MY POEMS
The Authors Commentary
Until fifty, I never dreamt of writing a book. I have since written eight books with three reaching the status of publication. Until past my teens, I had not even read a book, and then when illiteracy frustrations persisted, intentions changed.
Other than filling in the figures on agricultural senses forms, the placing of numbers or the ticking of voting papers and signing cheques, I was acutely embarrassed to be seen writing a sheep or cattle count and paddock name in a pocket note book.
I was born with the infliction of dyslexia, and in the early part of the twentieth century this reading and writing impairment was often wrongly understood as one who had a low IQ (intelligent quotient) and was just an unteachable dunce. I believe I was enduringly placed in that category by some members of my family, with the result my schooling was never something considered to be of serious consideration.
However, in the one published book for which my wife finally chose the name “Bankers Lies Crimes & Suicides” An Australian Family Tragedy, tells of how I became interested in using a computer and went on to express my beliefs, aspirations, support of the underdog and love of the true and humble, all with the strong conviction that Godliness is a personal belief, created by individual Goodliness, as man seeks to explore his true identity on Earth.
I hope the reader will enjoy parts of my largely georgic poetic predications!
By: Colin Uebergang
Oscar Charles Uebergang
9/06/1890 — 10/04/1960
{Dad}
Blue was his favourite colour;
The colour of his eyes and the sky!
He was the father of us Crooble Kids;
A fact of family heritage no one would deny!
A family of seven siblings were blessed to survive;
One dear little sister died at not one in sad remembrance!
However, the seven all attained more than three score and twenty;
Ten more that Dad’s seventy years of hard worked family allegiance!
I remember I would have been no more than just two;
When my Mum and Dad took me to Sydney’s Taronga Zoo!
The wonderful ferry ride with a four piece band dressed in green;
Playing Red Sails in the Sunset from musical instruments I’d never seen!
Although Dad died fifty-eight years ago we remember with tributes;
Physical strengths and honest character were his distinctive attributes!
A six day plus work ethic was his normal endurance, from dawn-till-dark;
A self-taught leader of many professions in which he left his distinctive mark!
Digressing twenty years to a time before I knew him;
Dad decided to leave home at fourteen — as a young pilgrim!
He was given a horse-and-dray, a full-tuckerbox and half-a-crown;
Blessed by his Mum and Dad to travel from Natimuk to Horsham town!
Two hundred miles of bush tracks took him a week and a half;
Where he worked as a man for his older brother cutting oaten-chaff!
And as the youthful boss of a team of older men, a big job to maintain;
Hauling a steam chaff-cutter from farm to farm across the Wimmera Plain!
Ten years under the stars with teams of Clydesdales and his men;
Dad completed a steam engine diploma with lamplight ink and pen!
And in 1917, he married our Mother, Mabel Anne Brook of Allansford;
And together bought Sunnyside Farm, a dairy farm they could just afford!
Clearing the big trees from their farm was endless;
All with only axes and brawn and a timber-jack windlass!
Developing it into one of the highly prized dairy farms of Victoria;
Then decided to move to NSW to where the soil was said to be superior!
So in 1922 Dad with his brothers Bert and Harold;
Travelled to Inverell in NSW to seek bigger better farms!
They purchased Mosely Dene, and over the next sixteen years;
Purchasing 19,000 acres and leased 40,000 in the depression-years!
Dad sold Sunnyside farm cattle and chattels for £10,000;
But the Victorian Government demanded a 10% tax laid-down!
So Dad had Mother stitch the £10,000 between his flannel singlets;
And they boarded a Melbourne boat and sailed the waves to Sydney Town!
Our Dad was the powerhouse ‘hands-on-worker’ of the brothers;
He toiled shoulder to shoulder with his employees working together!
Many were with him twenty years before-and-after the WWII inhume;
After which all at Crooble were thankful some soldiers came safely home!
Because his word was his bond and fairness to his employees;
They respected and supported him when tough times would appear!
They always referred to him face to face and behind his back as the Boss;
Employer-employee respect was shared and was never found to be at a loss!
While many farmers retrenched employees in the 30s depression;
Our Dad employed even more of the unfortunates in their desperation!
Together cleared the virgin bushland to bring it into agricultural production;
And in the 1930s became one of the largest wheat farmers in the Federation!
The efficiency of Oscar Uebergang’s agricultural methods were extraordinary;
As in 1788 at the time of Australia’s first white-settlement occupancy!
History shows, that in America, it took six farmers’ annual overhead;
To provide the flour for one city dweller’s daily eating-bread!
In the 1930s our Dad and four men grew 4,000 acres of wheat for bread;
Each year producing 44,000 X 3 bushel bags of prime-hard for bread!
Enough to grist and bake the flour for 5 million loaves of bread;
Equating, one farmer providing for 2,700 city dwellers’ bread!
In 1938 the brothers decided to go their own way as expected;
Splitting their holdings, with our Dad taking farms undeveloped!
Progressively purchasing Springfield, Thurlagoona and The Deep;
Another 35,000 acres to be cleared of virgin-bush as a progressive leap!
There was no doubt our Dad was an extraordinary innovative man;
He had tenacious foresight to turn disadvantage to an advantaged plan!
He stored his grain-crops in times of plenty and when prices were very low;
And sold the three bushels bags for much more when the glut would finally go!
It was with this strategy our Dad made an honest fortune;
Storing and selling his crop grain privately with price opportune!
