Friday, 31 January 2014

January 31: Only 344 more poems ...


I told you I’d try to write a new rhyme, every day for a year, one day at a time
The first month it’s over, it’s been pretty fun, and the end of this rhyme sees another day done
Sometimes it’s a struggle to find the right words, to make it all fit, without sounding absurd
Sometimes it comes easy, they fill up the space, the rhythm and rhyme they fall into place

There’s often a story I explain with my prose, it has my own view, no-one else knows
The paper, the news, it gives me a thought, I picked it up on the run, no, never been taught
Although I must confess, I picked up a clue, from my talented mother, a poet she too
Rhyming, and timing, it must have some form, if it does not, it’s gone from the norm

You see I’m a poet, I write what I like, if you don’t agree, then get on your bike
I think it’s quite funny, in my own stupid way, I can tell you things here, that I dare wouldn't say
Only eleven more months, and my deed with will be done, so eleven more months, of word-smithing fun
When I am finished, I’ll pick one for sure, that will be my favourite, and there won’t be no more

Thursday, 30 January 2014

January 30: In the quiet carriage ...

I jumped the train, I’m headed home; I put my earplugs in my phone
Carriage one it has big signs, if you can’t read them, I’d say you’re blind
“This carriage here is not for noise, so keep it quiet girls and boys
Turn your phone to silent, keep the music low, and don’t talk too loud or out you go”

So I take my seat and settle down, but the bloke next door, he wears a frown
I watch his manner, he’s not impressed, on his face a view expressed
I pull Paul Kelly from my ears, his frown explained by what I can hear
With an Aussie accent, and far too loud, the driver starts to address the crowd

“Thank you for travelling with CityRail”; but wait, there’s more; he inhales
“Express to Wyong, just four stops, first there’s Strathfield, mind the drop
Next is Eastwood, then there’s Epping, as you alight watch where you’re stepping”
Is he finished? Nope, not yet; my neighbour mutters, “Give me strength”

“The carriages, the first and last, and the middle one”, he adds quite fast
“Are quiet ones, so keep it low”; Good then, that’s all? Right, let’s go
No, he’s off again, he's more to say, “CityRail hopes you had a very pleasant day”
That’s it buddy, now please desist, you’ve said your bit, he’s getting pissed

The sounds of silence are so serene, so very peaceful, or so it seemed
We’re still at Central, we’ve not moved a bit, but he’s off again, this Aussie git
“Thank you for travelling CityRail”, I lift my eyes, old mate’s gone pale
“We’re here at Central, leaving soon, we hope you have a good afternoon”

“Strathfield, Eastwood, Epping, Hornsby”; old mate’s getting quite annoyed
His commute to home has not begun, and his patience is destroyed
“The carriages at the front and rear are places where we don’t want to hear
Mobiles ringing, or voices shout, if that’s your want then please move out”

He pauses, and we think he’s done, but then he adds, perhaps for fun
“Please watch your step as you alight the train, we don’t want you falling and feeling pain”
My neighbour rises to his feet, he looks around and begins to speak
“I’m moving up to carriage two, if he won’t shut up, that one will do”

Wednesday, 29 January 2014

January 29: TLA ...


I’ve been on my feet all day, sparing with the facts
Each time I land a decent shot, I thought I could relax
But each occasion that I put one on, my rival got one back
If I could get this social media, I’d stop taking so much flak

SMS and Twitter, but Facebook leads the way
But when someone asks me “WTF” I don’t know what to say
Netlingo always leaves me lost, I just don’t have a clue
When I say WBS, is that me or is it you

I am a bit old-fashioned; I like to spell it out
But when I write in upper case, THEY TELL ME NOT TO SHOUT
All these acronyms I can’t recall, I have to keep a list
When I ask them to explain again, the Judge is getting pissed

I’ll give it my best shot; I have to have a go
I’m usually pretty quick; I’m not usually this slow
I’ve got my dictionary here; I’m going to do my best
So get your brain out of neutral, and try this for a test

BFF, that’s just GR8, please help me abbreviate?
IMHO you are a whiz, GOYA and try my quiz
OMG, you’ve gone OT, don’t you know I am myopic
KIS, I’m short on sight, so BFN, I’ll be back 2nite

BRB, my train it’s here, LOL, HNF
But I do not care for your POV, SITD, it STBY
I’m SOL, I missed the bus, TTYL, I’m going to cuss
WYWH, to ease the pain, of looking up them all again

SUP with U, RU OK, IDC, just wanted to say
BTW BIF BLNT, try the Internet
ADN I’ll get this stuff, HTH, I won’t be too tough
BBS, I gotta run, these TLA are so much fun

Tuesday, 28 January 2014

January 28: Making a buck ...


