters

      Out in America’s mid west

      Is a place they call storm alley

      Where the twisters all come flying through

      And the damage you can’t tally

      There’s piles and piles of debris

      And a lot of lives are lost

      With houses and vehicles piled

      Where by the wind they’re tossed

      Some have lost their roofing

      Some have lost their homes

      You can tell the ones that lost the most

      By their faces and their groans

      People seem to stand around

      Their faces all gone blank

      Everything they own gone missing

      Except that useless water tank

      They come without much warning

      And given little time

      They come roaring on the township

      With a frightening sort of whine

      The people look for shelter

      You can almost feel their fright

      As the storm rages down upon them

      With all its immeasurable might

      But the people of the mid west

      Are made of sterner stuff

      Their courage comes to the fore

      When the going gets really tough

      The twisters rage right through storm alley

      And down upon the townships burst

      The people there display their courage

      And know that they’ve survived the worst

      The Swagman

      He wakes up in the morning

      And heads towards the road

      He sleeps where he can lay his head

      He has no real abode

      His skin is dry

      His hands are rough

      The life he leads

      Is really tough

      He needs to find his breakfast

      To set him for the day

      The weather’s going to be really hot

      He may walk a very long way

      He quickly snares a rabbit

      And brews his billy-tea

      There’s not a living soul about

      As far as he can see

      Soon he puts his gear away

      In a little gunny sack

      Everything the Swagman owns

      Is carried on his back

      Always alert as he walks along

      He’s hoping for some luck

      The next town is a long way off

      Perhaps a lift from a passing truck

      He’s been on the road for many years

      And his days are nearly done

      He needs an act of kindness

      Will he ever meet that kind someone

      The days are getting longer

      And he doesn’t move as fast

      He knows the time is getting close

      When he may breathe his last

      So he wanders off the highway

      Lays down his weary head

      He stayed just there for many years

      That’s where we found him, dead

      The Motor Car

      Do you drive a motor car

      And does it guzzle fuel

      Have you ever thought of changing

      Till all its fuel is dual

      The world we know is changing

      And climate change is here

      Why not change to a cleaner fuel

      It’s nowhere near as dear

      We have to be so careful

      Of everything we do

      Not send pollutants in the air

      That can’t be good for you

      Do we want our children

      To blame us for their lot

      Or do we now look after

      The wonderful world we’ve got

      You don’t have to use your motor car

      When its only a short walk to go

      You might even end up healthier

      Try it then you’ll know

      Its silly seeing one person

      In a great big motor car

      Try and get a lift with them

      We’ll be better off by far

      The experts say they want you

      To try and take a hike

      Perhaps you aren’t quite able to

      And you can’t afford a bike

      But what ever it is you do

      The future we can’t mar

      We must cut down the usage

      Of that pollution spreading motor car

      The Sounds of Silence

      I’m looking out the window

      At all the green around

      I’m standing here in silence

      Nothing makes a sound

      I can’t hear any noises

      No birds can I hear sing

      I can see one in the distance

      Out there on the wing

      I can’t hear any lawnmowers

      Engines belching smoke

      Can’t even hear a Jumbo Jet

      It’s silence, like a cloak

      Can’t hear any kids

      Playing in the street

      Can’t hear the sounds of football

      When they kick it with their feet

      No neighbours arguing over the fence

      Tranquillity reigns supreme

      Can’t hear the roaring of the crowd

      When they yell and shout and scream

      The factories seem

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