The Dusty Men

The Dusty Men

 

Four men travel a dusty road

Tight of belt and light of load

Weary feet shuffling slow

Where do the four dusty men go?

 

Man number one is a man named Tom

He never speaks much of where he is from

But he holds the ace of spades with a tear in his eye

As the bright sun sets in the twilight sky

 

Man number two goes by the name of Bert

Wearing the rags of a silken shirt

Early each morning with a flask of gin

He sneaks off alone to quietly sing

 

Man number three is a spry old cricket

Said his friends out west called him Wicket

With gnarly old fingers as light as a breeze

He lifts heavy purses just as easy as you please

 

Man number four doesnt say much

The other dusty men all call him Dutch

They can’t imagine that his road has been fun

For poor old Dutch doesn’t have a tongue

 

Four dusty men travel a dusty road

Tight of belt and light of load

None can ever say if the dusty men know

Where the roads they travel even go

 

©Aarron Mondello

2/11/2018

 

Down to the billabong

 

The buzz of life is in the air
Magpies sing their morning song
And a fat old shuffling wombat
Plodded down to the billabong

“Mornin’ Roo” the wombat said
“Set to be a lovely day”
But the cranky big red only grunted
And rudely hopped away

“So it is, Wombat old boy”
Said Brown Snake in the grass
“and don’t mind Red, for as we know
He is prone to be an arse”

Wombat chuckled softly
And continued to shuffle along
Chatting with Brown Snake
Heading down to the billabong

They made their way towards the bank
Of the the still, inviting pool
Passed under a great big gum tree
Through shade so very cool

“Ooroo you two. Say, what’s new?”
Came a slow voice from the tree
Wombat looked up and who’d he spy?
Koala, as high as he could be

“G’day Koala,” wombat said
With a smile for their meeting
“It comes as no surprise to see
Again you’re bloody eating”

“Yeah man” Koala slurred
Then promptly fell asleep
And Wombat thought “Bloody Hell,
Those leaves must be a treat”

On he shambled, old Wombat
A slow and leisurely crawl
When just a few paces on
He heard Black Cockies raucous call

“Wombat, you plod, move along
Before the waters all drunk dry
It never is a pleasant sight
To see a wombat cry”

“Ha Ha Galah, very funny
You’re such a flaming riot.
Do the whole bushland a favour
And just be bloody quiet”

Black Cockies laugh echoed
Through the bushland all around
While unbeknownst to Wombat
Came Emu tall and proud

Too late Emu saw him
And tried to slow her run
Long legs becoming tangled
She fell hard on to her bum

“Emu!” Wombat called out loud
“Love, are you alright?
Did you bruise yourself,
Falling from such height”?

Emu wobbled to her feet
“I’m fine, just carry on”
And feeling quite embarrassed
She fled to the billabong

Dingo slunk down the path
Echidnas quill stuck in her snout
And Wombat heard the snickering
Of Echidna near about

Old Frilled Neck ran past
Frill rustling in the wind
Coming first in a race
That only she was in

A shadow passed over Wombat
Kookaburra flying high
Laughing at the shenanigans
He spied from in the sky

Then Wombat came finally
To the banks where Wood Duck nests
He stopped near an old campfire
To take a minutes rest

He snuffed the ground for sign of man
But the human had moved on
It seemed all manner of creatures
Came down to the billabong

©Aarron Mondello
7/10/2018

Image credit: An image of A billabong by Harold Cazneaux

Untitled

The first one on my own

And turned my tired, weary tread

In a direction I knew for home

You walked along next to me

And ran through the blinding dark

Your footfalls thudding on the ground

Counterpoint to my heart

You fell to floor beside me

And lent to me your wisdom

Passed on to me the strength I needed

To battle for my freedom

Where were you when I finally saw me

When the darkness finally receded

You were the whisper in my mind

The one I rarely heeded

Where were you? You were with me

For you and I are one and the same

I’d just lost sight of myself

Until that cleansing earthen rain
©Aarron Mondello

29/8/2018

Winter Wind

 

 

Blowing down a mountain

A wayward Winter wind

Traveling with all speed

Trying to catch the Spring

 

But Spring was just too spritely

And quickly dodged aside

So the curious Winter wind

Blew onto Summer time

 

Summer time was much too dry

Winter wind grew much too warm

So it skirted ‘round the edges

And to Autumn it blew on

 

Yet when the winter wind

Blew golden Autumn leaves

Tears of ice it cried

When they fell down from their trees

 

So weak and barely blowing

Winter wind came finally home

And never through the seasons

Did Winter again roam

 

©Aarron Mondello

26/8/2018

The End

 

Forlorn they cry where shadows lie
And husbands leave the home
Sons and brothers, uncles and fathers,
Across a dead land roam

Skies of black above their backs
Shoulders hunched by woe
A weary tred as legions head
To face the tyrant foe

For rest they yearn while fires burn
Beacons on the horizon
Terror signs of evil times
And shadow hordes arising

A shifting cloak of boiling smoke
An acrid rotting smell
Hid beasts of death with poisonous breath
Eyes lit with fires of hell

Face to face with weapons raised
In a land gone black with blight
Brave men roared when arrows soared
Shadows called delight

On that field did no man yield
Each and all were slain
The shadow hordes and Midnight Lords
Marched on to bloody reign

©Aarron Mondello 29/7/2018

Happy Place

There’s a rushing in my ears

I just can’t block it out

A bubbling in my throat that

Makes me want to scream and shout

A tightness in my chest that

Makes it hard to breathe

Where did these feelings come from

Who planted all the seeds

Of tears in my eyes that grow

Like silver woven lace

Little pearls of sadness

Sliding down my face

A pounding in my head comes from

All the shouting voices

All trying to push me

To make all of their choices

While somewhere in the past lives

The memory of a ghost

A slimy little symbiote

Of which I am the host

I close my eyes and take a breath

None of it matters here

In a special little hidey hole

I keep between my ears

Copyright Aarron Mondello

25/7/2018

The Hunter

A bubbling cookpot over a fire

Diced meat and roots were stewing

Behind his red-rimmed tired eyes

Dark thoughts and storms were brewing

Back and forth the memories ran

In bleak shadows on his face

Lazy circles of a wooden spoon

Were in the cookpot traced

Screaming echoed in his mind

Those lost being lost again

Mechanically he raised his bowl

And spooned the thick stew in

All he loved was lost now

All his life was bled

Moonlight glinted on cold steel

As he tallied up his lead

Blood for blood he hunted

Through the land he crept

Those he sought would know him

And rue the tears he’d wept

The sun was not yet rising

When he pulled his small camp down

In the predawn chill and grey

He was a wraith without a sound

Coppyright Aarron Mondello

27/7/2018