Guy McLean

The Horse's Slave

It’s said the horse was born to aid mankind
To work to slave and toil
To carry man from dawn till dusk
To plough and till the soil.

Bred for his obedience
His strength and honest power
Bred to toil for profit
For many countless hours.

Well that may have been true in eon’s past
Like the drawings found in caves
But I believe it’s time we all admit
That us humans are the slaves

We’re the ones that rise before the sun
Not from want, but need
We trudge out through the mud and slush
To give the days first feed.

We remove the rugs and fix the fences
Clean the sludge from water troughs
While our gallant workaholic steed
He just stands and scoffs…

… down the oats and chaff and barley
A menu fit for Kings
And though our stomachs groan and rumble
We’re occupied by other things.

Like the hose torn from its fitting
Where the teeth marks left their toll
And you wish you were addicted
Not to horses, but to bowls.

As you stand upon that left front shoe
That was nailed on yesterday
And you ponder how expensive fuel
Still costs less than the hay…

…that your horse treats like a litter box
Turning Lucerne into mud
But you still just smile and pat him
Then recoil at sight of blood…

…where he got tangled in that horse proof fence
That cost more than your car
Then you shudder at the vet bill
But shudder more at thought of scar.

Then once the wound is healed and sound
And you’ve averted heart attack
You get the bills for dentistry
And Bowen Therapy for his back.

His trailer’s nicer than your living room
His blanket’s softer than your doonah
And he’s the reason that you’re drinking tea
And can’t afford that Schooner.

And you toil at work for a hellish week
But that one hour a day you’ve craved
On the weekend makes it worth it
So once again, just who’s the slave?

We clean his stable, oil his saddle
Fix his rugs and comb his tail
And while he’s looking like an Equine Prince
We’re looking weak and pale.

But we don’t go to the doctors
Or buy those fancy vitamins
We spend our dough on protective boots
To shield his delicate shins.

He has four rugs in the winter
While our jumper’s full of holes
His shoes are set each start of month
While our shoes have broken souls.

In our cupboards there’s no Panadol
Just a shelf stacked high with ‘Bute’
And our luxury family sedan
Is a hay filled smelly ute.

Though we toil each day to earn the cash
To throw at Equine whim
We’ll never waste it on unneeded things
Like a haircut or a trim.

We’ll just pull down our Akubra’s
Cover up unruly hair
Because our horse will love us anyway
For he truly doesn’t care…

…what kind of car we’re driving
Or if we’re filthy rich with loot
He only thinks of feed bags
That we’ve got there in the boot.

Where would we be without our horse’s
That’s right, by our Mansion on our Yacht
With Gucci suit and Croc skin handbag
But us left horseless, we’d lose the plot.

For regardless of our lot in life
They relieve our stress and treat us swell
Which when you think of all we do
It’s just as flaming well.

But if horses run within your blood
And it’s their company you crave
Be prepared for fun and joyful times
But be prepared to be their slave.

Written by Guy McLean
© February 2007.

Our Outback

Australia is a country
That is vast and proud and free
And she holds the hopes and dreams
Of her people, you and me.

She is a nation of diversity
That prospers ‘neath the sun
From the high rise of her cities
To her Ayers Rock and beyond.

She’s renowned for her beaches
And her sprawling grassy plains
For her droughts and blistering summers
For her storms and flooding rains.

But the backbone of her being
The earth that lines her track
Are the people and the livestock
That inhabit her “OUTBACK”.

Yeah, the outback of Australia
The heart of our great land
Deemed harsh and unforgiving
Is loved by those who understand

That beneath the brittle earth
Been caught in times of drought
Lies a masterpiece in waiting
For quenching rain to ask it out

Then grasses flow like satin
While scented Eucalypts on high
Cast their shade upon the water
Mixed with reflections of the sky.

Though no highways, lights or skyrise
Thousands of people running rife
The outback is a-humming
With an urgent zest for life.

It’s the emu and the kangaroo
On their early morning raids
In the grasses by the waterholes
They feed beneath the shade.

It’s the scrub bulls and the calves
That hide beneath the brush
While above a whirling chopper
Looks for cattle midst the dust.

While on each wing a stockman
And his trusty stockhorse steed
Await the blinding chase
And the turning of the lead.

Where his stockwhip sounds of thunder
As he heads another mob
There is no glory, fame or fortune
But he’s proud to do his job.

It’s the stockyards filled with cattle
Hours of work amidst the heat
Blood, sweat and tears are spilled each day
So that our cities have their meat.

It’s a dingo in the evening mist
That stalks with baited breath
An unsuspecting prey
That gives life with it’s own death.

An unwritten law is heeded to
By all that lead this life
The weak will wilt and wither
Only the strongest will survive.

Reputation stands for nothing
On the outback’s sacred earth
Hard work and honest labour
The only way to prove your worth.

Where a handshake, proud and solid
Is a contract formed in stone
The word of these fine people
Is enough and stands alone.

A day to day that seems so daunting
Is a lifestyle way outback
The animals and countryside
Are real, no show-biz act.

See, the outback is a homeland
Too many characters unknown
Real life ‘Mick Dundee's’
Act out God's own nature show.

And the women of the outback
Share a hard and varied life
For they are Mother, Worker, Fencer
A Mate, a Lover and a Wife.

She stands firm behind her chosen
Raising their children in the sun
For her, just another work day
For our land a legacy's begun.

A new breed to face the dawning
Of an ever changing world
Like those who’ve gone before them
They’ll watch their destiny unfurl.

The outback is a haven
For creatures large and small
From a brumby colt to a gecko
The outback loves them all.

From the hilltops in the morning
A chorus can be heard
Kookaburras and galahs
Sing a ballad of the birds.

For two hundred years the outback’s
Been unfettered been unchanged
From the swamp flats of her valleys
To her steep and rocky range.

A tradition from our fore bears
Been handed down, our turn
To embrace this sacred country
Her respect and love to earn.

You will see this at a campdraft
Or a weekend rodeo
Where the stockman and the cowboys
Put on a stirring show.

Of skills learnt in the country
The stockman’s place of birth
Where the city folk and townies
Get a tasting of their worth.

And at every show and festival
The outback has her throng
Of singers and bush poets
That honor her in verse and song.

Instilling in our young one’s
A sense of what has been
Of all the things she’s witnessed
And the wonder she has seen.

The outback’s more than geographic
It’s a feeling deep inside
That makes a city man or bushy
Well up with sense of pride.

The backbone of our nation
The earth that lines our track
I stand before Australia
And honor her OUTBACK.

In honor of Year of the Outback
Her communities and people.