Hills here, they roll
with green and gold.
Black cockies in the air with the sun,
and woodsmoke in the air with the cold.

A few schooners after work in the summer;
in the winter, the schooners are filled with ‘Old’.

There’s stories here
and they’re printed in the pavement.
They whisper to you,
wherever you walk on Bate Street.
The wall of every building will sing its unique song,
and before you know it,
you’re on Tilba Time; nothing ever takes too long.

All places here appeal to someone;
for me, its wherever there’s music, a yarn and some rum
(lucky there’s a couple of ‘em).
For others it’s the place that keeps the rugs,
and then it’s the place with jugs

and soap for my Mum.

There’s a sweet dealer, tea sellers and a pie lady too.
And down the end of the road you’ll find everything you’d ever wanna buy, made from Moo.

We’ve got places, oh man, we got places.
We’ve got places on top of places where people catch some Zs for the beauty of their faces.
And we’ve also got some faces …
Big, smiling faces.

I guess that’s what makes this place for me;
along with the birds, the rocks, mountains and trees.
Along with every story of lore, history and yowie.

And even when it’s a tough day,

you’re always greeted with a ‘How are we?’

I love a place where people wave
to you on the street,
a place where people are still out each day;
just to meet,
and speak
bullshit, or banter.
Horses still walk down the road
and people still sit and drink at the counter.

Our Tilba,
where the hills they roll with green and gold,
no truth ever gets in the way of a good story told.
It holds the stories of us all,
and our walls will keep everyone living; no matter how old.
Our Tilba.

Billy Berger 2026

Poetry Rocks My World

I’m Billy (aka Tommy). I’ve been writing words (poetry, stories, etc.) for as long as I can remember. I sucked at everything in school except for English classes.

I see writing as a form of creative expression alongside making music, painting, drawing – or any type of art.

The artists I lean toward are the ones that are creating their kind of art because there is no option to not create. Why do I write? ‘Because I cannot NOT write,’ to quote Charlotte Brontë.

My words are inspired by my life. I write from experience. If I write from any other place, the words feel empty and not real on the page.

My experiences are heavily influenced by the road; I spent almost 10 years on my motorbike, bouncing from place to place, and also living out of my truck, or finding home in every forgotten town and long-lost pub, but now I find myself in the first place that I haven’t wanted to leave: Tilba, and my writing is slowly becoming influenced by this gorgeous place and its people.

It took me my entire life to become comfortable with my creative expression: poetry, and I have the Open Mic Night at the Tilba Pub to thank for its warm and welcoming atmosphere. It was there that I was able to find the courage to get up in front of strangers and let them hear my internal world for the first time. And I haven’t looked back.