We had a good day, put another away, with a liking for making fake money
He thought he was cool, but was just a fat fool, and sharing his cell won't be funny
Bought some printers and ink, found an Internet link, to templates of fifties real fine
It all went bad when his brother, got duped undercover, this was a really bad sign

The coppers were smart, but they had a head start, coz these blokes they had not a clue
Their telephone banter let everyone canter, and their code words were definitely not new
Warrants were sought, and cameras were bought, they followed them all over town
From Bondi’s surf hire to the boys in the Shire, admissions on tape taken down.

Six houses they raided, one fine Monday morn', hit them hard just after dawn
His garage a factory, life so satisfactory, then thousands from them it was torn
Plastic a’plenty could've made more than twenty four million in fifty buck notes
Surveillance was telling, intercepts were compelling, and as crooks they got very few votes

Self funded retirement; it felt like such fun, a suitcase of money and a place in the sun
But so soon it was over, the cuffs were in place, the abject frustration it showed on his face
A life of routine in a cell sparse and small, reflecting on just what he said in those calls
That's all I can say about those two thugs, coz I'm up to my neck in a boatload of drugs

Monday, 27 January 2014

January 27: I'm an Aussie arsehole ...


A long weekend in Sydney as I enjoy Australia Day
Forty beers, some Bundy rum, and then I’m on my way
I’m lookin’ for a knuckle, somewhere to have a blue
Coz I’m an Aussie arsehole, are you an arsehole too?

I’m fourteen years old and I’ve just stolen your car
I put on the false plates I nicked; it’s got a huge crash bar
I saw blue lights in my mirror, so I stamped the pedal down
The coppers in their Divvy van chased me all round town

I don’t have a license coz I don’t know how to drive
When you see the mangled mess I made, it’s a wonder I’m alive
But I’ve got a real great future though, ‘gonna be a brainy surgeon
Might be somewhat difficult, coz I’m a high school virgin

Into my house in Padstow, burst some uninvited thugs
They beat us with some baseball bats, stole all my bloody drugs
Ten coppers in their riot gear, didn’t need a GPS
They’ve been here more than 20 times, and my head’s a bloody mess

The copper asked me questions, “do you know the men who hit you”
I do but won’t be sayin’; truly, would I shit you?
We don’t talk to coppers in this town, it simply isn’t done
If I do they’ll just come back again, next time with a gun

In a quiet street in Canley Vale, a teenager lies dead
A kid who at just seventeen took a bullet in the head
He was linked to outlaw bikie gangs, strange for one so young
The Commancheros and the Nomads, oh, and Notorious just for fun

Another coward punch victim, lies in intensive care
His body bruised and bloodied, his eyes open but not there
He was minding his own business; he was out for a good night
He then became the victim of a single person fight

Another great weekend in Sydney, as our young men get on the beer
And the girls don’t mind a skinful, it’s as Aussie as New Year
Our coppers they get spat on, some get kicked and punched
As I watch the news, I burst with pride, aren’t we an arsehole bunch

Sunday, 26 January 2014

January 26: Australia Day ...


There’s been a barrage of criticism, of how white man claimed this land
That he shot and killed the locals as they watched him from the sand
That he stripped them of their country and he took it for his own
His actions borne of ignorance, of facts then he had not known
He ostracised the owners, imposed on them his laws and ways
He called it “Terra Australis” when her beauty he appraised
He shipped out all his murderers, his thieves and vagabonds
He shipped them in their thousands, down to that great beyond

For a hundred years it stayed that way, 'til those convicts became gentry
They owned the land, they earned respect, forgot the nature of their entry
The real owners he removed with force, he took anything of worth
All they ever really wanted was the red dust of their earth
Their past was in the dreamtime, their custom and their history
Was spiritual in nature, to white man just a mystery
Their beliefs and laws were passed by word, from father down to son
They were nomads who lived off the land, and wandered with the sun