Mentally tenacious and practical in order to overcome all misfortune;
Gaining respect of some and gathered jealously from those of inopportune!
In the years of the 1940 and 1945 raging drought widespread;
Dad bought thousands of starving sheep for a shilling or two a head!
From desperate western graziers who knew not a thing of storing fodder;
Drove mobs on stock-routes and fed them Meggets-Nuts as a life extender!
He often had several mobs of a thousand or more sheep;
Slowly moving on stock-routes towards New England’s better feed!
And when rain came to the west — sold them back to the same graziers;
For many times what he had originally paid as a prize for hiscryptaesthesia!
Dad was blessed with extrasensory intuitive perception;
Yet this personal intuition was assisted by a man of distinction!
Mr Inigo Jones the period’s long range meteorologist weather predictor;
An extraordinary intuitive who Dad daily worshipped as a guiding preceptor!
In the 1950s Dad recognised the need for pasture developments;
He joined the CSIRO importing highly nutritious plant improvements!
Soil building, nitrogen-producing medics as his preferred flora investments;
On which he fattened train-loads of prime bullocks for city folk requirements!
It is true our Dad started working with dairy cattle for their milk production;
One of the nation’s largest wheat-growers — aiding bread consumption!
26 weeks of the year classing his wool-clip for clothing manufacture;
Finally produced beef cattle meat from his improved-pasture!
In all conscience it can be said there were few like Dad;
Who spent their life perfecting the production of life’s essentials!
Milk, meat, bread and clothing in massive amounts as a nation-builder;
As employer of many, was never recognised by his nation as beingsciential!
Let us pause for a moment and give thanks for those like Dad;
The many who endured hardship of pioneering this nation’s outback!
Men and women with extraordinary enduring courage in risk-remoteness;
Their memory in faded letters may only grace a signpost on an outback-track!
Dad was certainly one of those who pioneered our nation;
Setting a research and development example with sound solution!
Quite often of methods outside-the-square of conventional orientation;
But always with practicality, individuality and purposeful premeditation!
Now, after fifty-eight years of nostalgic reminiscence;
The Crooble Kids forgive him for his hard-and-fast forbiddance!
A streak of Germanic brutishness that at times pervaded his diligence;
Was a disciplinary trait reserved for family, rarely upon others in prevalence!
As age descends upon us with its unforgiving deliverance;
Regrets, if any, should be replaced with thankful coincidence!
As in the infinity of time, sad thought have faded intodeliquescence;
For those on earth, life must be enjoyed without regretful reminiscence!
In death, Mum and Dad have been placed to rest-together!
Finally in their hometown cemetery of Inverell, both-together!
While the seven Crooble Kids will find another places of rest-altogether;
Eventually, near forgotten, we will all return to the soils of the earth-forever!
Inhume: to bury in the ground.
Cryptaesthesia: meaning extrasensory perception.
Sciential: having scientific knowledge.
Deliquescence: a tendency to melt and dissolve.
Colin Uebergang September 2018
Mabel Annie Brock-Uebergang
4/01/1894 — 13/03/1967
{Mum}
Mum liked pink, particularly in her garden flowers;
She loved all colours in her garden beds — pink her favourite!
She had roses, snapdragons, zinnias, delphiniums and geraniums;
But Sundays, always a carnation bloom for Dad’s lapel as his favourite!
Mum also loved the blue flowering runners of wisteria;
And the once a year blue blooms of her prized jacaranda tree!
But it was the multiplicity of vivid flowering colour of the orchard;
Reminded her the days of preserving fruit for the family was soon to be!
Our mother was a stern but gentle caring parent;
Always working at something as partner with her husband!
Cooking, cleaning, washing or chipping weeds in the veg-garden;
Or teaching us Crooble Kids the work-ethics of her parents once Scotland!
Yes, Mum was of Scottish breeding with fair complexion;
And this was a problem with her Australian climate new adoption!
Although born in Victoria, where climate was more like of her inheriting;
For her, suffering the northern NSW harsh heat was stressfully exhausting!
Although her first Christian name was Mabel;
Dad always referred to her or called her Mum or May!
And as long as we can remember, she only called her husband Dad;
Never Oscar or Charles — only Dad — we kids the same — a family fad!
The first three of the Uebergang Crooble Kids were born in Victoria;
Gretta-14/4/1918; Mavis Jean and Rita May-7/1/1920 in Warrnambool!
Then Neil Vincent-9/1/1925; Lorna-Elaine-19/10/1927; Moya-24/10/1929; Colin-17/1/1932; Kenneth-John-4/5/1934; all born in Inverell’s Town Hospital!
Gretta being the first of the so called Crooble Kids;
Was to witness and work through the 1930s great depression!
The tragic plight of earth’s humanity and contributed a maidens effort;
At 18 years and 5ft 3in., developed a practical, indispensable contribution!
Mavis-Jean and Rita-May, the slight and fragile twins;
Were the somewhat less robust of our parents’ eight siblings!
Saddened with Mavis-Jean’s tragic death at just six months of age;
Yet at 18 and 5ft 6in., Rita survived to become resourcefully contributing!
Neil Vincent was the third surviving sibling of the Crooble Kids;
Too young to help the family through the terrible depression years!
Nevertheless, pulled his resilient weight in the tough times that followed;
Becoming a 6ft hard working parental-conformer, withacrophobia fears!
