Colours of a Land

For us that live in Australia
We know the colour of our land
But for some it is not easy to understand
You may come from a distant land
Colour are frequent in different shades
Colours that never seem to fade
Here in Australia there is a beauty yet to unfold

Colour of the earth, that shine like glistening gems
Where the sun shines on stones changing colour
Many colours soft lilacs, palest greens
Colours of the ocean, shine through the inland
Hills laden with gold and silver, characters that colour
The hills of gold and silver, I don’t know,
Whether it was gold or silver that bough me to this land
My ancestors arrived and pioneered this land
Arriving on the golden sands, where the water is pure
Roaming rivers, that are silent in drought
Yet the colour of silver when the water is running
Roam the mountains, find the golden wattle
A rosewood tree that glistens, gentle stars
Of a Australian Christmas bush, let the sunshine through
Feel the colour of the on your skin, reflecting
Images in the shade, colour that glows and fades
Grasses that lay by a river, colours of gold, brown,
Red, Blue sky reaches across the horizon
Blue green grasses cover the hills
Rolling green hills from the highlands
Smokey grasses yet flourishing from drought
The deepest silvery sky reaches so high
When sunset comes watch for the oranges
When you stand in the middle of the desert
Cross the desert at Coober Pedy, follow the colours of the ground
And you will be surprised, colours of an inland sea
As the sunsets and the colours settle
Feel the purple night come alive
With the glisten gems of a million stars
Feel the colours as you walk through
Valleys glistening with night dew
Sugar gums flushed with white flowers
Blue-gums so tall and striking by a silver water creek
Pillars of trees worn smooth in weather
Roam through the scrub, feel the mulga so rough to touch
Listen quietly, hide and you may see a crane, blue grey
Searching for feed, Lyrebird’s train swishing through the grass
The noise of a kingfisher, warbling through the trees
A screech of a native budgie, a gentle sound of a finch
This is the colour of Australia to me

(c)bjsscribbles

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I’m the eagle of the mountains

Dedicated to the Snowy mountains in Australia

 

I live in the mountains
High country, called the Snowy mountains
I live in the trees, watching the seasons
Flow by each year, I watch the horses of the mountains
I’m free to come and go from tree to tree
I’m the eagle of the mountains
The High country is my home
Mountains the reach the sky
I watch the moon of night
Kiss the peaks of the mountains
I watch the horses of the mountains
Sleep at night, roaming of day
Yet I am the eagle that guards the mountain
Season flow through the year
Travelers come and go
All those who come to see the mountains
The horses, share in the freedom of the mountains
I fly from tree to tree, watching, many see me
Believing I am there the guardian of the mountains
I glide on the wind from tree to tree
Across the mountain tops
Sailing free, catching the stars, glimpses of the moon
Sailing free across the heavens, guarding the mountains
We can reach for the stars, and grab for the stardust
That glistens in the night

(c)bjsscribbles

 

Magic of a rainbow

I have had a good rest today and started  feeling  like myself, I felt I could bring some Joy, God is looking out for me

 

To see a rainbow in the sky
Stand and wonder
Where does the rainbow end?
I’ve wondered, is there really a rainbow
Waiting there for me
Or if there is a pot of gold

I know I’ve stood in the desert and watched
A rainbow, gathering my dreams and wings
Fly away with a rainbow in your shoulders
Complete with your dreams
Your magical plans, complete
The prize at the end of a rainbow
In all reality we know it is not true
You know a rainbow does not exist
We dream of fairy tales as children
We can carry the dreams with us
A rainbow does have it’s mysteries

Be silent stand still, stop and listen
A rainbow has a silent tune
Of magical colours glowing
I’ve wondered but have you?
A rainbow, can we find the beginning
It flows like a arch across the desert

Rainbow bridge is what I call it
A magical land, where I loose myself
A land I’ve come to know
Under the arch of the golden rainbow
A pathway to gold
The land where I go to loose myself

Cross a desert in the middle of nowhere
Next time you see a rainbow
The many legends of a rainbow
Forget the many stories
Just think about the legends
We all maybe wrong
Puzzled I say
I wonder if there is a pot of gold?
Have Faith

(c)bjsscribbles

Legend, Australian desert

 

Beyond the sand hills there is a legend
Epic though it might be
A legend from time gone by
My mind is full of tales to tell

The desert is hot, red hot, sometimes hostile
Since time began, it has not changed
Some have tried to conquer the desert
The desert of Australia seems real
But to some dreamtime planned
The unreality of the desert
It can play tricks on your mind