Two hundred years have passed us by, since the Southern Cross in the sky
Was taken as our signature, hung so proudly and so high
But in ninety-two there came a shift, in what most of us believed
Eddie Mabo had a dream, and from the High Court he achieved
“Terra Nullius” it was invalid, the connection was always there
Nomads yes, they may have been, but this land was in their care
The Court anointed land rights, their ownership restored
But confusion reigned for many years, over land grants lawyers poured
Paul Kelly he did pen a song, a moving message sent
“From little things big things grow”; but some would not repent

Which brings me to Australia Day, as we celebrate down here
Adam Goodes has my support as Australian of the Year
His passion for his people, his passion for his place
His dream that white Australians will acknowledge the disgrace
Of separating values, of discriminating race
The two-faced hypocrisy that down here it has no place
But progress runs with snails, and some still do not agree
When they say "all Australians", only white folk do they see

Ignored, deplored and pushed aside; yes, it was a crime
But were those who first arrived, just products of their time?
We here now are not responsible for what happened in those days
But unless we make a difference, that responsibility stays
To those who pillory Australia Day, pull your heads in, take some pride
Today it is for all of us, a celebration, nationwide
We all live here in Australia, the best country on this earth
Where every person makes a difference, where every person has a worth

Saturday, 25 January 2014

January 25: I'm all out of beer ...

I'm all out of beer, there's no beer about me
My fridge it is bare, someone needs to shout me
I'm all out beer, my esky it's empty
I'll duck down to Dan's and then I'll have plenty.

I'm all out of beer, my pint glass is lonely
Last week I had slabs, this week it's "if only"
I'm all out of beer, there's but one thing for it
It's bourbon on ice, you know I adore it.

I’m all out of beer, my life is it over?
Stick me in the ground and I’ll push up some clover
Is it really that bad, is giving up such a sin?
No, I should be stronger, and I’ve still got some gin.

Sung to the tune of "I'm all out of love" - Air Supply ...

Friday, 24 January 2014

January 24: Cross examination ...

Cross-examination is the favoured occupation for those whose true vocation is to query
The key is preparation with a hint of perspiration while you sit in contemplation of your theory
With your best articulation you attempt manipulation of the factual situation that you face
In the end it's desperation that describes your situation, as you sit in condemnation of this case

Your own examination was a skilled annihilation, you felt the distillation as you toiled
But some very skilled oration in her re-examination saw your clever infiltration nearly spoiled
So with raw determination, and clear and cunning inspiration it’s with some anticipation that you rise
And your next interrogation was all just speculation but you sensed the pure frustration in his eyes

So you go on with consternation, and in your best enunciation, you seek an explanation of his role
While you wait in expectation, you make the observation that you’ve seen the degradation of his soul
He says with some frustration, and in a tone of indignation, that your chosen imputation is not right
I won’t give a declaration that improves your situation, or brings some restoration to your fight

No time for relaxation; as the Judge gives his summation, such a simple explanation of your case
A very lengthy presentation, but so little appreciation of the complicated station you embrace
But the jury’s vindication brings an immediate sensation; you feel the pure gestation of a song
You sense the culmination as you win this disputation, but your feeling of elation won’t last long

Thursday, 23 January 2014

January 23: A poem about poetry ...


I've  been writing all theses rhymes; that I've rhymed a hundred times
And my timing of my rhyming is so nice 
But the pressure is increasing and the rhyming words decreasing
But the total syncopation is precise

My words are put together, in a way so very clever
So the timing of the rhyming is so fine
You'd be excused for speculating that my sources are deflating
And the timing of the rhyming is not mine

I wlil give you my assurance I have excellent endurance
At least where rhyming effort is required
I could pen these rhymes all day, I have so very much to say
And the timing of my rhyming is inspired

I love to write these stanzas, and produce extravaganza
Of rhyming and of timing you can read
I give it all my concentration as I seek your admiration
For my rhyming and my timing to succeed

So you see it isn't hard to pretend to be the Bard
With my rhyming and my timing making sense
I am undertaking practise, lest my rhymes they turn to cactus
To you my rhyming and my timing i dispense

Wednesday, 22 January 2014

January 22: Dinner at the pub ...


