Mouse Poo

March 4, 2009 by  
Filed under Bush Poetry, Mouse Poo


There is nothing more frustrating to a wife than finding mouse pooh in her house and it usually results in a full scale, fully equipped expedition to seek and destroy the rodent. Women should understand that they may be initiating a chain of events over which they have no control.

Bush poetry by Andrew Hull

All night a noisy little mouse was keeping me awake,
With that irritating little squeaky scratchy noise they make.
And then at breakfast time there was mouse pooh on my flakes,
And at lunchtime there was mouse pooh on my chocolate cake.

“I’ll snare him”, I decided, “when he finishes his nap”.
And I used a bit of cheese with a drop of mango sap.
Then I set the apparatus just outside his little flap,
But he just ate the cheese, and left mouse pooh on the trap !

My best friend had a cat, which was supposed to be well bred,
“I’ll mind him while you go away”, I innocently said.
Now I hate cats, but I promised that I’d keep him brushed and fed.
But when I woke in the morning there was cat pooh on my bed !

He had squatted there beside me while I was in repose, 
I decided I must kill him with a string of violent blows.
But as I snuck up on him, I felt cat pooh ‘tween my toes.
I lunged at him and missed, hit the chair and broke my nose.

I whispered “that’s the last time that this cat has tempted fate”.
But the only way to trap him would require juicy bait.
So I got a tin of sardines and put them on a plate,
Then sat it in the laundry, and found a spot to wait.

Then I saw the windows, the cat had torn up all my screens,
I raced back to get dressed and there was cat pooh on my jeans.
The mouse was still alive, ‘cause there was mouse pooh at the scene,
And on returning to the laundry, the cat had eaten the sardines !

I could see I’d need assistance or I would surely lose.
My house was torn to pieces and was covered in cat poohs,
My nose was surely broken and my face a purple bruise,
And when I left I was not shocked to find cat pooh in my shoes.

So I got a dog. A Doberman. A very vicious breed.
He’d been locked up for weeks and he hadn’t had a feed,
He was guaranteed to catch a cat if ever he was freed.
So I put him in the yard and I let him off his lead.

I went to sleep and left the dog to do what he must do,
And slept soundly in the knowledge that the cat would soon be through.
When I awoke and went outside to greet the day anew, 
I stepped off the porch and straight into a steaming pile of pooh !

The way the dog had left the yard was an absolute disgrace.
There were little piles of pooh scattered all over the place.
I yelled obscenities at the dog and rapidly gave chase.
While my neighbor looked across the fence, a frown apon his face.

“Don’t you hurt that dog” he said “Or I will make you pay”.
“I know you plan to keep him locked up in the yard all day”
“I’ve placed a call to an officer from the R.S.P.C.A”,
“And when they see your place I’m sure that they’ll put you away.”

“Oh No”, I said, “there’s no need for anything like that”
“I was only trying to catch him for his morning pat.
I love my little puppy dog, and my pussycat,
I even have a little mouse that sleeps apon my mat.”

My neighbor didn’t trust me as I saw him take my name.
I was furious with the animals that I would get the blame.
Then after a few drinks I thought ‘to beat them at their game’,
‘These animals behavior must be rewarded with the same.

A drunken madness took me in the darkness of that room.
And I formed a twisted plan as I drank all afternoon.
“I must fight fire with fire” I vowed apon the rising moon.
Then I ate a block of chocolate and a family bag of prunes.

In the morning I got the animals food and set it on a plate,
Then I took my trousers down and squatted on their food to wait.
I gave them all a call and then began to defecate.
Then the officer from the R.S.P.C.A walked through the gate.

The magistrate was a cat lover, with a sense of humour too,
He gave me a council uniform and a brand new job to do.
I now work with the large animals at the local zoo.
I don’t have to feed or wash them, I just clean up their pooh.

© Andrew Hull


The Corruption of a Bushman

March 4, 2009 by  
Filed under Bush Poetry, The Corruption of a Bushman


What happens when you take a perfectly good bushman away from familiar surroundings, and introduce him to a world he has never seen? 

He was a bushy when I met him,
There’s no denying that.
From his long unshaven bushy beard
To the sweat on his bushy hat.

He came out to Bourke from the coastal scrub,
Where he’d lived in an old bush shack.
He had a Holden ute, three or four dogs,
His swag and the clothes on his back.