The noonday sun of the desert, is so hot
It’s hard to find shade, the air is hot and still
Yet there is a hush about the desert
Waiting patiently is the desert, to compel you
To it’s heart, camp in the shade if you can
Watch the sun compel you to draw

The fire of the sun can change swiftly, gathering wind
Will change the shape of the desert
A night spent in the desert will send chills across your body
Listen and feel the legends created in the air
From those who walked the desert before you
Those who have lived in this land from old
Search and you may find a footprint

Where water is found, you may find people
Wanderers of this land, moving all year
From when time began
They know how to live on this land
Since time began
Don’t be frightened, they know the water holes
For they return each year
In times of drought, which is often
They will return to conserve
Cross the desert of Australia
You will find a beauty, to behold
These nomads have crossed the desert
Since the millennium began
Nomads of this land belong

Many tribes follow this country
Tribes don’t encroach on another’s land
They meet often on the horizons
Only known to them
They warn others of dangers
Across the outback

Life has taken these warriors
Across many lands, from the day of birth
Followed, happiness, and tears of sorrow
Stories flow of his days on earth
This land Australia, follows hardships
Joy and laughter, from the indigenous
To the white fella
Where the desert is a legend
Beyond the sand hills
Epic though it might be
A legend from time gone by

A sky so perfect, blue as far as the eye can see
Tales unfold from the magic of your mind
In the desert, by day
The sands are never cold
By night, the air will freeze you

Wanderers at sundown
Appear, waiting watching
For us intruders to evolve
Disappear, even fade
They never trust an intruder

Across the night sky
Yellow, red, orange, black
All the colours of the night
The wanderers follow the stars

From where the desert begins
Magical shrubs and flowers grow
Birds flourish in the branches nesting
Ants the size of an inch, snakes
Insects and lizards, lay quietly
Waiting for intruders

Ever changing sandhills,
Swept by the desert winds
Twisters in the sky, gathering
Anything in its way

Dingo’s emu’s and eagles
Keep a wary eye for intruders
The silence of the desert
Spreads so endless a story
From the plains echoes
Voices across an early morning

The daylight brings an early day
Stories of this timeless land
Yet silent, see hear and feel
This silent land, stories of
Song and dance, in the movement of the body
Life the way it used to be
Silent before the world
Had known wars
Before it was written
Life was protected
Deep in mystery
Across the Australian Outback

I saw them in the distance
Sitting beside the bulrushes
Wandering about the land
In silence watching, waiting
Offer them a hand in kindness

Seldom fleeting moments
Dreams of a silent wanderer
They would melt into the hazy horizon
As if they were never there
Silently watching you may feel
As if you were intruding on their time
You can leave a gift
When you leave the desert
They would be waiting for you to leave
They belonged, to the desert
They knew the land, it was theirs
And theirs alone, the pioneers
That crossed the desert, left so many disasters
Many have walked the desert, lost
Vanished across the desert, never to be found

The Australian desert
A landscape never forgotten
The proud Aboriginal people
That belong to the desert

Deserve this story
Know the trials and joy of the desert
Before you try and cross
As many do today
The land of where the sandhills
Change each day in the wind

(c)bjsscribbles

 

Call with outstretched hands, Australia

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Koala eating a eucalyptus leaf

Koala eating a eucalyptus leaf

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Forests so dense with softly flowing plumes
Across the coastline, to the desert sands, red, scorching, sands
The call of the outback is sighing
Call with outstretched hands

From the oceans, this land reaches your heart

It is in the heart of each sole pioneer
The mountains so high, trees, bent
With the weight of snow, music of Australian birds
Mountain high plains riders, chase cattle, horses
Live in the mountains, floating on the breeze of the high plains
.
The sky reaches so blue and powdery, from the mountains to the plains
Sounds echo across the ground, alerting the heard
Graceful birds, float on the drift of the breeze
Floating south

The sky darkens as the rider, searches for bedding
Moonlit shine, so soft and silvery
Silence echoes, a hush, for a sleepy rider
Swag laid out, in the moonlit shine
Sleep beneath the moon, for a sleepy rider

In the heart of nature, the wilderness
Of Australia will grab you
It tugs at your heart, melts your soul
Ties your heart up with loving cords

Australia will grabs you, in a heart beat
Each living animal, each breathing thing
There is magic on the land of Australia
Each breathing tree, each breathing grass
Listen and you will hear a tune

There is a silence about this land
Listen for the silence and you will find knowledge
Wrapping its slender fingers around your heart
Longing for you to return
Though this land is wide

