Have your hanky at the ready before reading this.
'Rain from nowhere' by Murray Hartin
The much requested poem about the drought and the struggle many of our farmers are facing.
This poem was submitted to the program by a listener, Murray Hartin. It's both a beautiful and a sad piece that reflects with brutal honesty the situation many outback Australian farmers are facing today.
Rain from nowhere By Murray Hartin.
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 goodnight, 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
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Vest Has Left the Building
To advise that Vest (Les Bowyer) passed away this morning. Regards, Chris (Son).
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he hugged his wife again,Then they heard the roll of thunder and they smelt the smell of rain.
jo ho raha hain
accha hi ho raha
jo hoga achha hi hoga
..... its the Gita
its what keeps Indians free from tensions and worries
U will find the poorest of the poor here in India
they are hungry
but they dont suicide
and they are content
if not happy
in God we trust
It must be so heartbreaking for them all.
I've heard alot went right on ahead and took their lives. Too sad ...
Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "How I beat the system: Living cheaply":
A man, whose level of drunkenness was bordering on the absurd, stood up to leave a bar and fell flat on his face.
"Maybe all I need is some fresh air," thought the man as he crawled outside.
He tried to stand up again, but fell face first into the mud.
"Screw it," he thought. "I'll just crawl home."
The next morning, his wife found him on the doorstep asleep.
"You went out drinking last night, didn't you?" she said.
"Uh, yes," he said sheepishly. "How did you know?"
"You left your wheelchair at the bar again."
VEST u ass
dont equate God with religion
visit my blog GOD vs Religion
Drunks are good funn
I had plenty funn by getting drunk
rather pretending to be
bipolar is another excuse
u can make a pass for the wife of your best friend
feel her ass, etc
and the next morning feign amnesia
i did it to Willie
told him I have the hottz for Veera, his lovely wife
he thinks his wife is way too heavy
for any one to have such carnal thoughts about her
I am pretty sure Willie has the hottz for Maria, my wife
but he is God fearing
the 9th commandment and heaven and hell and stuff
one day we got talking about the plight of widows in India
and so I told Willie
when I die
he must look after my wife
and I will his
all the needs food money and sexual
the pact is signed
I told Maria
Jim: No more name calling please or I may find it necessary to reciprocate on your blog, come on now keep it pleasant.
Hindi is a lang with the mostest cuss words
lissen to this
teri ma ki bosda mein palang dal ke
teri bahen ko ...
dont equate God with religion
your humble servant
this is the way the British tot the natives to write letters
Jim. Also Anonymous and Saby Da Souza, AKA The Goan Trio.
You have a habit of blaming the British Raj for the plonking of all your woes and misgivings you have today.
If it were not for the British and other European countries colonising and robbing your country you would be still in the feudal system like Iran and Saudi Arabia. I suggest your Ancesters should take on some of the abuse, like in your case, people such as Vasco Da Gama and Bartholomeu Diaz the Portuguese explorers. No doubt they could be responsible for your being a bunch of guese (Geese) as in "You Big Goose".
Have a nice day.
I love that last comment vesty. I just like the way you can be so rude and be nice in the same breath.
We have a new single guy in the office today, real sexy. we all have the hots for him and Brian too. let you know more later,;)))Hugs.
(Who sez seniors don't have a sense of humor?)
FOXY LADY: Sexy, fashion-conscious blue-haired beauty, 80's, slim, 5'-4" (used to be 5-6), searching for sharp-looking, sharp-dressing companion. Matching white shoes and belt a plus.
LONG-TERM COMMITMENT: Recent widow who has just buried fourth husband looking for someone to round out a six- unit plot. Dizziness, fainting, shortness of breath not a problem.
SERENITY NOW: I am into solitude, long walks, sunrises, the ocean, yoga and meditation. If you are the silent type, let's get together, take our hearing aids out and enjoy quiet times.
WINNING SMILE: Active grandmother with original teeth seeking a educated flossier to share rare steaks, corn on the cob and caramel candy.
BEATLES OR STONES? I still like to rock, still like to cruise in my Camaro on Saturday nights and still like to play the air guitar. If you were a groovy chick, or are now a groovy hen, let's get together and listen to my boss collection of eight-track tapes.
MEMORIES: I can usually remember Monday through Thursday. If you can remember Friday, Saturday and Sunday, let's put our two heads together.
MINT CONDITION: Male, 1932, high mileage, good condition, some hair, many new parts including hip, knee, cornea, valves. Isn't in running condition, but walks well.
The British dont no how to cuss
I prefer Americans
they call a spade a spade
an ass a ass
they dont mince words
what women and Amy want
OK OK OK
we owe the British a lott
the Indian Railway network
the IAS (formerly ICS)
the Indian Aministrative Service is run by bureaucats and profeesionals
No matter which idiot is elected as Minister
The IAS guys do their job
The British did a lott and we paid back in full measure
They enjoyed the hospitality of India for a few hundred years
and one day they just decided to quit and go back home
not so fast
we are coming with u
And Britain was flooded with browns from India
today many parts of England look no different from India
u will find Sardar cab drivers
Any Yanks here?
visit my blog MAD DOGS AND ENGLISHMEN
And I wrote abt Rain too :)
she only rites
she dont read
she dont party seepate
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