If I were in days gone by I think
I’d be a lonely drover’s daughter.
I know all to well you can’t make it drink,
Even if you lead a horse to water.
‘Cos there’d be no shortage of shearers
Were I the squatter’s single sister.
I wouldn’t find mate I fear,
Couldn’t pick one to be my Mister.
While those droving days have gone,
I’ve lived in the desert for many a year.
I could spin you yarns a mile long
About blokes, all ending in tears.
Am I too fussy, is that it?
Or not enough decent fellas around?
Online and speed dating, all that shit.
I’ve nearly dated every bloke in town.
But I always get back the horse,
There’s always plenty of fish in the sea.
I’m a horse-riding fisherwoman of course,
Writing erotic bush poetry.
These are my desert dates and flings,
Yes, I am the desert dater.
But I must admit one thing,
‘fore you call me fraud or faker.
While this is for real my hat,
And these are actually my boots,
I’ll tell you a little secret and that’s
My bushman skills are pretty moot.
Yeah I know how to light a campfire
And how to tightly roll a swag,
My horsemanship is dire,
And I’m only a cowgirl when I shag.
My Dear Readers,
It’s true. I’m embarking on a new adventure, which I believe is filling a gaping hole in the Australian literary landscape – erotic bush poetry. That’s me there in that photo, complete with the caravan I’m towing and some back burning bush fire on the side of the road. I’m on my way from Melbourne to Alice Springs, to read some of these poems at a festival in a campground on the banks of a dry river bed.
On another note, I’ve been on plenty of dates recently, but I was bored on them, got bored writing about them, so I’m saving you the boredom of having to read about them. Until something exciting happens, I’ll keep posting more bush poetry (some more erotic than others), which I find far more thrilling, I hope you do too.
PS: to my very hip Aunt who subscribes, this might be another one to keep from Mum, eh? Everyone else, go nuts! Share it around! Follow me on Facebook!