Lorna Elaine, the quiet studious 5ft 4in., of the middle Kids;
Helpful, honest and good natured, until tormented—then look-out!
As she may use a little more than prudent judgement to impose rebuke;
Even though deserved by those with less of her good attributes or without!
Moya, the conservative sturdy 5ft 5in.,phlegmatic sister;
Was always staunch in her work, her outlook and theological belief!
Could hand-milk the full-udder from a jersey cow in just a few minutes;
And like her older sisters, could cook a family meal, and never gave us grief!
Then Colin arrived, the 5ft 11in., second last of the siblings;
Acutely dyslectic, an affliction of the age, regarded as being stupid!
Later in life self-diagnosed as an argumentative iconoclastic individual;
With an imperative desire to seek the truth, and with skills developed unaided!
Kenneth John at 5ft 11½in., the youngest Crooble Kid;
Born in a time perhaps less stressful in family economic fortune!
But prevailed and prospered after inheriting financial family deficits;
Which sadly, may have contributed to his illnesses, as his final misfortune?
Our Mother was certainly blessed with stout Scottish strength;
To have brought such a large family into a world in times of turmoil!
Into a land in time of depression, drought and unaccustomed temperature;
Aided only with the most basic of appliances in providing food from the soil!
All her children were brought into her world without antibiotic;
No refrigeration, electricity, hot water, in-house toilet or penicillin!
No washing-machine, mix-master, vacuum-cleaner or needed cooling-fan;
All food preparation, house cleaning, clothes washing and ironing was by hand!
Mum was one of many outback women of that time;
Who used hessian covered drip-safes to keep and cool her food!
Which required fifty buckets of water lifted from the bottom-tray each day;
Back up to the top-tray, to drip down the sacking as a coolant from an altitude!
This antiquated drip-safe and her large two door wood-stove;
A big cast-iron oven which devoured a tonne of split wood each week!
A cold water tap in the pantry and a multitude of aluminium pots and pans;
Through a lifetime of parental gratitude, nostalgia brings me this day to speak!
Our parents brought us Crooble Kids into a simplistic world;
With salt and sugar being their only means of food preservative!
Both now condemned—as modern man prefer chemical synthesisation;
A means of extending food shelf-life—a human health-hazard provocative!
Mum managed her teenage daughters rather strategically;
One older and one younger were sent to milk cows each morning!
While the other older and younger would housework to cook and clean;
The following week the second two would be rescheduled to do the dairying!
For many years of marriage Mum never bought a loaf of bread;
She’d mix flour and yeast to tirelessly knead the dough into loaves!
Cooking twenty each week in her big black oven to an outer golden crisp;
To satisfy the need of family and many employees and visitors, who-knows!
The same was with soap, to clean all and sundry on the farm;
Mum would stoke the wood under her big laundry copper to a boil!
And add the ingredients of her Mother’s long known secret soap recipe;
And stir the scalding simmering soap-mix in a two hour, over-heating toil!
But when the peach, apricot and nectarine orchard ripened well;
Mother would have us Kids at work of Fowlers-Vacola preserving!
To pick, sort, seed, cook and the bottling of the abundant delicious fruit;
Was to insure a near year’s supply of home grown food for dessert-serving!
Our Mother was an extraordinarily talented maker of jam;
One secret was to use the natural sweetness of well ripened fruit;
In order to reduce the need for excessive sugar and preserve its flavour;
With an oversupply of tomatoes she’d make jam, chutney and pickles to suit!
Yes, our Mother was an extraordinary resourceful cook;
She could almost instantly provide extra for an unexpected visitor!
And it would be a relished and satisfying meal fit for a reigning king;
And her daughters have shown they can do likewise for a friendly inquisitor!
She didn’t approve of her husband’s sometime harsh discipline;
It was sad to see her shed tears for her Kids when these times arose!
Little could she do to prevent these on occasion child-parental-altercations;
By a sometimes tyrannically disposed husband—all forgiven in quelquechose!
In the 1950s our Mother sensed the oncoming of Dad’s ill-health;
As he became pedantically impatient and somewhat impetuous in nature!
And as time transpired tasked himself beyond his ailing physical endurance;
Thus could do little to curb his idiosyncratic-exertion to aid his life and future!
Nevertheless, after Dad’s stroke, Mum nursed him for some years;
Virtually unaided, wheeled his wheelchair, cared for him so staunchly!
She cleaned and shaved him; and fed him as she had for forty-three years;
Was ferociously loyal and protective of his renowned reputation—absolutely!
And after Dad’s sad passing, Mum learned to drive the motorcar;
And after years of committed marriage, welcomed a little time of bliss!
She travelled extensively on visits and met old friends and enjoyed her life;
And died suddenly, thankfully, unlike her husband’s long and lingering illness!
In death, Mum and Dad have been placed to rest-together!
Finally in their hometown cemetery of Inverell, both-together!
While the seven Crooble Kids will find another places of rest-altogether;
Eventually, near forgotten, we will all return to the soils of the earth-forever!
Acrophobia: one who is terrified of heights.
Phlegmatic: not easily excited, sometimes apathetic, cool, self-assured.
Iconoclastic: one who contradicts and opposes generally accepted belief.
Quelquechose: considered insignificant and a mere trifle.
