Goondiwindi Argus Poems

Street acts, poets and old bushies were everywhere around town at the Goondiwindi Poetry and Art Festival. At the Goondiwindi Argus, we were inundated with more than forty entries for our inaugural poetry competition won by Julia Thatcher (1st prize) and Esther Gardiner (2nd prize).

Following last week’s poems, here are a few more poetic works from our crop:  

Musician, teacher and busker Sam Jessen had Bernadette Allport reaching for the phone to spread the word at Goondiwindi's Poetry and Art Festival

Musician, teacher and busker Sam Jessen had Bernadette Allport reaching for the phone to spread the word at Goondiwindi's Poetry and Art Festival

There is no remembering that first distant thought

Or when it came or what prompted it forth

Did it explode from the grey nothingness or

did it drip and form, petrol on water?

Was it perfect thought or somehow clunky

Half-formed and strangled by naivety?

Best left lying, covered and forgotten

Robin Hansford

Yamibiko in Snow

 There is a God,

 And he is here with me on the Mountain;

 Amongst the icicle covered trees

 Weeping from their beauty,

 He is alongside the footprints in the snow

 A hint of mystery of life

 There is a God,

 And he is here with me on the Mountain;

 Amongst the beauty in all its breadth and breath,

 He may not be your god nor mine

 but he is here with me,

 Sweeping his hand in bountiful swathes

 Casting strength as he scatters softness and silence

 The peaceful soundless Beauty

 That befriends the Silence

 They stand hand in hand,

 lovers on the mountain

 Plain for all to see

 " Here touch me

 I am Beauty

 from your God;

 Take, Eat, Drink,

 This is my body,

 Do this, in remembrance of me"

 There is a God

 and He is here with me on the Mountain.

Melinda Macintyre 

International 

I start up in the morning with my hopes up in the sky

I’ve checked the header over she’s as sweet as apple pie

I kick the engine over my hopes fall to the ground

I hear a piston missing the fan belt makes a sound

Not ot be disheartened or have my hopes go bust

I turn the air con full on and smother in the dust

I sit back in the driver’s seat and hear the last spring snap

The fuel gauge showing empty I hadn’t thought of that

The rats have chewed the lining from inside the cab

I think they have piddled in every spot It really smells so bad

The rubber seal from off the door has dried and fallen off

The dust comes in throuh the day and really makes me cough

My foot comes off the peddle I feel the clutch has gone

We are in a forward gear but hardly move along

I pull back on a lever to make the header work

The elevator rattles and the chains begin to jerk

I fear the drum is twisted and the concave isn’t right

The brigalow stump I picked up on a contour bank last night

It happened in the moonlight when the lights were so weak

You could have heard me cursing from here to croppa creek

I ignore the walker bearings as they rattle far behind

I’ve a job to hear them rattle far behind

I’ve a job to hear them rattle far behind

I ignore the walker bearings as they rattle far behind

I’ve a job to hear them rattle for the spirals as they grind

Should I look for more disasters as I chuff around the crop

Or carry on regardless and pray it just won’t stop

Oh hell, the big wheel is punctured I think I hit a stake

I only need one more problem I am sure my heart will break

If I get this paddock finished without a heart attack

I’ll take a double lotto and hope to win the jack

There must be better places to work my life away

Than driving this old bugger from daylight every day

Oh I see my wife is coming with a billycan of tea

She’s the one to keep me going she really sticks to me

When I fall off this old header and stagger home at night

She’s the one to give me comfort and gets me sleeping right

When I see the sun come creeping behind the eastern hills

I know a day awaits me of heat and flies and bills

I shake the F11 to life and get a start

For you cannot say surrender to this dirty old red fart

Bevan Fordham

Dreaming 

I am on the river fishing my rod rests on a snag

The fish aren’t biting madly I’ve got none in the bag

The sun is slowly rising I can feel the morning breeze

The mist upon the water the rustle of the leaves

These sounds are so relaxing I could almost go to sleep

Then round the bend comes grazing a mob of hungry sheep

The willow trees are swaying to the willy wagtails song

Such a sprightly fellow you would like to sing along

The kookaburra welcomes another sun bright day

With his titillating laughter then smartly flies away

Not to be out-chorused in the highest gum tree branch

Cockatoos are squawking and doing quite a dance 

I hear a call I know it well, a black duck on the wing

The blue wren and the pelican all move when day begins

A hop a skip a twitching nosea rabbit takes a drink

He’s off again with hop and skip he’s gone as quick as blink

The river bank in morning light is such a pleasant sight

The bird calls and the animals you never see or hear at night

I guess I am sentimental my thoughts I lose control

Lying on the river bank I dream my dreams of old

With all these gay surroundings I lean back on my tree

My dreams of sheer contentment the feeling being free

to let my dreams continue I do not bait my line

I am lying on a grassy bank I’ll fish another time

Then somewhere in the distance something stirs my brain

Betty shakes my shoulder says you’ve dozed right off again

What to time to wake me I never had a care

Dreaming of my river days when I fished out there

Let this be a lesson to all you fishing cranks

If you want to dream of fishing and lying on the bank

Make sure your wife’s out shopping and gone for quite a time

Lie back on your lounge chair pretend you have a line.