Bushwhacked poetry

Note: Aimed at an Australian audience, though I imagine similarly execrable hackneyed forms occur in other cultures and languages.

 

I love a well-worn cliché

Where the Snowy River reigns

We dont need no quiche, ay,

On the Oodnagalabi Plains.

 

Some doggerel out of Gundagai

Old regrets we used to know

And stone the crows that fill the sky

Along the Malonglo.

 

Our patron saint, The Banjo,

Of Waltzing Matilda fame

Makes our very hearts glow

With his verses, both halt and lame.

 

Close behind is Henry Lawson

With his tales of outback life

Though goodness knows what Freud wouldve made

Of the snake and The Drovers Wife.

 

The Bulletin let them have their say

And the bush bards told it true

Of characters met along the way

But no Afghan, black or Jew.

 

So Akubra on and pen in hand

Churn out some turgid lines

About some Never-Never land

And make sure the bastard rhymes.

12 thoughts on “Bushwhacked poetry

  1. Your Everyday Joe.
    I’m the red-necked man from Snowy River,
    I’m a racist asshole, set in my racist ways
    I possess ten thousand acres and a shitty liver
    And yearn for the good ol’ Bjelke Petersen days.

    Liked by 1 person

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