Colin Uebergang September 2018
Parents of the Crooble Kids
Oscar Charles & Mabel Annie Uebergang
1890-1960 & 1894-1967
Our Father’s given birth name was ‘Oscar Charles’
A proud and powerful man who disciplined at cuss or cause
Our Mother, a ‘Brock’, her given christening was ‘Mabel Annie’
A great lady with a protective mind for us Crooble Kids so uncanny!
They joined in marriage in the teen years of their century
And passed away at three score and ten in our fondest memory
Together they brought forth eight children—pledging never to spoil
With seven surviving with the good grace of their honest care and toil!
A sister lost at birth, did not shared life with the seven
But will be with our Parents within the myths of heaven
Our baby ‘Mavis Jean’ will be archived fondly in reminiscence
Along with gracious thoughts from the family in like resemblance!
And beyond the thrills and tragedy of offspring raring
Always giving an extraordinary example of protective caring
Was well beyond the normal expectation of duty and parenting
As being exampled by the longevity of our many years of inheriting!
As farmers they strove from early dawn til dusk
Producing crops only of the best without blemish or husk
For they shared a great passion for produce full of splendour
Excelling with the best of quality as fair market place contenders!
Dad was a man of staunch determined forceful drive
Never resorting to weakness or blasphemous words desire
Achieving an objective within his gleaned and grandiose goal
Treasuring his employees from the bottom of his heart and soul!
From his family sadly, his expectations were much more
And little could we do to escape the profoundness of his law
He’d awaken at four with stern words upon our reluctant ear
“It’s time to get those plough wheels turning my boys, you hear?”
Our Mum would give those sleeping an early warning
Waking two daughters early to start their kitchen morning
Two more were sent as miffed milkmaids to the cow-yard dairy
Returning with frothy buckets, but without the charm of fairies!
Our Parents obsessed in early years with work and worry
Coping with a Great War, Depression, and Second World War
Perhaps overlooking the need to humour each other in kind euphony
A most important goodwill aspiration, very crucial for family harmony!
Seemed it was these world events that provoked aggression,
Among the Crooble Kids with many years of imposed oppression,
The festered scars of which have thankfully healed well with time,
Sadly, wounds of the pride remain imbedded in some troubled minds!
Never mind, this family has done much good for many others,
Which should be pleasing to all, and the angelic thoughts of Mother,
And it’s most likely they’d receive the same endorsement from the other,
Being the stern and sometimes forbidding divine views of their Father!
Colin Uebergang 5th November 2004
Antecedence Of Our Family Heritage
In the Gill-Gill Valley and the lagoons of Crooble,
On the fertile wooded north-western slopes of New South Wales.
A family of Colac cow-cockies settled in the 1920s, in style ennoble,
As pioneers they strove in a progressive goal with resolute as tough as nails.
Their first castle was an ancient Shepherd’s shack,
An abode accompanied briefly by a horde of bloodthirsty bugs.
This pristine lagoon water was shared with native animals of the outback,
And they toiled to make a settlers mark, as part of histories pioneering epilogue.
The land was cleared and fenced and wetted with their honest sweat,
From man and horse hitched to dray and plough, their efforts were forgiving.
For the first seeds was thrown from a waving arm in rhythm as the grain was set,
And the crop was scythed with the same strong arms as food and fodder for the living.
Then when hard won prosperity came from honest toil and fertile soil,
A fine homestead was carpentered upon the Cypress sheltered Crooble knoll.
An impressive wool-shed was built out beyond, near shearers huts, a shortly stroll,
With sheep yards to draft and drench and mark several thousand merinos for the toll.
As the seasons passed, with pioneering proliferation and prosperity,
Seven pregnancies produced the progeny for expectations of pastoral pursuit.
As births came to seven girls and boys, each harnessed to work in age seniority,
Each remained in family servitude two score years, without dispute allowed refute.
This family shared with neighbours to build a little church,
Which the district knew as Popinguy, for all to sing a hymn and pray.
And a public school was built and filled with little locals in education search,
And the Crooble War Memorial Hall was founded, for all to dance and meet and play.
Eventually the sulky-horses were retired as redundant breeders,
As the Gardener-Tourer and Buick Hardtop motorcars came as new age power.
And the Clydesdale draft horses were spared from the heavy plough and seeders,
With Minneapolis Moline and McCormick Deering to power the shears of rural ploughs.
With the years of passing, more farmland was acquired non-stop,
With the age of Sunshine Harvesters, Caterpillar tractors and loyal employee.
It was possible for thousands of acres of grain, to yield the nation’s largest crops,
And fatten the primest Hereford Bullocks a saleyard-stockman would ever wish to see.
There are always shadows of intrigue in the journey of family history,
No less has it been in this family with some excelling others less successful.
Nevertheless, the pioneering intention of our parents was their brave trajectory,
And true the two were supportive of each other, through a lifetime of being fruitful.
These two had made their life this story and we proudly take their heritage,
They were our Father, Oscar Charles, and our Mother, Mabel Anne Uebergang,
Both resting in eternal peace at Inverell, as their twin headstones do acknowledge,
To ‘It,’ the nostalgic visits of the Seven dwindle as their own bells of time are finally rung.
Colin Uebergang 6th February 2005
THE FOUR BOXES IN DEFENCE OF LIBERTY!
In stepping up to the SOAP BOX, in the defence of liberty;
We demonstrate the courage and conviction of defending our property;
Resisting those who seek to dispossess us of our work effort and prosperity;
Leaving only the crumbs for our efforts as compensation for our perpetual slavery!