We drove out to the Husky, to get ourselves some food
It took more than an hour, and the waitress she was rude
“It cannot be that difficult”, Josh told the serving girl
“There’s only just the five of us, you’re not feeding half the world”

Jemymah wanted pizza, Kim liked pepper steak
Josh bet on the seafood platter, Ben he went for flake
Paul he chose the surf and turf: prawns, scallops and some fillet
It took so long we twice refilled, so careful not to spill it

Now Josh he’s feeling poorly, must a been a crook crustacean
Oysters that don’t smell that good, causes appetite deflation
Some friends turned up, we had a yarn that stretched into the night
The waiter brought us three fresh shells, to make up for their blight

A pleasant evening all enjoyed, of worldly things we spoke
But Jemymah’s not familiar, with the Naval word for joke
Maccas, goffas, scran at six, and then we take the piss
Dhobey bags and gashies, she’s not putting up with this

But the RAAF is very proper, she tells us while we wait
You cannot use those TLAs, those acronyms we hate
We’re very prim and proper, in our uniforms so blue
Such crass terms for the toils of life, we are not used to

To meet and greet and get on well speak volumes for our views
One of us must prosecute, one act for the accused
Adversaries in the courtroom but outside we’re best of friends
Professionals we will always be, no matter how it ends

Tuesday, 21 January 2014

January 21: Let me help you disprove that ...

It's been a very long day here, and I've had a cleansing beer
Showered, changed and then went down for dinner
We've argued long and hard, to get evidence disbarred
To turn my case from poor into a winner

What was it that she saw, as he sauntered out her door
Was the lighting off or on, it has no clout
But the judge has made his choice, she can say she heard his voice
But her evidence of what she said she saw goes out

We begin again tomorrow, and some clever lines I'll borrow
As I influence the inference to be drawn
From the words she gives on oath, and to her evidence she gives growth
As she tells us just what happened before dawn

I don't believe a word, if it was him his speech was slurred
But she told us that the words she heard were normal
But she saw him in the bar, said she knew from very far
That his odour was repugnant; far from formal

When I get to test her words, I'll cut her into thirds
Cross examination is a tool I will use well
I'll rip her into bits, ask questions in a blitz
That she was certain of almost anything I will dispel

By the time I've done my task, there'll be nothing left to ask
And the jury will be sure she didn't know
She may have heard a voice, but she'll leave them with a choice
And they'll reject her as about their task they go

And all there will discover, that my questions did uncover
That she didnt really know he was the one
She thought that she was sure it was him there at her door
But at the end all of her beliefs had come undone

Monday, 20 January 2014

January 20: It always goes back to the Wing ...


Went for a swim, my fitness so grim, ten laps caught me all out of breath
Here at Jervis Bay, for another four days, by day five I could be close to death
A very nice pool, a place to get cool, don’t why I decided to do it
My head it said twenty, that will be plenty, but by ten I was all the way through it

Living here's such a perk, it's a great place to work, a place to recover and rest
A beach and the bay, I’d like here to stay, I’d even come down as a guest
The beach is so white, it’s just out of sight, but just a short stroll to the east
Just down the stairs, take your beach chairs, and all of your stress is decreased

I came down on the Wing, did the Picton Road thing, then down the big hill to the Gong
Had the trailer behind, down the roads we did wind, past Kiama where the winds are so strong
Through Berry then Nowra, then I rev up the power, to Huski and lunch with the Flea
We're back into the curves, it’s what Roxy deserves, take a left and then park by the sea

I’m feeling much better, my speed I did fetter, coz I know where they sit on the road
Their speed guns inquire, my points they desire, as into fifth gear I explode
I know where they’re at, and I know where to blat, and I know just where to roll off
Been down here a lot, all my points I have got, so as I crawl past I just scoff

But back to the pool, where I began this short drool, to tell you how out of shape
I’m feeling right now, there’s still sweat on my brow, how much more can I take
I’ll do it some more come tomorrow, some energy I'ill borrow, from some red wine and a steak
I will push for twenty, that would be plenty, I don’t care how long it might take

Sunday, 19 January 2014

January 19: Christmas in July


We drove our car to Norah Head, last Christmas in July,
The bike stayed dry and in the shed as black clouds filled the sky,
It rained and rained and rained and rained, and then it rained some more,
Where once you might sight fifty Wings, on this day barely four.

