Christmas at Nans

Tags

boots, children, christmas, country, countryside, family, houses, life, poem, poetry, rural, summer

The window in the front room
spanning over acres of light
encompassing years of family
impaired only by a rather obtuse chip
Nan said the chip was the result of a rifle shot
Uncle Murray put it down to the mower’s stone

Outside galahs passed gently overhead
the farmers moved onward’s
over their crops of green
sprayers gave thirst to newborn plants
whilst over the river the township lay still

The church towering over the houses affront
the chairs inside they sang of tradition
of rich rural land filled with hard working souls
the piano played softly caressing the day

An easy southerly breeze overflowed the stockman’s seat
where sat the veranda
the old man and his dog
boots so proud they stood up on their own
bookshelves
music boxes
paintings of yesteryear

Freshly cut lawns
drew in the meandering trees
all the time above
kept cool by the fans
summer wouldn’t be summer
without Christmas at Nans

The stockmen

Tags

aging, boots, dogs, dry gullies, horses, poem, poetry, rural, stirrup irons, stockmen, stream

You said you were tired
that this was your last stand
I was tired too
for us
uphill battles
dry gullies
dead ends
and mountainous terrain
had delivered us here
back into each other

With tired eyes
worn out old boots
dusty stirrup irons
lame horses
sitting above hungry dogs
and our evening stars
praying for tomorrow
for another day of sunlight
with each other

Searching for the strength
to do it all again
evening fast approached
upon the aging stockmen
angular
wiry
then taut
in tune with the grassy flow
Let’s follow the stream up north
I said
to where I do not know