Folks' Poems

Back to Lariat Laureate Contest
Back on home
Back to the list of Folks' Poems

Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia
About Murray Hartin
Murray Hartin's web site



The Best Bloke That I Know

He's the best bloke that I know, he's honest and he's fair,
He's got the type of qualities that now seem pretty rare,
He taught me right from wrong, taught me how to give and share,
Now the only thing that's changed him is the colour of his hair.

I've known him all my life, he's watched me as I grew
And it's no secret round the traps that we've often had a blue
But I've sometimes done it tough and he's always helped me through,
I think the man's a champion and I reckon you would too.

Yet there's nothing in the record books to tell you what he's done,
He never shore two hundred and he never made a ton
But he did his share of shearing and he made his share of runs,
The bloke knows how to work and knows how to have some fun.

And while his passion for the horses hasn't done much for his wealth,
The man is rich on living and just glad he's got his health,
He never would complain while there's tucker on the shelf,
He'd give you what he's got and go without himself.

Now his hair is snowy grey and his face is leather-tanned,
He is isn't rich, isn't famous but he does the best he can,
You'll probably never meet him but it's not hard to understand
That the best bloke that I know is Kevin Hartin, my old man.

2005, Murray Hartin
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


I'm not a dad, never been a dad and, the way I'm travelling, not likely to be a dad any time in the middle distant future.

To a lot of people who have had the fortune, whether it be bad or good, to make my acquaintance, this, in their minds, may not be something to be overly concerned about.

The risk of having a replica of me hitting the ground at this delicate stage of Mother Earth's development is a concept far too scary to contemplate for these good folk - and understandably so.

However, being equipped with the hunting-and-gathering gene there is, of course, lurking somewhere in the gloomy background, an inherent desire to procreate.

The need to ensure the continuance of my genetic coding, no matter how twisted and hard to understand it may be.

Apparently when they read my DNA they found it was an acronym for 'Do Not Approach' - with a 'UAC' attachment, which stands for 'Under Any Circumstances'.

Personally I think they're being a bit harsh.

I mean to say, what would a bunch of Poindexter scientists know about the sheer exhilaration of that fifteenth Bundy-and-dry really hitting the spot?

Could they even begin to understand the pleasures of having imbibed just the right amount of the amber fluid at the so-called House of Pain in Dunedin to fully appreciate a Wallaby victory over the All Blacks on their home soil?

How could they try to comprehend the macho feeling of driving a Plum Mist Hyundai Excel to the Gympie Muster Country Music Festival?

Actually, I'm a bit worried about that last one.

No, bugger it.

It's my car and I'll take it to Red Neck City any time I like - without any fear of embarrassment.

The point is, well, who cares what the point is, I'm me and that's all there is to it and if I end up having kids it might keep the Poindexters amused for another generation.

But that's not what I wanted to talk about.

I wanted to talk about Father's Day.

I may not be a father but I do have a father - and he's a pretty solid bit of gear.

He's a legend in my mind and, if I ever do become a dad, if I can be half the bloke he is I'll have done all right.

Crikeys, he's put up with me for 38 years so there's got to be a medal in that for going way beyond the call of duty.

Actually, it's a big day on Sunday 'cause I've also got a stepdad and he goes okay as well.

I scored pretty good on both counts and a lot of people would agree I got the best end of the deal.

Anyway, it's Father's Day so, if it applies to you, make sure you have a kind word for the old bloke.

If he's anything like my old man he's put up with a lot.

About Murray Hartin:

We had a number of requests through our "Who Knows?" feature for information about  "a poem about turbulence" and we received this note from Murray in November, 2004:

My name is Murray Hartin and I just thought I'd drop you a line having noticed there had been inquiries with regard to my poem Turbulence on your website.

I wrote the poem about a real-life character in Billy Hayes, a fourth-generation station-owner (ranch) from Alice Springs in the Northern Territory, Australia.

You can make up your own mind about the poem but the man himself exists and he and his wife Jan run a home-stay tourist camp on Deep Well station called Ooraminna Bush Camp. Deep Well is 450 square miles and they run Hereford cattle. If anyone is planning a trip to Alice Springs MAKE SURE you take a trip ut to meet Billy and Jan at Ooraminna. Billy was a top rodeo rider, jockey and stockman. He's slowed down a bit now. 

I do have my own CD out called "Muz!" that features "Turbulence" as well as a number of my other pieces. You can obtain this by contacting me on this e-mail address. If anyone is interested in distributing the CD in the US, please contact me.

I am also member of a successful comedy poetry troupe called The Naked Poets and we have just released our fourth CD.

Read all about Murray Hartin at his web site.



 What's New | Poems

 Features | Events  

Poetry Submissions | Lariat Laureate Competition

Subscribe | Newsletter | Contact Us

  Join Us!


Authors retain copyright to their work; obtain an author's
permission before using a poem in any form. is a project of the Center for Western and Cowboy Poetry, Inc., a Federal and California tax-exempt non-profit 501 (c) (3) organization.  


Site copyright information