Then resorting to the ballpoint and BALLOT BOX, seeking fair political representation;
In the hopeful thought the pen is mightier than the swords bloody dispensation;
Is rather a wishful recourse against the arrogant treachery of the politician;
Which, in personal greed to prevail in power, is their one ambition!
The politician wants the JURY BOX, splintered into matchwood;
So the bankers’ victims can be dealt with as they believe they should.
With the victimised before a corrupt judge and prosecutor without a jury defence;
Is contemptible treachery imposed upon the unfortunate when accused of an offence!
As a tragic last resort, the AMMO BOX is there to use against tyranny;
When despotic abuse of power and greed rules in tyrant government authority;
When the Peoples sovereign right and wealth are confiscated through usury barbarity;
The People must impose CONSTITUTIONAL COMMON LAW RIGHTS and stand in solidarity!
Colin Uebergang 15th October 2011
Roustabouting At The Crooble Shearing Shed
In The 1940s
Bare footed with a busy broom on the shearing board,
The job was to keep the shorn wool away, or you’d hear a roar,
‘Wool away you dopy kid’—would be ringing in your ears.
And the Shearer wasn’t worried if he’d trampled upon the Boss’s heir.
The job was to pick the fleece from the board the instant it was shorn,
Race it to the skirting-table to through and spread, or wish you’d never been born.
Then back again with the broom in hand to sweep the locks and dags aside,
Before the sweating Shearer returned with another to shear the wool from its hide.
Then when you’d thought shearing had settled down to routine,
A yell came from a butchering shearer who had cut a wrinkle clean.
‘Tar-Boy’, the broom was dropped and tar and swab were sped to the bloody scene,
Where Shearer thrust fast stitches in the wound and wiped hands on the wool to clean.
Gun Shearers always stretched the wrinkles of the sheep,
In circles around their bended legs to flatten out the wrinkle steeps.
Then comb and cutter flew across stretched skin and closely sheared the wool away,
And Shearers with this style and speed, always had a job for another toiling day.
Shearers always leave last in the pen the daggy flyblown sheep,
Then finally they’d drive the hand-piece through the mass of maggots deep.
The stinkers spew out upon the floor galore and wriggle about upon the board,
Where the bare-footed Roustabout slips and slides upon the slimy crawling hoard.
Some brief relief would come by chance when a drive-gut to a handpiece broke,
And the runner-up to the ‘Gun’ called out, ‘Expert here?’ to the busy Boss-bloke.
With only four Shearers then on the board to pick-up and tar-boy for withal,
The Roustabout could take it easy with about ten seconds between each call.
Then, in lunch hour when Shearers lay about the greasy board relaxing with a fart,
The conscientious Roustabout would ask a willing Shearer for a lesson of the art.
And as the Bosses skinny kid struggled to become a ‘learner’ on a kicking wrinkly ewe,
The Shearer hovered closely by to see no toe was sheared from the foot without a shoe.
Colin Uebergang 12th November 2004
My Dad Loved To Fatten Bally Bullocks.
Throughout the year my Dad bought from the Queensland cattle sales,
And had drover Rex Madigan and men drive mobs of six hundred odd of males,
To ‘The Deep’ on the ‘Moonie River’ where for months they’d grow fat and sleep,
And in these months, Rex would drove another forward mob to ‘Crooble’ from ‘The Deep’.
At Crooble, tired arrivals would spell a day or two and only lightly fed,
Then quietly introduced to paddocks of Sorghum-almum often pastures deadly,
Allowing Prussia-acid poison of hungry cattle if they were allowed to rush and gorge,
A characteristic of driven cattle when turned on to lush feed is to chew their cud and re-gorge.
To fatten a mob of baldy Hereford bullocks to a condition of full prime,
Was an obsessive cogitation my Dad loved best to drool upon in spare time.
He would ride his grey Arab gelding Rosco among the resting red mounds of meat,
As the beasts lay cud chewing under Brigalow and Kurrajong out of the midday heat.
Dad would quietly approach a mob of near fat bally bullocks,
Docile of his daily visits on Rosco, moving among their bloated stomachs.
But when obsessive interest of a rounded bovine got the better of him to seek,
He’d spur old Rosco to move closer and disturb the beast onto near foundered feet.
To gauge the fatness of the cod hanging between the hinds of the steer,
He’d ride his mount into the mob to select the fattest with rounded rear,
Where it’d be appraised for depth of meat to top the Homebush Sydney market,
Or if prime enough for the Flemington
Saleyards and the Melbourne Supermarket.
With bullocks each weighing half a ton, they’d be drafted off to journey,
To fill ten rail wagons a week with twelve body’s prime, on legs quaternary,
To butchers a thousand miles away who’d fill the plates of beef lovers in the city,
With the most tender meat man would crave to put between his teeth as life’s necessity.
And for years in this way, Dad turned off thousands of fat bally bullocks,
From his modest cattle empire, and his properties where he improved his paddocks.
And with seven Sons and Daughters and our Mum by his side to cop a deal of flak,
Spent his last years with his cattle, improving pastures and enjoying life sitting horseback.
Colin Uebergang 17th December 2004
DO THE AUSTRALIAN FARMERS HAVE THE GUTS?
