This is a poem written by a real farmer ( in Australia) to highlight the seriousness of the depression they are suffering out there.


RAIN FROM NOWHERE



His cattle didn't get a bid, they were fairly bloody poor,
What was he going to do? He couldn't feed them anymore,
The dams were all but dry, hay was thirteen bucks a bale,
Last month's talk of rain was just a fairytale,

His credit had run out, no chance to pay what's owed,
Bad thoughts ran through his head as he drove down Gully Road
"Geez, great grandad bought the place back in 1898,
"Now I'm such a useless bastard, I'll have to shut the gate.
"Can't support my wife and kids, not like dad and those before,
"Even Grandma kept it going while Pop fought in the war."
With depression now his master, he abandoned what was right,
There's no place in life for failures, he'd end it all tonight.

There were still some things to do, he'd have to shoot the cattle first,
Of all the jobs he'd ever done, that would be the worst.
He'd have a shower, watch the news, then they'd all sit down for tea
Read his kids a bedtime story, watch some more TV,
Kiss his wife goodnight, say he was off to shoot some roos
Then in a paddock far away he'd blow away the blues.
But he drove in the gate and stopped - as he always had
To check the roadside mailbox - and found a letter from his Dad.



Now his dad was not a writer, Mum did all the cards and mail
But he knew the style from the notebooks that he used at cattle sales,
He sensed the nature of its contents, felt moisture in his eyes,
Just the fact his dad had written was enough to make him cry.
"Son, I know it's bloody tough, it's a cruel and twisted game,
"This life upon the land when you're screaming out for rain,
"There's no candle in the darkness, not a single speck of light

PALE - I agree with the sentiment, and I live in rural Australia myself. I see how hard it's getting every day.

Though it's a little contrary, when one of the only solutions for many farmers is to shift their operation to an intensive animal industry for profitability. It's happening all over the area where I live now.

Which baffles me as to why you state in your moniker that you're opposed to one of the few things that are allowing farmers to stay on the land, after a fashion.

(Just to clarify, I'm referring to intensive animal industries. I'll concede live exports don't necessarily do that much for farmers and cause unnecessary suffering to animals.)

POEM CONTINUED

"But don't let the demon get you, you have to do what's right,

"I don't know what's in your head but push the bad thoughts well away
"See, you'll always have your family at the back end of the day
"You have to talk to someone, and yes I know I rarely did
"But you have to think about Fiona and think about the kids.
"I'm worried about you son, you haven't rung for quite a while,
"I know the road you're on 'cause I've walked every mile.
"The date? December 7 back in 1983,
"Behind the shed I had the shotgun rested in the brigalow tree.

"See, I'd borrowed way too much to buy the Johnson place
"Then it didn't rain for years and we got bombed by interest rates,
You said 'Where are you Daddy? It's time to play our game'
"' I've got Squatter all set up, you might get General Rain.'
"It really was that close, you're the one that stopped me son,
"And you're the one that taught me there's no answer in a gun.
"Just remember people love you, good friends won't let you down.
"Look, you might have to swallow pride and get a job in town,
"Just 'til things come good, son, you've always got a choice
"And when you get this letter ring me, 'cause I'd love to hear your
voice."

Well he cried and laughed and shook his head then put the truck in gear,
Shut his eyes and hugged his dad in a vision that was clear,
Dropped the cattle at the yards, put the truck away
Filled the troughs the best he could and fed his last ten bales of hay.
Then he strode towards the homestead, shoulders back and head held high,

FARMER POEM CONTINUED
He still knew the road was tough but there was purpose in his eye.
He called for his wife and children, who'd lived through all his pain,
Hugs said more than words - he'd come back to them again,
They talked of silver linings, how good times always follow bad,
Then he walked towards the phone, picked it up and rang his Dad.
And while the kids set up the Squatter, he hugged his wife again,
Then they heard the roll of thunder and they smelt the smell of rain.

Murray Hartin
February 2007

Muzza (Murray Hartin) A farmer has been asked to pen something. He
came up with this poem which I think is exceptional, brought a tear to my eye
anyhow.

A LETTER FORM MY SISTER
Hi Wendy,
Great poem. poem? I thought ages ago that it would be great to get a school to "adopt" a farm - raise money to feed the animals and buy water etc. and the farmer's kids could take some photos and sed it back to the school and when the drought breaks (it must sometime !) then perhaps the kids could have their "school camp" visiting their adopted farm. My problem is I cannot get in touch with the right people on the other end. I sent a letter to the CWA and got a letter back giving me the phone number of the President but she did not call me and when I rang I got no reply. With a poem like this it would be a good opening to get a school interested.
We would be Happy to start Off With Our School AICOL

Just my thoughts. { Those poor Animals and Farmers!
Love Jan
Jan

Reply To Turnrightleft and Center

Here is our support Free Range Farmers web site.>

http://www.freerangefarmers.com/freerange/

Intensive farming is cruel and unnessay. We support Free Range Farming. Intensive poultry causes dieases such as bird flu. Feedlots cause foot and mouth.

http://www.google.com.au/search?q=+disease+caused+through+animal+intensive+farms+.+indonesia+&hl=en&lr=&start=10&sa=N
http://www.themeatrix.com/


Intensive Farming "An Act Of Gross Injustice Carried out Under a cloud of secrecy and a mockery Of Legality.

paleif,
"Feedlots cause foot and mouth" and here was me thinking it was a virus!

Plenty of feedlots in Australia, no foot and mouth.

Murray Hartin's poem is certainly one of his best and unlike his usually humorous works. He's not really a farmer but definately from a rural background.