The Death of an Australian Farmer

I was brought up on farms my whole life my grandfather was a dairy farmer my uncle and aunts are dairy farmers , you get the general idea ... this speaks of real aussie problems farmers committing suicide because of loss of crops money and families its a tragedy all too near and dear to my heart .. its the farmers of this country that helped build it to be what we are today I just hope our piss weak government get off there ass and do something about (other than piss and whinge about it) before its too late ... sorry but this is a sensitive subject for me and I am quite passionate about it ... Anyhoo back to your poem its poignant and its sad and that diatribe was a result of your poem ... so your desired effect was probably more than you expected but its a brilliant poem and gave it five stars but wish there was more ... regards Jayne :) "We did not change as we grew older; we just became more clearly ourselves. Lynn Hall" ...

Though I'm not Aussie (have cousins who I never met) I can identify with the desire to commit suicide and the heartache of being so alone and hopeless that that is the last recourse. Loved this poem, the subject matter, your style. ~A "If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is wound up in mine, then let us work together." Aboriginal Activist Group, Queensland, 1970's

I think the usage of words here drew a picture of desperation. There are larger gaps between words and I'm trying to decide if that is to lead the reader to conceive of alternate readings? I'm curious. I do that, where a word is placed in such a way as to be an ending for the previous passage and a beginning for the next but depending on how you read it there are alternate meanings depending on the reader. I don't know if that makes sense at all. Just wondering. raskin

This is just beautiful! Greeneyes

Hi again, some great imagery here, it's a ripe area that bush farmer genre & you have adopted it well... My sister used to hang out & sing with "Mulga Bills bicycle band" when I was an impressionable kidlet... I love those words in the mouth & mind, so many aboriginal words have potent energies for writers. Could I just suggest one thing, there are several typos & spelling mistakes (sought/sort, too/to, where/were?) there are more, you'll find them when you look. I had a few really favourite stanzas, really great work here. 12 years of arrant dry, The swirling dust the song it sang, words hopeless in the sky, now he sleeps a cooler place, the mullga scrub his grave, to wait in silent disenchant, to hear theblessed rain . What happened to your lovely paintings, I enjoyed seeing your efforts, I always love seeing the talented artists here - it seems writers are rarely just that - I would so dearly love to make more time to paint, it is a deep & pervading longing in me, I have dabbled & fell in love with oils (alas, time & space prohibits currently) Cheers Anni~ "Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body". ~Elizabeth Stone

Such a sad tale told of a man who would do anything for love. Just lovely, I enjoyed this very much. all to true though. You have painted this poor mans last resting place so vivid that it sounds enchanting. Our country has many a tale and this one has earned its place amongst them. Thank u. Well done. Love Lyz. X