THE OUTBACK
There's a place where daily hardships are the making of a man
Where learning skills come less from books than a knowledge of the land
Where a rough and kindred mateship can be built on work and trust
And a fair day's work reaps just rewards for a fair day's work's a must
Where an unforgiving landscape boasts extremes of flood and drought
And a sheep walks miles 'tween blades of grass or it has to go without
Where the pestilence of rabbit, fox and feral takes its toll
And the red hills rust with iron ore and the valleys seam with coal
Where gold and light-rich opal can be wrested from the earth
And a man can find a solitude to test his very worth
Where a woman's sense of humour is a valued prize and dear
For a woman holds the heart of man when it's more than he can bear
Where a team is all that matters when the river's running rife
And a single strand of radio can be all there is to life
Where age is often listened to for experiences gained
And helping out a neighbour is an ethos much maintained.
It's a place they call The Outback and we're never far apart
For The Outback's not a place at all it's the beating of my heart.
© L.B. Watts
Click here for a free audio MP3 download of The Outback 
Leighton's poem The Outback has been selected by the
Australian Outback Development Consortium
as the official poem of the Year of the Outback 2006.
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Leighton has published a book of his original poetry,
with a bonus CD of readings. Click here for details.
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CUBICLES
How could I describe the sound of silence in the bush
To city folk who live in fear of lateness in the rush
To carve their lives from cubicles under hard-borne, staring eye
Of a boss with quotas set to meet before his time goes by
And how could I describe the smell of clean, sweet-scented gum
To those with noses choked with fumes made by the daily run
To make it back to cubicles all neatly laid out square
With a square front room, a square back yard, no shape for reason there
And how could I describe the sight of white and ghostly tree
To those whose skylines' lowered to smoke-stack factory
Whose vista lacks in distance where horizon stops next door
And live the lives of hamsters in some walls, a roof, a floor
There's no description near to hand to draw the picture's worth
So, I'll not tell of things I know of Heaven here on Earth
© L.B. Watts
