Page 3 - eMuse Vol.9 No.10_Neat

To face the consequences of your choice.
Whatever were you thinking? Were you prompted by the
drinking?
to say the stamp of Londoners might lend
more credence to your craft?
Come on Henry — don’t be daft!
Think back on all the poetry you’ve penned.
Beyond the city’s glowing, you can hear the cattle lowing
By Reedy river, shaded from the sun,
As Andy on his horse
Navigates the water course,
Preserving life along the Western run.
The drover’s wife is grieving for a husband who is leaving
to guide the herd to where the grass is sweet.
She knows she’ll wait and yearn,
Counting tears till his return
As seasons stumble by on leaden feet.
There’s Smithy and the Spieler — out to swindle some
old sheila,
As faces in the street are blurred from view.
The roaring days of old
Bring to mind the shouts of Gold!
As lights of Cobb & Co come riding through.
You can’t forget the mountains, or the misty, mossy fountains
That punctuate the Great Diving Range —
Or death-sky barren plains
Where the bleached and white remains
Of stock are proof that some things never change.
Your outback trekking tired you, but these things are
what inspired you!
Your voice does not belong on England’s shore.
The endless numbing chill
Makes you weak, and old — and ill,
Lawson’s Legacy And rattles your foundations to the core.
Your wife and children suffer as you strive to build a
buffer
by Shelly Hansen © To manufacture quiet time and space
To meditate — to write —
But you’re locked within your plight
Winner — 2020 Bronze Spur As hunger, want and need claim pride of place.
Written Bush Poetry Competition — The dullness of your hearing deadens footsteps disap-
Camooweal Queensland. pearing —
You walk the gaslit street with vacant stare.
Author’s Note: In 1900 Henry Lawson took his wife and The foggy silence haunts
children to England, in search of employment and recogni- And the empty pavement taunts,
tion in London Literary circles. This trip was a creative But you are seeing something else, somewhere.
and financial disaster and the family returned to Australia Each window pane refection is a frame of recollection,
in 1902. The scent of nutmeg wats from custard pies.
Your mother’s work worn hands —
You’re shaking with a shiver as a mist lifts off a river Proof that someone understands
Reflecting back the city lights at night. The loneliness that you cannot disguise.
Your mind is fixed on work The qualities that make you are the same as those that
But your heart is back o’ Bourke break you,
And longs to tell the stories of the plight But Henry, you must turn the rudder back
Of farmers and their cattle, and the dusty weary battle To where your heart belongs —
through years of drought that end with too much rain. Where they sing the sweetest songs —
The house where you were born To where the billy boils along the track.
Rises sharply to adorn Return and tell your story where the colours shout their
Sweet memories that take you back again. glory,
You’ve come here on a mission to fulfill your grand ambition Where southern stars illuminate the skies.
To infiltrate the Mother Country’s voice, Your legacy will last
And stake your claim to fame — With endurance unsurpassed —
Or return in abject shame For each of us in mirrored in your eyes.

October 2020 eMuse 3