I want to tell of my mate Maxi. A Poem by Mulga Pete

I want to tell of my mate Maxi. A Poem by Mulga Pete

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I WANT TO TELL OF MY MATE MAX

by Mulga Pete

I want to tell of my mate Max,
with his brush, his paints, and board,
painting stories of his droving days
gone by.

He’s a person with a passion,
for the bush, red dirt, and scenes,
showing hardships of the drovers
and their wives.

Painting towns of dirt and dust,
filled with horses, trains and pubs,
He can illustrate a story
of the time.

From his Kenthurst Sandstone Church,
you will find him day and night,
sitting back behind an easel
made from pine.

Mixing colours on a palette,
to make the contrast on the canvas,
takes a talent grown with age|
and skill and passion.

Making magic with a paintbrush,
bringing characters to life,
with boots and whips and hats and horses
is the fashion.

Now, not all can have a painting,
with the dedication of our Max,
hanging on their wall
for all their friends to view.

Cause it takes a special person,
with an eye for artistic talent,
to appreciate the value
that is true blue.

Paintings by Max Mannix All Ears

Max Mannix Australian Artist

Visit https://maxmannix.com

We look forward to hearing from you.

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Our Vocal Vibrant Vegan Victim! by Warren Moore

Our Vocal Vibrant Vegan Victim! by Warren Moore

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Our Bazza’s going Vegan,
is the buzz that’s going round.
Our bearded bogan from the south
is veeing up!

He’ll eat his veggies with no meat,
and drink his vodka and vermouth,
from a vessel big enough
to be a cup.

Now our Norman’s a bit cocky,
and quick to pull the piss,
out of a mate that is veering
from the path.

So when he hears of our mate Bazza,
with his vodka and vermouth,
a little horn sounds in his head
“take up the task”.

So tell me true our bearded Bazza,
of the vegan path you follow,
is it true that only veggies
are for you?

For I have a beer and Angus,
with a chilli that will send us,
to a state to verify
you are true blue.

Says the Bazza to the Norman,
I am vegan it is true,
for I am versed with vibrant voice
of veganism.

Firing a volley of his own,
he preaches vigourously his values,
that a vegan can enjoy
a veg or two.

Not taken by the task,
Norman needs to test his point,
with a vehicle that will vanquish
Bazza’s view.

So he volunteers to pour,
our vegan victim many drinks,
to get him drunk enough
to eat a steak or two.

But the Bazza’s gut of iron,
from years of bourbon and neglect,
hold him steadfast in his vision
on his feet.

Full of Vodka and Vermouth,
the tipsy bearded vegan victim,
found it time to go on home
so he could eat.

Vegan Meals

When the doorbell sounded vocal,
with a pack of piping pizza,
it was too much and our
victim did concede.

Our vocal vibrant vegan victim,
with a gut of piping pizza,
walked on home with head held high.
“Oh what a feed!”

For the story of the vegan,
was created for the Norman,
who he knew would take the task
to bring him back.

And the pizza was a given,
for all know when mates are slipping,
pepperoni is the vice
for this attack.

Enjoy your Friday Night Pizza!

By Mulga Pete

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Family Holiday on the Flying Flea – by Mulga Pete.

Family Holiday on the Flying Flea – by Mulga Pete.

Family Holiday On The Flying Flea

“Off On A Family Holiday”

Painting by Max Mannix

Family Holiday on the Flying Flea
by Mulga Pete.

I can remember as a young boy, Mum, Dad, Lizzy and me going off to Brisbane to stay with Uncle Bill and Aunty Mavis for our school holiday. They had a house at the beach. We had never seen so much water. Going on holidays was a big deal. Mum would prepare for days, getting excited about the trip and stressing about everything she would forget. Dad didn’t seem to be as affected, he just knew to stay out of Mum’s way while the tornado that was Mum swept through the house.

“We are going to catch the train. The famous Flying Flea to Charleville” Dad would say. “They say that it goes so fast that the only time it’s on the tracks is when it crossed them. She was the fastest timed passenger train in Queensland. The driver would open her up to get ahead of the timetable, so he could have a cuppa tea and biscuits before the next leg.” Dad was very impressed with the “Flying Flea”.

A two hour dusty, dry trip to the train. We knew it was going to take a long time. Dad just hoped the car would make the trip, not like last time. We spent as much time on the side of the road waiting for it to cool down as we did on the road getting to Quilpie. When the steam was going over the bonnet like a mist it was time to pull over and let it cool down. The water would drip from the old radiator. Dad would cover his hand with an old shirt and attack the radiator cap like a gunner about to take the hill. Come in low and reach up with his covered hand. He knew if it was too hot, it would explode like a geyser and boiling water would go everywhere. After 15 minutes to cool down, he would refill the water tank with cool water and we would be back on our way. The water cans took up as much space as the luggage.

