Authors: Bill Dodd

Tags: #Biography & Autobiography/Personal Memoirs

Broken Dreams (8 page)

BOOK: Broken Dreams

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The Little Red Roses: Shannon

This poem is dedicated to my little niece, Shannon, who died from cot-death syndrome. It broke our hearts; she was just five months old and she was so cute. This poem describes Shannon as a little red rose that bloomed for only five months.

I've never been a priest

Learning how to help in a time of need

But I saw in her mother's eyes

The grief, the sadness

The heartbreak

That comes when a young child dies.

You find it hard,

Too young to understand

As questions go unanswered.

Her tender love untouched

Yesterday her rosy red cheeks

Brought happiness and love:

Today there is sadness and tears.

She gave us so much love

Before they took her away.

Only five months old

But so precious,

Spreading her love

With tender smiles

And cute brown eyes,

A child with angelic looks.

It's a sad day as grown men cry,

Tears fall gently to the ground

And disappear into the drought-stricken soil.

I wonder what her secrets were,

A little child so cute and cuddly,

So damn young and lovely.

She was our little Shannon Lesley.

That day we buried my little niece

And she took away a piece of my heart

With the love only a mother can give

She slipped away quietly in her sleep

The Little Red Rose: Sheldon

After losing my niece, Sheldon, my nephew was born. The two look so much alike: when I look at Sheldon, I can see a little red rose through his life and I know Shannon will never be forgotten, that innocent little child who promised us so much.

As I lay in bed

I heard the magpies chattering

The horses neighing

Babies crying

Nurses talkingâ

Talking about a new life.

For a baby boy had just been born.

A baby with beautiful big blue eyes.

He lay there like an angel in disguise,

Blossoming like a little red rose.

Still I lay in bed

As the magpies chattered

And the horses neighed,

While only one baby cried.

The nurse introduced me to my nephew,

And when I looked down at him

I knew a little red rose had been born.

He looked so young, he looked so small,

So innocent and fragile,

So much a little man.

Just like the opening of a rosebud

He brought us life,

He brought us beauty,

And he brought us happiness.

Sheldon, our little red rose.

A Special Friend

He was just a playful pup,

A blue cattle dog with black spots.

To some people he was a mongrel,

To others a rogue.

To me he was a true friend.

My pup looked like a dingo

Running in the wild.

He moved as silent as a fox stealing chickens.

People blamed him for things he didn't doâ

But he did chase the postman for a lap or two.

He looked at me with innocent eyes

Then ran closely by my side.

The day came when I left town

And left my little pup all alone.

Where I was going he didn't know.

Sadly, I never saw him again.

Returning six years later

I wanted to see my little blue pup,

But they told me my little mate had slipped away.

I felt a tear run down my cheek:

The news hit me like an avalanche down a mountain.

Another tear ran down my cheek

As I remembered the good times we used to have

The love I couldn't give

And the cows we never chased.

After seven years with a broken neck I can still see the beauty in horses. Today, when I see a pretty horse from my wheelchair, deep down I am inspired to write a poem from my heart. In fact, since being in my wheelchair, my love for horses has grown. To write a poem about a horse was something I once thought would have been impossible.

Reality

The silver stallion rears up on hind legs

He rears up to look over his hidden kingdomâ

A kingdom hidden high in the hills.

As the sun sets in the silent shadows

He sights his mares running wild.

With fear in his heart

He sprints towards the group.

He sees a glare of fright in their eyes

And scents danger.

He sees a man with a gun in his hand.

As the silver stallion turns to protect his mares

He feels a stinging sensation.

He falls painfully to the ground,

The fight for freedom forgottenâ

But he sees his mares running free.

He looks around at what once was his:

Through hazy eyes he looks at his kingdom

As his eyes close for the last time

He knows reality is greater than the dream.

Beauty Beyond My Dreams

The brown stallion is as pretty as a picture,

As wild and free as they come.

He runs as quick as the Texas wind

And disappears like a half-glimpsed spectre.

Identified by the star on his forehead

Or his four white feet,

He is chased by men with dreamsâ

Dreams that the brown stallion was theirs.

He looked his best when in full flight.

His mane whispered with the blowing of the wind.

He ran like a kite with a broken string.

His heart beat rapidly to every stride

As he ran away with a heart no one could touch.

Too beautiful to be called an outlaw,

Too fiery-eyed not to be one,

I was hypnotised by his beauty.

He possessed a beauty I had never seen before.

Yes, there stood the brown stallion,

The same stallion that had haunted me in my dreams.

I woke up shouting: “Get my saddle!

He's here, the brown stallion!”

I awoke holding an empty lasso,

A lasso that had held one of the prettiest horses I'd ever seen.

Oh, what a pity it was all in a dream.

I like animals that are wild and free, especially the brumby. I reckon the brumbies should be left to run wild in the bush. But as the years pass, the brumby is becoming extinct. To me this is a real pity.

Phantoms of the Sen

Wild horses are haunting the night sky,

They're shining in the starlight.

Phantoms of the sun,

Once they roamed wild and free.