LET THEM ANSWER THIS QUESTION IN ALL HONESTY!
For two hundred years the farmers of the Australian Nation
Have toiled to feed its people and millions more in global distribution
They have done this admirably, without much help from those in administration
At a cost of sixty five billion dollars in a mountain of debt from banker exploitation!
Being one to have done this for many years of life’s portraiture
Experiencing both the pleasures and problematic aspects of agriculture
One can vouch for the principal failings of those engaged in rural nomenclature
Tis arrogant individualism that brings them to the point of impecunious conjecture!
Even when a farmer aspire to the head of an agro-industry organisation
These agro-politicians actually increase instinctive arrogance out of all proportion
In respect to worth they bring to the disheartened few that pay for their representation
Who fail in dismal futility of achieving worthwhile benefit for their industry association!
After 80 years of witnessing the individualistic mentality of the rural cogitative
Having experienced the administrative elitism of industry boards and cooperative
Their dictatorial, compulsory monopoly acquisition agenda—leading to nondisclosure
All failing in accountability, professionalism, transparency—usually in corrupt exposure!
Loaded down with all this individualistic baggage of industry oversight
The farmers have allowed apathy and local issue to consume their aspectual sight
While the politician and the lawyer have stripped away their Fee Simple property rights
With the Commonwealth Australia Constitution 1900 (UK) Common Law Sovereign Rights!
This being the present rural predicament—it is a predictive
That unless these apathetic individuals wise up and become vindictive
And resort to peaceful civil disobedient action to enforce their demonstrative
They’ll end as tenant farm workers for foreign corporate owners instead of life’s objective!
This sad ending to the family farmer story of Australia isn’t nice
After they have lost the courage to fight for their constitution and property rights
One shudders at their future when they haven’t the nowise to recognise an enemy Hanukkah
Touring the land celebrating THE YEAR OF THE FARMER arm in arm with a usury banker!
Colin Uebergang, 19th February 2012
“The Secret Lives of Plants”.
“Short of Aphrodite, there is nothing lovelier on this planet than a flower, nor more essential than a plant. The true matrix of human life is the green sward covering mother earth. Without green plants we would neither breathe nor eat.
“On the under surface of every leaf a million movable lips are engaged in devouring carbon dioxide and expelling oxygen
— all food, drink, intoxicants, drugs and medicines that keep man alive and, if properly used and radiantly healthy, are ours through the sweetness of photosynthesis.”
Some interesting history from two old friends: I was recently researching some history in regard to grain production from early times through to modern day agriculture, and I found some interesting figures given in a book written by my friends Doctor Graeme Quick and Professor Wesley Buckley in 1978. They had personally autographed my copy of their book, and presented me with it in that year.
Graeme was principal research scientist with the agricultural engineering section of the CSIRO (Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation,) and Wesley was Professor of Soil Science with the (Department of Agricultural Engineering) of Iowa State University Ames, Iowa USA.
In the Preface to their book ‘The Grain Harvesters’, they quoted some interesting figures that stated:-
“In 1776, at the time of the American revolution, it required the effort of 13 farmers to feed one city dweller for a year. Two centuries later in 1976 the average United States farmer produced enough food for his family and 46 additional people.”
What an extraordinary increase in efficiency that mechanisation and plant breeding had brought about?
I marvel at having had, with my family and five average yearly farm employees, what seems the almost unique opportunity to have produced a number of crops of grain over 10,000 tonnes, and one of 17,500 tonnes. The average of these crops, which if made into bread, would give 275,000 people one loaf each, each week for a year.
I accept the fact these people would require more than a loaf of bread each week to exist on, however it was of great personal satisfaction to have produced in my lifetime the raw material of wheat in order for 200,000,000 loaves of bread to be baked and fed to people around the world.
By: Colin Uebergang
Who Owns You
And Your Earth?
The Common people should, but they don’t!
Yes; the people should own the Earth,but they don’t!
The Earth and all of the chattels upon it, but they don’t!
And the people should own the gold and silver, but they don’t!
Surely not the bankers! but yes they do!
You mean the central bankers, No? but yes they do!
You mean the Jew Rothschild bankers? but yes they do!
Yes; the Zionists own the world and all of You! and yes they do!
Eventually You’ll find the courage to capitulate!
And take leave of Your once apathy and recapitulate!
To calculate the value of Your slavery as a sum-speculate!
And You’ll dangle the evil-elite by a neck-noose to strangulate!
Colin Uebergang ~~ 29/05/2016
Light~~~ ~~~Warmth
Mr. & Mrs. AUSTRALIA—IS THIS YOU?
Colin Uebergang 14th October 2011
There is no one more vulnerable to a life of exploited servitude,
Than those who believe they are FREE when in an apathetic ignorant attitude,
And allow treasonable politicians the right to legislate over their financial plenitude,
Deceitfully stripping all constitutional rights of wealth and sovereignty from the multitude!
THE NEW AUSTRALIAN CURRICULUM LAUNCH
IS TREASON
AGAINST OUR CHILDREN
While numeracy and literacy is important teachings for the small;
There is no mention of teaching, the Two Most Important Unknowns of all!
The children’s inheritance of their 1 Constitutional Sovereign Right;
And how money is created by 2 Fractional Reserve bankers treacherous might!
The dictatorial Rothschild/Rockefeller (UN) Agenda 21 Control is always hidden;
Thank goodness the truth is now being electronically revealed, an Agenda once forbidden!
