3 January 2015 - ME OLD BANANA BOX

ME OLD BANANA BOX

G'day folks,

Today I feature one of my favourite bush poems as we call them in Australia. Hope it makes you smile. This poem and three others is included in 'Gunnedah Hero'. I enjoy writing these poems, but don't allocate enough time to do so. The 'Lawson' mentioned is Henry Lawson, one of Australia's greatest authors and poets.

I rest me feet upon that box, the one I’ve always had,

‘twas one of them solid ones and left by good old Dad.

It used to house bananas and came from who knows where,

when he worked the streets of Gunnedah, floggin’ vegies over there.

I’ve had that old wooden crate forever and a day,
it’s stored me kindlin’, housed a pup and chores along the way.

Respectfully I raised me feet and had a damn good peek,

grabbed it firm and turned it not knowin’ what to seek.

 A box that’s spent more time with me, more years than a wife,

but sure as hell, that wondrous crate has never caused me strife.

She’d always been a solid friend and never let me down,

never gave me misery and never made me frown.

It used to sit outside the door to store me firewood,

once it stored some bulbs I found; by God they were so good.

Came the time I changed all that and sought another job,

them bulbs I buried near the well, me box went on the hob.

But then I found another task for me favourite wooden crate,

it soon became a ferret’s home just near the old back gate.

There was a time in Grenfell Town where Lawson hailed from,

‘twas there indeed I lent me crate to a snivellin’ bloody Pom.

He was a poet or so he said, that crate on which he’d stand,

recite sweet words, smile a lot and wave his whoppin’ hand.

He finished his spiel, grabbed me box and quickly off he went,

but runnin’ fast I caught that bloke and claimed the box I lent.

When once I went to Sydney Town, it surely came with me,

to house me clothes, shavin’ gear, me Billy and me tea.

‘Twas like a wooden suitcase but others they would laugh,

it might have looked rough you know but did the job by half.

Sure, some blokes had fancy gear; nothin’ like me crate,

yet me and that banana box are still a pair to date.

So here I sit with me box just lookin’ at it’s charm,

scratches, dints and travellin’ wounds, none have done it harm.

I think I might retire it to a spot inside somewhere,

maybe place it near me bed to save on wear and tear.

It’s been me closest mate, that travelled wooden crate,

together we have weathered storms, survived the lot by fate.

 

Finally I found a spot right near me rockin’ chair,

just beside the radio, it fitted neatly there.

On top I placed a doily thing to spare it from more pain

in case I dropped some ciggie ash or tea I knew would stain.

It looked damn good sittin’ there and really brought a grin,

for every time I used that box it gave me no chagrin.

So now I sit with a smile, that mate is by me side,

there to the right of me just like a country bride.

And what a mighty pair we made together as a team,

it sure as hell ain’t fantasy nor is it a dream.

Not sure how long I have to go: “Oh Lord just let me be!”

and one thing I can tell you mate, that box will outlive me. 

Clancy's comment: There ya go.

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