Since the last blog Prime Minister John Howard has announced that we will be voting on November 24th. Be prepared for 6 weeks of gibberish from all concerned
The biggest story to break this week has been the Ben Cousins saga[West Coast Eagles footballer] He got his just desserts yesterday when the Eagles hierachy finaly sacked him after his latest discretion with the law. Ifeel for the other players of the club who have must be feeling the flak from all this
During the week we lost a soldier in Afghanistan
RIP..... Trooper Daryl Pearce
In the Eastern rural area's of Australia ,some of our farmers are having the most severe and harshest drought for many years
The following poem was sent to me by my good friend Noel Trevaskis
There are some notes about the poet at the end
RAIN FROM NOWHERE
His cattle didn't get a bid; they were fairly bloody poor,
What was he going to do? He couldn't feed them anymore,
The dams were all but dry, hay was thirteen bucks a bale,
Last month's talk of rain was just a fairytale,
His credit had run out, no chance to pay what's owed,
Bad thoughts ran through his head as he drove down Gully Road
"Geez, great grandad bought the place back in 1898,
"Now I'm such a useless bastard, I'll have to shut the gate.
"Can't support my wife and kids, not like dad and those before,
"Christ, Grandma kept it going while Pop fought in the war."
With depression now his master, he abandoned what was right,
There's no place in life for failures, he'd end it all tonight.
There were still some things to do, he'd have to shoot the cattle first,
Of all the jobs he'd ever done, that would be the worst.
He'd have a shower, watch the news, then they'd all sit down for tea
Read his kids a bedtime story, watch some more TV,
Kiss his wife good night, say he was off to shoot some roos
Then in a paddock far away he'd blow away the blues.
But he drove in the gate and stopped - as he always had
To check the roadside mailbox - and found a letter from his Dad.
Now his dad was not a writer, Mum did all the cards and mail
But he knew the style from the notebooks that he used at cattle sales,
He sensed the nature of its contents, felt moisture in his eyes,
Just the fact his dad had written was enough to make him cry.
"Son, I know it's bloody tough, it's a cruel and twisted game,
"This life upon the land when you're screaming out for rain,
"There's no candle in the darkness, not a single speck of light
"But don't let the demon get you, you have to do what's right,
"I don't know what's in your head but push the bad thoughts well away
"See, you'll always have your family at the back end of the day
"You have to talk to someone, and yes I know I rarely did
"But you have to think about Fiona and think about the kids.
"I'm worried about you son, you haven't rung for quite a while,
"I know the road you're on 'cause I've walked every bloody mile.
"The date? December 7 back in 1983,
"Behind the shed I had the shotgun rested in the brigalow tree.
"See, I'd borrowed way too much to buy the Johnson place
"Then it didn't rain for years and we got bombed by interest rates,
"The bank was at the door, I didn't think I had a choice
"I began to squeeze the trigger - that's when I heard your voice.
"You said 'Where are you Daddy? It's time to play our game'
"' I've got Squatter all set up, you might get General Rain.'
"It really was that close, you're the one that stopped me son,
"And you're the one that taught me there's no answer in a gun.
"Just remember people love you, good friends won't let you down.
"Look, you might have to swallow pride and get a job in town,
"Just 'til things come good, son, you've always got a choice
"And when you get this letter ring me, 'cause I'd love to hear yourvoice."
Well he cried and laughed and shook his head then put the truck in gear,
Shut his eyes and hugged his dad in a vision that was clear,
Dropped the cattle at the yards, put the truck away
Filled the troughs the best he could and fed his last ten bales of hay.
Then he strode towards the homestead, shoulders back and head held high,
He still knew the road was tough but there was purpose in his eye.
He called for his wife and children, who'd lived through all his pain,
Hugs said more than words - he'd come back to them again,
They talked of silver linings, how good times always follow bad,
Then he walked towards the phone, picked it up and rang his Dad.
And while the kids set up the Squatter, he hugged his wife again,
Then they heard the roll of thunder and they smelt the smell of rain.
Murray Hartin February 21, 2007
Muzza (Murray Hartin) has been asked to pen something for the Salvation Army
that can bring awareness to the general public about Rural suicide.
He came up with this poem which I think is exceptional,
On a lighter note
Pretty neat prank
Why Men can't fly
Back to our upcoming elections
4days into a 6 week campaign and already Ihad a gutful of the crap
One becomes tuned out and this Ihave done already
Apathy has set in.
switch channels [thank god for remotes]and flick thru the pages and pages of dribble in the newspapers
Now Iam not picking on John Howard ,he is just a nice, easy target
If Labour win the election then we will pick on them
Politicans are fair game
And thats the last you will hear about the elections on this blog until its all over....Boring
Every one loves a Pepsi