Colin Uebergang 17th October 2011
THANK GOODNESS THE PEOPLE ARE AWAKENING
It is good to see at last, the People have awoken;
And their street action performance voiced against greed is spoken!
Too long have they been the vegetables feeding a nation of humanity;
Being fertilized with the manure-stench of corporate greed extravagancy!
While the scoundrel politicians of the land, feel free to join in the plunder;
Imposing their ONE WORLD TREASONABLE GOVERNMENT—a tragic blunder!
Colin Uebergang 16th October 2011
BANKERS OF THE WORLD
Nowhere on Earth is there more criminal conniving intent;
Than in the slime ridden vertebrae of a slithering bank CEO serpent!
For these serpents of sin, self-serve their salary and bonus as extortion;
From the work and effort of the People, in oblivious extravagant exploitation!
Spending multi-billion’s on promotional advertising, attempting to cover up their greed;
While the crooked politicians allow these sinful serpents their treacherous deceitful deed!
Colin Uebergang 17th October 2011
THE ROTHSCHILD / ROCKEFELLER (R&R)
UNITED NATIONS AGENDA-21 IS IN CONTROL
The R&R United Nations dinosaur has long ago become the Global Offender;
Manipulating a world of subservient People to become part of their Global Agenda!
And their demands on the enslaved People will increase in cruel Wretchedness;
Until they awake from a century of financial subservience to this R&R-UN Wickedness;
And as the six billion pairs of eyes open this morning to a world of Financial Need;
They will find the few R&R extorters,
Now hold in their vaults the wealth of world usury and property in Criminal Greed!
Colin Uebergang 18th October 2011
THE SHAMBOLIC BANKING HISTORY OF THE WORLD
The global financial system is in a horrendous state of shambolic antagonism
Caused by the monumental usury-interest extortive crime of charlatanism
Bludgeoning trillions from the apathetic who believe in traditionalism
Who have never found the common-sense to recognise Satanism
Or the evils of Fractional Reserve banking of Zionism!
There hasn’t been a world leader with the internal fortitude of Abraham Lincoln
Who transformed banker-besieged America from its people-poverty ruin
And built a highly prosperous nation with his Greenback inspiration
In four years of incredible statesmanship without usury extortion
Suffering a Zionist banker’s bullet for his nationhood action!
There are few who remember the great immigrant King O’Malley from America
Who in 1912 fought hard to establish the Commonwealth Bank of Australia
With Premier Jack Lang and Chairman Dennison Miller without Britannia
Formed a people’s bank free of the Fractional Reserve usury of Zionia
Which in 1924 was treasonably given to the evil British-Zionist Mafia!
Since that torrid time and the 1930s disastrous depression period of history
The people of Australia have been secretly dispossessed of their property
Along with all financial security and their hard worked for prosperity
Have been deceptively lied to by intentional political criminality
Apathetically succumbed to the evils of unconstitutionality!
The sad realisation after revealing the truth of this horrendous history
Is how little the people know of this usury banking mystery
And how they now fear to face the facts of their misery
Too proud to admit to their haemorrhagic dysentery
Resigned to an endgame of same-sex buggery
Regarded as Goyim by the global Zionery!
Colin Uebergang 28th February 2012
LET THE BOAT PEOPLE COME
AND
BRING THE BLESSED LOT!
WHY NOT?
If the racial argument is for just one to come—then why not?
As all these people are endangered in their homeland—so why not?
Yes, let the ones who found the coin for the boat to come—why not?
Don’t worry how they came to find the privileged money—why not?
Let all come and bring their bundles of troubles with them—why not?
With their different way of belief and customs to our land—why not?
Let them come and breed like flies and change our style—why not?
And infiltrate governance and demand belief equality—why not?
Because, if you allow this social treachery,
Aussie,
You’re a Bloody Raving
LUNATIC!
Colin Uebergang 1st November 2011
Burr Cutting At Crooble In The 1940s
In the long hot summer of that time and droughty midday air did boil,
The Noogoora and Bathurst burrs grew thick and tall upon the Crooble soil,
In every creek bed and out on the distant black soil plains they’d profusely grow,
With all men at War, there were only the Kids and Dad left at home to use a hoe.
Dad’s call came at four am for his boys to rise and shoe their toes,
To mobilise the handle of an old grindstone, while he sharpened up the hoes.
One to turn the handle while the other took a spell while poured water on the stone.
When arms tired beyond stern words from Dad, the boys would swoop with a moan.
Two girls were hustled in grumpy state, to kitchen stove to stoke,
And cooked the porridge and pans of chops, and piled the plates enough to choke.
The other two were dismissed with dismal thoughts with milk buckets to the cow-yard,
To fight for cows that wouldn’t kick their bucket or swish a shitty tail across their faces hard.
While all this was in the wind, Mum was in the pantry packing lunches,
For her family’s day long march on the plains among the prickly Bathurst bunches.
Then all would hear the splutter of the Inter Ute’s as they reluctance gather in the yard,
For Dad was anxious to take his urchin army to the paddock and work them sternly hard.
Dad drove the old green wartime Ute to where work ceased the day before,
With a wall of bloom’in Bathurst burrs as far as one could see beyond galore.
Then with water bags placed in the shade to cool, Dad deployed his troops at his side,
Three to his left and four to his right, all in line and in view, where no one dared to hide.
