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    Fat Rump

    by , 01-07-2013 at 04:41 AM (406 Views)
    I'm non-lucid with Stockmen (Cowboys). It feels very real (tactile). The horses are small and fat but strong. We talk and next we are all galloping I am last (taking up the rear).

    The funny thing is that I am no longer on my strong rumped horse. I am flat-out in the air behing the wide pony. I have got one rein in each hand and I am being (kind of) dragged through the air behind my gallopping Stockhorse.

    It now reminds me of this:

    (9:55) 226,944 views.

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    1. EbbTide000's Avatar
      In the above poem "The Man from Snowy River" the character called "Clancy of the Overflow" has a leading role. He was a real person. Here is a poem that the poet Banjo Patterson penned about the real man;

      Clancy Of The Overflow

      (3:05) 26,715 views

      I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better

      Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,

      He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
      Just `on spec', addressed as follows, `Clancy, of The Overflow'.

      And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected, (And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar).

      'Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:

      `Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are.'

      In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy Gone a-droving `down the Cooper' where the Western drovers go;

      As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
      For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

      And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,

      And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,

      And at night the wond'rous glory of the everlasting stars.

      I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy

      Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,

      And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city

      Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all

      And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle

      Of the tramways and the 'buses making hurry down the street,

      And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,

      Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

      And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
      As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,

      With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,

      For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

      And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy,

      Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,

      While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal --
      But I doubt he'd suit the office, Clancy, of `The Overflow'.

      More Banjo Paterson poems recorded by Wallis and Matilda

      In 1897, long after he had given up droving, the real Clancy of the Overflow- Thomas Gerald Clancy- penned a verse of his own. Read*Clancy's Reply
    2. EbbTide000's Avatar
      I Was Dreaming I Suppose

      The Drovers Dream
      by (?)

      (2:44) 5,285 views

      I finally found the words

      I was traveling with my sheep and my mates were fast asleep

      No moon or stars were shining in the sky

      I was dozing I suppose but my eyes had hardly closed

      When a very strange procession passed me by

      First came a kangaroo with his swag of blankets blue
      He had with him a dingo for a mate
      They were traveling pretty fast and they shouted as they passed
      We've got to be getting home it's getting late

      Then three frogs from out of the swamp where the atmosphere is damp
      Came up and gently sat down on the stones
      They unrolled their little swags and took from their dilly bags
      A fiddle. a banjo and some bones
      Then a little bandicoot played a tune upon the flute
      Three koala bears came down and formed a ring
      And the pelecan and the crane they flew in from the plain
      And amused the company with a highland fling

      Then three parrots in their joy sang the Wild Colonial Boy
      A frilly lizard waltzed round with a smile
      Then from out the old she oak a laughing jackass spoke
      And spare me happy days he ran a mile
      Then the emu standing near with his claw up to his ear
      Sang Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep

      I was underneath the cart, the boss woke me with a start
      Saying "Clancy where the hell are the flaming sheep".*

      I am not sure who wrote it but I learned it from Ian Campbell in the early sixties.