We gathered in the kitchen, for bangers and a beer,
Some red, some scotch, some chardonnay, no discrimination here,
Out in the rain, a lonely tent, against the night it fought,
Against the wind and sheeting rain, its guy lines holding taut.

We chatted well into the night, discussing and digressing,
Til near to midnight said farewell, thoughts of sleep impressing,
On the minds of those who had, with foresight most impressive,
Swapped the cold, the wet, the dark, where flooding was possessive.

The next day came, the same, more rain, the outlook simply rotten,
Plans canned, ideas banned, the morning ride forgotten,
Except by some, intrepid few, who ventured forth into a day,
Of wind and rain, at last, some sun, til more rain came their way.

Late that night old Santa came, absent reindeer, without sled,
But not forgotten his favourite Elf, who held his hand instead,
Presents given and received, by that trusted Elf,
When all the team had got one, Santa gave one to himself.

Some red, some scotch, some chardonnay, have I told you that already?
Then the Taxman asked some questions, brains and pencils holding steady,
For a stream of Honda puzzlers, of which most had no idea,
Ten from twenty took the cash, no geniuses here.

The games came to a finish, and we wandered out into the night,
Hoping for our stalwart riders that the next day would be bright,
That the rain would go, and stay away, at least til they got home,
Coz there’s only one thing worse than rain, and that’s blemished safety chrome.

So till the next time that we meet, at Cowra or at the Snowy,
Let’s pray for sun and gentle winds, but Thredbo’s often blowy,
But it matters not the weather, be it rain or shine or wind,
Coz we’re GoldWing riders all of us, and we’re nothing if not thick skinned.

Saturday, 18 January 2014

January 18: I am for the Crown ...


I am for the Crown, in my wig and my gown, to a jury I make my address
My opening speech, I’m not here to preach, my case in plain words I express
I tell them about what is reasonable doubt, as I explain what the Crown says occurred
I explain what we’ve got, I tell them the plot, and invite them to see what’s inferred

I appear for the realm, as I stand at the helm, explaining of what did occur
Of the criminal act that is said to be fact, when he imposed his ill will upon her
I call witness one, to whom it was done; she relates her moments of terror
She cries as she speaks, it’s justice she seeks, she recites it all back without error

I act for the people; my case it’s a steeple, from a base rising up to a peak
Witnesses called, we are all appalled, as we hear of his long nasty streak
Her injuries shown, the jury all groan, as the medical evidence is tendered
Bruises and scrapes, all covered in tape, first aid it was quickly rendered

The jury goes out, is there reasonable doubt, will they return with a verdict for him
Or will they find he’s done wrong, our case it was strong, so the rest of his life will be grim
The foreman he stands, a note in his hands, a hint from the judge does seek
“How say you” he asks, "what’s the fruit of your task", and the foreman he begins to speak …

Friday, 17 January 2014

January 17: Demerit points ...


I could see you was a wanker, coz I seen the way you drove
When I saw you doing burnouts in your street in Wattle Grove
You looked like such a dickhead as you screamed around the bend
The poor bloke in the Beemer thought his life was at an end

I could tell you was a tosser, from the moment you turned right
The young girl in the Audi almost died of bloody fright
As you drifted from the inside lane out in front of her
At twenty two she thought she might be needing a chauffeur

I was sure you were a nutjob when I saw you on the phone
My only consolation – you were in your car alone
As you thumbed out a message as you bolted down the road
My thoughts turned to your Mazda and the hope it might explode

I knew you were an idiot when through the stop sign you did fly
You hardly even slowed to look at what was passing by
Your distracted concentration made you an object to avoid
I s’pose it’s too much to hope for, that you might be employed

I laughed my bloody head off as I saw you by the road
Stopped there looking stupid, as the traffic past it flowed
Searching for your licence so you could hand it to the cop
Who got you in a school zone doing 85 at three o’clock

I guess you lost your licence, six demerit points accrued
You began with only four mate, “red P plates to ya dude”
But I’m betting that won’t stop you, to you the law’s an ass
Your mum thinks you’re an angel and your girl thinks you’ve got class

But I was sure you were a menace when you later passed me by
Your stereo went “boof, boof, boof” as you glared me in the eye
But I’m safe inside my helmet, and I’ll leave you at the lights
Coz I’m a Goldwing rider and you mate aren’t that bright