The trusted Kids took the outside wings, which extended for a hundred yards,
Slacker ones who might miss a tiny burr or fail to cut a stump low in soil so hard,
Were kept close to Dad’s scope of vision, making us feel we were doing a stretch in prison,
As one tiny leaf left on a burr-stump was reason to be threatened with an adverse decision.
As the thermometer moved above the century and the water-bags a mile away,
And the mirage danced its reflections on far horizon, we toiled and tolerated in dismay.
In wide formation, we'd cut the burrs across a thousand acres and swat a hundred dirty flies,
Then turn around and hoe down another wall of burrs to the waterbag, expecting yes to die.
When the sun was well to the west and we had wet our whistles to please,
Looking back to the east with flushed faces soothed with the cooler evening breeze,
There was satisfaction to look out across the land to see the downfall of the Bathurst Burr,
Many as tall as a Crooble Kid, hoed to wilt and wither upon the soil, now only as a memory blur!
Colin Uebergang 12th November 2004
The Rabbit Plague of the 1940s
By: Colin Uebergang 19th November 2004
As a kid, I grew up with rabbits running everywhere on the farm,
Therefore, I believed rabbits to be a native species, and like me, did no harm.
When numbers increased to a plague I was shocked to learn rabbits were refugees,
Introduced in 1778 by the Government as cheap food for the palates of transportees.
For a hundred years, rabbit stew was a staple for the free white settlers,
As it was for hard working stockmen, ring-barkers, fencers and gangs of fettlers.
Then in the Depression of the 1800’s and the great one of the 1930’s, with life unsure,
The rabbit was known by all in the Australian bush, as the furry poultry of the poor.
I was born in the 30’s Depression, and was often served with rabbit stew,
And as tucker it was pretty good, especially the way my Mother served the brew.
Then I too learned to wring a rabbits neck and skin and bow his hide on wire to dry,
And we’d pack hundreds in a bale, ready for the travelling skin-buyer to call-by and buy.
Then the droughts of the 40’s came to make things worse with the rabbit,
We knew that to survive on the stricken land, killing even more must become a habit.
So hundreds of shiny spring traps were hung to rust on the back walls of the toolshed,
And dozens of brown bottles of poison pink strychnine was used with rabbit baits instead.
The roots of prickly Scotch thistles were mattocked by the thousands from the soil,
And sliced finely and strychnine added with buckets of wheat grain softly boiled.
Spread out on miles of fresh turned soil in furrowed trails to attract the doe and male,
And along these trails, bare hands trickled poisoned baits without once chewing a fingernail.
Next morning thousands of rabbit carcasses were crammed along these deadly trails,
Awaiting an anxious needy neighbour and his lads to skin, bow dry and pack in bales,
While we brothers spent the day digging thistle roots and boiling buckets more wheat grain,
This went on through plagued years with rabbits multiplying even faster; driving us all insane.
With no herbage left to eat and the bark upon the trees ringed by rodent gnawing,
The rabbits also dug for the last Scotch thistle and weed roots in the droughty ground.
And with all sparse vegetation gone above the ground, they turned their paws to digging,
And their kittens filled the burrowed warrens and they had little fear of man’s exterminating.
Turning to technology, a ‘Langvarville’ fumigator was purchased in despair.
A furnace fanned by “Ronaldson-Tippet” on four wheels drawn by a Clydesdale pair,
It belched smoky carbon dioxide from its long thick hose, stuffed down burrows deep,
And thousands of bunnies with never a squeak, ever so peacefully went to sleep.
But still more burrows were dug and filled to spill with environmental harmers,
And the rabbit plague increased beyond the resourcefulness of the worried farmers.
In desperation the scientists tried their hand and developed “Larvicide” as a gas,
A drop or two on a piece of bark stuffed down a burrow, made the rodents gasp.
And if the one who held the dribbling bottle should get a whiff of the deadly stuff,
The larynx in the throat would suffocate, and thoughts would contemplate a life to snuff.
And if a dog chanced its head down an adjoining burrow when the gas filtered through,
It needed a hind leg help to drag its inertness to fresh air, to begin its life anew.
Then as the plague intensified, a mechanical solution was next to try,
With Dads first crawler tractor and deep road plough, he was enticed to buy.
With packs of forty dogs the scattered rabbits were hounded to the chernozem,
When filled with bunnies to the brim, the deep plough would rip the soil and smother them.
This went on for several years with large areas of pasture torn up to no more grow,
Where only poisonous weed now grew on the soil, well fertilised with dead meat and bone,
Still the rabbit’s resilience continued to out-breed all harsh methods of crude control,
Then man turned to the cruellest of them all, to crucify the rabbits in burrowed hole.
It was the Government of Australia experimenting, we were told,
To produce the prolific infectious viral disease called Myxomatosis Mould.
The vials of infection were released to farmer by the Pastures Protection Board,
To swab the eyes of snared rabbits, to spread among the millions, killing off the hoard.
Now almost fifty years has past the day of the Great Rabbit Plague,
I look back with senses both of nostalgia and regret at memories hopefully vague.
As the two hundred years of wretched suffering by these rodents, was not untrue,
But is told how so many early Australian settlers survived on the humble rabbit stewlick this text to start editing. This section is great for calls to action, addresses, and phone numbers.Click this text to start editing. This section is great for calls to action, addresses, and phone numbers.