We arrived at Quilpie train station around lunch time, I remember it was hot and dusty, not a lot of shade at the station. The train had arrived early and people were getting off, unloading their bags. “keep together” Mum would say. Quilpie station with 30 people was like an invasion. Too many people in one place for Mum’s liking.

Max Mannix Painting - Off on a family holiday

Painting By Max Mannix  Australian Artist
Visit https://maxmannix.com

The train was full today. Two coaches filled with footy fans excited for the three hour trip to Charleville. Depending on the outcome of the game, and how many drinks they had, the return trip may not have been as exciting. The local Constable at Quilpie was quick to send them home if they mucked up too much.

The tracks head Northeast out of town. I could see some penny’s on the track with two local boys standing back trying to be invisible but determined not to take their eyes off the coins.

We were changing to the western line for Brisbane. Nearly 600 miles, but we could get there in one day. Mum had water and snacks for the trip, Mum never left home without snacks. “We’re on holidays!” Mum said excitedly, let the journey begin.

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I want to tell of my mate Maxi. A Poem by Mulga Pete

The Stock Routes

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The Stock Routes
by Mulga Pete

Overland, following the creeks, now dry, blistered and cracked. Trying to find the water at the next well. The stock routes are rigid, surveyed and numbered, but that doesn’t make the path any easier to travel. It’s 47°C in January West of Quilpie. The hot desert sun, with nothing for shade but your hat. The drover’s horse and his beasts lifting dust.

If you deviate from the stock routes over rock, dirt and red dust, the heat will take you down and the dust will cover you up. Like Burke and Wills, your future is certain, an expedition will be sent to find you if they can. Without water, your fate is sealed, nothing lives out here without water. We should get 15″ per year, we must have missed our issue a couple of times.

We pass sapling of Mulga, the desserts hardy tree, it’s rooted deep into the ground to survive the 40°C+ above. The Aborigines use this bush tree to make tools and weapons, a bunch of clever buggers to survive out here in this bush. A wooden shanty on the bank from a time when there was water. What I would do for some water now.

One more day to the Bulloo River with a water hole or two getting close. I was 16 when I left home and went droving in South West Queensland. Our only mode of travel was on horseback and usually leading a packhorse. There were three of us and the cook, (who had to look after the corned beef and damper as well as the plant horses.) We were responsible for the herd. We would pickup 600 to a 1000 fats from Mt Margaret, Eromanga and drive them to the rail head in Quilpie. From there they would travel to Tancred Bros Meat works in Beaudesert.

The Stockman Three by Max Mannix

Painting The Stockman Three by Max Mannix Australian Artisit
Visit https://maxmannix.com

 You don’t move at a fast pace with that many animals. Through the night we did shifts of two hours and forty minutes each. I had what we called the “pee and poo” watch around midnight. It wasn’t too bad because once the cattle bedded down for the night they didn’t move, which meant that I could doze on the back of my horse, and I think the horse slept as well. The station ran 6000 head of cattle and 80,000 sheep.

At tucker time we would sit around the fire, talk, eat and then sleep. Some of the stories they would tell. If I complained about the heat or how dry it was, the old buggers would always come back with “Nothing like the drought of 1904”! 

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The Courtship of Elizabeth May – by Mulga Pete

The Courtship of Elizabeth May – by Mulga Pete

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The Courtship of Elizabeth May
by Mulga Pete 

Getting dressed in her finest frock.
Mum brushing her hair, it’s a big day for our Lizzy, Young Matty is going to pop the question. He came and asked Pa’s permission. Pa wasn’t too pleased, no ones good enough for our Lizzy. They have only been together for the last 12 months and there are not too many opportunities for a young bush girl to meet her man. Young Matty was a good worker, and his Dad, “Doser” was a good bloke.

Pa’s pacing the floor, his little girl and young Matty, Dosers Son “engaged”, he was saying under his breath.

He’s a good worker, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be good for my Lizzy May. She has dreams of the day she will be lifted away from the dirt and the bush, but young Matty still works with his dad, that’s not the life my Lizzy dreams of. She is always dreaming of the city and the shopping, that’s not going to happen with young Matty. It will be more of the same, hard work, hot and dry, little income and not many fancy things.

But we were doing OK. Maybe they will do OK too. We kept a roof over our heads. Three little ones are growing strong. Horses, dogs, chickens and cows, a few sheep. We don’t go hungry often and we will still be close if they need us.

He’s on one knee, “can you hear what he’s saying”? Pa said.

“Get your heads back in the door, and keep quiet,” said Mum.

He’s pulled out the ring, “What did he say” ? said Pa.

“Quiet, I’m trying to listen,” said Mum.

“She’s taking her time making up her mind,” said Pa.

“Has she answered him yet”?

Max Mannix Shes taking her time

“She’s taking her time making up her mind
Painting By Max Mannix Australian Artist
Visit https://maxmannix.com

We look forward to hearing from you.

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