Their silent shadows now become

Victims to the drought.

Horses are shot and left to die,

Taken by man's ignorance.

Whole-hearted horses haunting the plain,

Beauty running with the wind:

Let them go, let them be free,

Let them shine in the starlight,

These phantoms of the sun.

Running Free

A pretty little Palomino pony ran wildly through the gate.

I could sense her fear but not the hate.

The men had never seen an outlaw horse come any meanerâ

This was the wild filly they called Tina.

Trapped, Tina stood trembling in the yard.

Her nostrils breathed fire,

Her eyes showed fear.

Silently she stood awaiting a showdown.

I threw a lasso that landed over her proud head.

Tina unleashed, with the venom and movement of a deadly snake.

I witnessed an unseen evil,

An evil possessed by the devil.

Her movements were short and swift.

Her silky mane sparkled in the yellow sun:

As she turned her beauty shone.

She carried her neck with an arch like a rainbow,

Her beauty matched only by the grace of a black swan.

I placed my saddle upon her back:

Nervously she watched my every move.

I climbed aboard and all was right:

I felt like a king upon his throne.

Suddenly she felt the spurs biteâ

And that's when I found that kings are made to be dethroned.

Tina's untamed spirit could not be broken

Her heart could not be tamed

The bush is where she belonged.

Running wild

Running free

Running for us all to see.

This poem is based on a dream I had one night. When you read it, I hope you can picture three beautiful horses gliding across the sky.

The Cold South Wind Blowing

The old stockmen sitting around the campfire

Felt the cold chill of a south wind blowing.

The south wind is as cold as cold can be:

So they snuggle up into their swags,

Trying to hide from that south wind.

The men look up at the stars,

The stars shining in the lonely night.

Up in the sky they see the most wonderful light

As three beautiful horses appear from nowhere,

Just as though they were angels,

Angels being blown around by the south wind.

No one spoke, they just sat and stared:

As the horses came nearer the stockmen froze,

Paralysed by such beauty,

Beauty seen only in dreams.

The more they looked

The more they were possessed.

The men could see the sparkle in the horses' eyes.

The horses sped across the night sky

Moving with speed, elegance and grace,

And a moment later

They were carried away by the south wind.

Thoughts in My Head

I'm lying here in bed:

Paralysed body, nerves are dead.

The sun reflects off the shiny glass.

After a cold night there's dew on the grass.

I'm lying here with thoughts in my head.

I never slept too well last night:

I dreamt of '83, when things were right.

I dreamt of the legs I once took for granted,

Girls, and the horses I've cantered.

I'm lying here with thoughts in my head.

Paralysed from the chest down, a body without feeling,

Thoughts in my head, my eyes turned to the ceiling.

Maybe I might watch something on television,

Flick through the channels to the ABC...

But they say “where there's a will there's a way”.

As I watch the passing of another day

I'm lying here with thoughts in my head.

Give Me a Go

I feel down in spirit,

Disheartened and defeated...

Don't know which way to turn

Don't know where to go.

For me the sun is not shining:

The sky is turning black.

I'm surrounded by shitty people.

My smile has turned to a smirk.

I feel it is time to say goodbye.

To find a place where the skies are blue,

A place where the sun is shining,

The horses are playing,

People are smiling.

I take life in its strideâ

Sometimes that's not enough.

I ask for help, but I fall prey,

A victim to shitty people.

I find it hard relying on others.

I have no choice.

Why don't they understand

My skies are turning black,

My smile is a smirk.

Wake up, you shitty people.

All I ask isâgive me a go.

Gone Wrong

I sit here thinking,

Thinking about a young man gone wrong.

Wild and woolly in his ways,

He was a kid growing up before his time.

He never said “no” to a fight,

He never learnt from his mistakes.

His heart was wild and so were his ways,

This kid growing up before his time.

His horse, Four-X, could do no wrongâ

Nor could his mate, a bloke named Chong.

Downtown they'd go for a ride,

Four-X and Chong, side by side.

Sixteen years of age and so headstrongâ

He was wild and rather young.

He fought a battle with the police,

Took them on in the street,

This kid growing up before his time.

Now I sit here thinking

Inside a body gone dead.

My horse is made of steel

My legs have lost their feeling.

My mind is at rest.

I no longer say “yes” to a fight.

I've been shot through the heartâ

But for me life goes on, no matter what.

So I'll make do with what I've got.

Today when I go downtown in my wheelchair and talk to different people, some tell me I used to be a wild bugger, while others say I was a rogue. So I wrote this poem and dedicated it to myself. Hopefully, some who read it may understand what I felt at times. To tell the truth, a lot of people in Mitchell have been good to me and made life in a wheelchair so much easier, which I appreciate deeply.

Jest Billy

To some he was a bad bugger

To others a teenage rebel.

He ran wild and free

Untamed as only a wild one can be.

He took life in his stride,

Chasing women, breaking horses to ride.

He found out right from wrong

Created a life of fun and leisure:

A teenage rebel, or so they said.

Five years later I saw him in a wheelchair.

He gave me a look of frustration