The call of this land, is long
Though it is often pushed away
There is colour, there is heartbreak
Music of Australia is there everyday
Sound and perfume, yet this land
Is calling to all, Oceans will call
A special call, meeting the breeze
As it comes from the land

When the breeze blows across the land
The rustic country has a special sound and perfume
Wraps your heart in slender gentle foil
The city a hub for all, rattles all day and night

Yet wherever Australia, winds its magic
With a longing for all
The call of a birth place
Alone in the bush where life is free
And little care may despair

(c)bjsscribbles

Birds of Australia

Find a bird

There is a coolness across the valley where I live

Echoes are calling through my window
I heat traffic leaving for work, yet I hear tunes
Of silver wattle birds echoing, budgies, parrots,I hear water falling in the distance
It lives in the mountains with me, moss covered rocks
Laden with water,The beauty of the morning sound of God’s
Creation,through trees mighty giants, sliver ghost gums
Laden with flowers, sheaves of light, plume through leaves
Notes of birds echoing sounds of magic, waking for the morning

Silver voiced birds native to our land, echo voices of the day
Tunes of Australia magic night and day, listen in the dawn of morning
Listen in the dusk of evening, thunder and lightening strike
The gums holding their nest, thunderbolts hurtle leaves and branches down
They hide in fear, nestled in the leaves of Australia
When rain, and sunshine mingle with leaves, sparkles of a new day
Sounds of Australia wake like warbled sounds
Hues of feathers open and shake as birds of a country
Wake to a new day, green, red, yellow golden tones, pink, and white.

God’s creation birds of Australia

(c)bjsscribblesBiology & Ecology

The outback school

2 34 images

The outback school
I remember a story about an outback school, which belonged to another time, set amongst early settler’s times. Now days it is an old battered building a landmark to other years. With an old bark fence surrounding the building and a plaque to remind us of another time. A shed nearby, covered by an overgrown gum tree, along with a bucket on the stool, a reminder of times when milk come from cows not the supermarket. There is a host of memories that return about the old bush school, children playing swinging from branches hide and seek, a time of innocence. With old desks and benches, “I wonder whose name is left on the seat or desk,” etched in time. A students bid for fame or a smack from the teacher.
I remember a story about a spider, which haunted the ceilings amongst the rafters. The boy’s would try and shoot it down with a sling shot when the teacher was not around, or darts of nibs and paper. A time when students used greasy slates and blackboards, where often a cheeky student was made to stand in the corner. As I walk around this old bush school I remember the stories and images created by a great story teller, of students with no shoes walking to school in the frosty morning air. Some lucky students that had shoes were sitting on the porch covered in dust and cobwebs. here and there.
Children marched to music and sang “God save the Queen”, uttering nicknames and niggling mates, was a time of fun in this “Old bush school”. A time of teasing, tousling hair, vacant faces of those teased. Children of the bush wore handed down garments, heirlooms of the family from mother to daughter, and father to son. Children of the old bush school wore fashionable trousers patched in places a statement of fashion.
Children tramped down the sheep trail to school, like rebels not worried about time or if they arrived at school. Shivery grasses surrounding the children as they walked to school, boys playing along the way and the girl’s bonnets nodding in the breeze. Birds calling from the trees distracting the children from the direction they were supposed to be heading. No-one wanted to be at school on time, the thought of hard bare seats and the boring days of the old bush school.
Stories of girls in the days gone by held the hearts of boys from the old bush school. These stories were passed down from generation to generation. A queen of the school once was first in for any mischief and when she was overwhelmed with mischief she would make drawing of her teacher on her slate. There was a giggle that echoed as she passed the slate around. Laughing Birdie, I was told she was a beauty, which teased the boys. With cheeks like roses she used to sing as we marched, her eyes were like magic a freshness that held the hearts of many boys from the old bush school. Around laughing Birdie danced a happy sunshine, and when she smiled boys were all in line to swap their dinners with her.

As a legend of the old bush school grows over the decades creating a fictional road of knowledge. A long quest dedicated to the survivors of the old bush school. Treasures linger; which are old shoes; cobwebs; names etched in seats and desks.

As I leave the old bush school after a day of memories, the horizon is on fire with an Australian sunset, reddened with a golden glow touches my heart. The old bush school now empty, deserted and overgrown, with bracken fern and cobwebs. So after years of memories and stories in my heart I returned to the old bush school that my father and his brothers attended, this was very much the old bush school I had heard about.
©bjsscribbles