Bush poetry

 Bush Poetry occured in the time between White invasion and settlement in Australia.

Bush poetry included those from the Aborigines that showed their opinion on european settlement and also what the Europeans thought of the Aborigines and the Land of Australia.

Here is a collection of Australian Bush Poetry:

Poems about convict days 

Oh, listen for a moment lads,

And hear me tell my tale;

How, o’er the sea from england’s shore,

I was compelled to sail.

The jury says, ‘He’s guilty, sir!’

And says the jjudge, saye he-

‘For life, Jim Jones, I’m sending you

Across the stormy sea.

[All Australian English Book one by Sadler Hyallar Powell]

Dreamtime 

Here, at the invaders talk-talk place,
We, who are the strangers now,
Come with sorrow in our hearts.
The Bora Ring, the Corroborees,
The sacred ceremonies,
Have all gone, all gone,
Turned to dust on the land,
That once was ours.
Oh spirits from the unhappy past,

...

[http://www.oldpoetry.com/opoem/38883-Oodgeroo-Noonuccal--Kath-Walker—Dreamtime]

Where the dead men lie 

Out on the wastes of

Ask, too, the never-sleeping drover, He sees the dead pass by, Hearing them call to their friends - the plover, Hearing the dead men cry. Seeing their faces stealing, stealing, Hearing their laughter pealing, pealing, Watching their grey forms wheeling, wheeling Round where the cattle lie. Strangled by thirst and fierce privation - That's how the dead men die Out on "Moneygrub's" furthest station, That's how the dead men die; Hardfaced greybeards, youngsters callow, Some mounds cared for, some left fallow, Some deep down, yet others shallow, Some having but the sky. "Moneygrub" as he sips his claret Looks with complacent eye Down at his watch-chain, eighteen-carat, There in his club hard by: Recks not that every link is stamped with Names of the men whose limbs are cramped with Too long lying in grave-mould, camped with Death where the dead men lie.

the "Never Never,"
That's where the dead men lie,
There where the heat-waves dance forever,
That's where the dead men lie;
That's where the Earth's lov'd sons are keeping
endless tryst - not the west wind sweeping
feverish pinions, can wake their sleeping -
Out where the dead men lie!

...

[http://www.abpa.org.au/Bush_Poetry/

My country 

...

I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror- the wide brown land for me!

...

http://www.abpa.org.au/Bush_Poetry/Traditional_Poetry/