Bland On Bland – Get Outta Town

Bland On Bland – The BookThe theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “Get Outta Town“.

No prizes for guessing the inspiration for JVG’s choice of them this week. And to make it even better I wrote and recorded in the “wilds” of Gippsland. I had to go down to Mt Best and do some work getting ready for the fire season.

So you could say it’s a bit personal this week.

Ed Bates provided the Dobro backing and effects. Thatch provided the audio production, have a listen to how it went below…

To play this poem directly in your browser – just click the “play” button below:

Get Outta Town

Lockdown, you get on with it; bunker down and do the time
By the end you’re showering once a month; too much TV, too much wine

You try steering clear of dickheads but it’s not that easily done
I’m really good at spotting them; I ought to be, I’m one

Wearied by the arguing, petty politics and fights
Deluded pricks more concerned with individual rights

At last I’m getting out of town and I don’t need a push
My only neighbours wallabies and high rise means the bush

I won’t miss the selfish bastards Covid’s helped unmask
Concern beyond self interest? I guess that’s too much to ask

Takes a while to find my car keys; haven’t needed them in weeks
I pack a bag and wait until after peak hour peaks

The highway would be quicker but the back road’s where I’m leaning
The Ring of Steel gives open road a very different meaning

A three hour drive on country lanes is not without its perks
A bit of blues, a bit of soul – when the CD player works

A slow wind up the mountain, down the track to journey’s end
The wind has caused some damage, though nothing I can’t mend

The wombats have been busy helping deconstruct the fence
They’ve sorted out the veggie patch – that’s veggie patch, past tense

A koala crawls out from the scrub, squats by me on the grass
I can tell she’s on her last legs, sunken eyes and bony arse

Too weak to bother running, too tired to harbour fear
She lets me stroke her back and pluck a bush tick from her ear

I gently hum Kristofferson, ‘Help me make it through the night’
Seems she didn’t like my singing, she died before the light

She made it up a Blue Gum though, a laborious ascent
A final glance across the scrub, paused and off she went

Crows clean up the carcass as a wedge tail claims a lamb
A copper head is feasting on frogs sourced from the dam

The brutal ways of nature maintain a purity at least
The curse of humankind is to forget we are a beast

I’d live here if I could, though that’s the voice of dreams
Obligation binds me freely to the city so it seems

There’s healing in the silence, yet a roar both wild and true
Over whining politicians I’ll take a squawking cockatoo

And grubbing out blackberry, despite my patience wearing thin
Ragwort, bracken, thistles; all battles I won’t win

Leeches in the gullies quietly waiting to be fed
The Tiger Snake in residence, we’re content to share the shed

Bellbirds chime, Whipbirds crack, Rosellas join the choir
I wonder if this year will be our turn to face the fire

If I hear another Covid conspiracy when I get back to the hood
I’ll turn the bloody car around and get out of town for good

© Copyright 2020 Ian Bland

Also have a listen to “Everything or Nothing

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