ANZAC CHUMS AND THEIR MUMS

In Oz the possum grinds on thorn and gum
Far too stretched to visit mum -
Things are hard outback of Bourke
And there’s no time for anything but work.

But Kiwi possums like to visit ma
With flowers for her crystal jar -
They’ll even take a shopping bag of buds
With some greens and beans and spuds.

In Oz the possum is protected
As indeed might be expected -
Beset by fires and drought and prickles
And parched out creeks that slim to trickles.

But Kiwi possums are heaven sent
To slurp and scoff to heart’s content -
When they dine they have the best
And not surprisingly are deemed a pest.

In Oz a treasure - in NZ an imported glitch
There are mixed opinions either side the Ditch –
Mum’s the word on making possums able
To visit home with veggies for the table.

BUCKLEY BOY


Caressing half-sounds
Stumbling your stories
Under star-snake glories
Round the flickered embers


Did silence shake you
And tear you apart
As desperate loss
Tracked endless plains?


Dying in your dreams
When the cord tightens
Did your execution
Proceed as seemed it must?


How many atrocities
Were buried in the sand
And laid aside
Then brought to hand?


Years without kindred
Did you lose control
Find communion dead
And cease expression


Traversing the empty spaces
In dark companion?
Did you long for traces
Of what was told?



In the waste and fever
Did regret ride high
Chaffing the leaver
Chiding the loser why


So many roads were tried
Through trackless wastes
Where stream beds lied
And haste led back?


Walking on the edge
Of no escape
Left on hillsides
By your last mistake


When the dark broke in
Was an icy flaw
The token endpoint
Holding a wider line?