The paddock where he did his day’s work,
Is where he’d make his bed.
And if he managed to catch a wild pig in the night,
Then he and his dogs would get fed.

But he was happy the way his life was then,
With the campfire and the billy of tea.
And if you asked him would he live in a town,
He’d just say “nar mate, not me.”

He had no need for modern things,
He scorned the ‘townies’ life.
He swore he’d never change, and he never did,
Until one day he took a wife.

He married Debbie in by the sea
Then brought her straight back out to Bourke.
Their honeymoon night’s they slept in a swag,
And their honeymoon day’s they both worked.

But women are more sensitive,
They need more than their daily bread.
So Debbie longed for a kitchen,
And dreamt of a roof over her head.
When he finally agreed to buy her a house,
She thought it was her finest hour.
But the house that he bought her was miles from town,
With no running water or power.

They chopped wood in the winter to fight off the cold,
And their summers where hot as sin.
But I think that when the power came on,
Is when the first rot set in.

Because Ron was skeptical at first,
This electricity didn’t seem right.
And for a while, he’d make the sign of the cross
Whenever Debbie would switch on the light.

So he still wouldn’t use the kettle,
He preferred a billy of tea.
And if you asked would he live a townies life,
He’d just say “nar mate, not me.”

But it gradually grew on him (as things do)
And he soon developed a reliance.
And in true bushy spirit, he was not content
‘Til he’d mastered every appliance.

Now when I say ‘every appliance’,
It was EVERY appliance he craved.
From Kettles, toasters, and Mixmaster’s,
To dishwashers and microwaves

The T.V and stereo he treasured, of course,
He worshiped his video games.
He had all extras a man could want,
And he referred to them all by name.

The bush lore began to fade from his mind,
Convenience became his new tutor.
But all this paled in comparison
When he finally discovered the computer.

He was absolutely astounded, mesmerised,
That such a small box could be so vast,
And this bushy who’d never believed in much,
Thought he’d found his one true God at last.

He had found new meaning, his life was complete,
He had his phone and his Microsoft mouse.
And with his computer and his other gadgets
He need never leave the house.

He had the T.V for news, the video for fun,
The climate was whatever he set.
The microwave meals were delicious
And he had friends on the Internet

His old mates would call for a cup of tea
He never knew they’d been.
He’d just mumble ‘“nar mate, not me.”
But his eyes never left the screen.

And that’s how he was, Lord of all he surveyed,
He was every appliances master.
‘Til one dark stormy night, he was alone in the house,
Unaware of the looming disaster.

The heating was perfect, the coffee was brewing,
As into the console he sank.
And then a wild electrical storm reached the house,
The lights died and the screen went blank.

The heater switched off, the dishwasher stopped,
The percolator refused to bubble.
Every switch that he threw, every button, all failed,
He knew he was getting in trouble.

Don’t panic, he thought, it’s just a brief lapse,
As he tried every trick that he knew.
But the darkness got thicker, and the fear gripped his throat,
Without power, what would he do?

His brain was overloading with stress,
His memory was coming in snatches,
And as he fumbled around like a child in the dark,
His hands found – a box of matches.

It took three or four goes to get one to light
But that match lit a long felt desire,
At the end of his sanity, his instincts shone through,
This bushy needed a fire.

It’s surprising how well a dishwasher burns
If you give the thing enough heat.
The toaster and kettle fired up well enough,
But lighting the fridge was a feat.

The microwave, T.V and vacuum cleaner
All found their way to the pyre.
And there was a maniacal gleam in his eye
As he threw on the washer and dryer.

He franticly gathered every appliance
And burnt them without any shame.
His half-crazed eyes never even blinked
As his computer burst into flames.

His cellular phone got the very last job,
Before it too got axed.
He called up the electricity board,
And screamed “you can all get faxed!”

And that was the end, the bushy returned,
He fired up his old ute.
He loaded the wife, the swag and the hat,
And a couple of good dogs to boot.

And he drove away from the smoldering mess
Of the monster he once used to be.
There’s just ashes there now and a single white cross
With three letters, R.I.P.

Now he’s happy again round the campfire at night,
With some mates and a billy of tea.
And when they ask could he live a townie’s life,
He just says “nar mate, not me.”