Poem – My bird

The bird seemed to follow my roving eye
As he walked beyond where I lie
He seemed to know, with eye I spy - 
Sitting there that day.

He never seemed to have a care
No matter for how long I stared
Or how controlling was my glare
He was there, it seemed, to stay

He gave out a little chirp
Like page from a book, like an excerpt
Like a song performed at a concert
He flapped from chair to chair

He was regal in nature, and replete
He'd had a little bit to eat
He walked with ease, with those clawed feet
As I got the camera out

I realised the camera was obsolete
My phone would do better, would always beat
The phone's quality, the camera couldn't meet
Of that I had no doubt

The bird stood atop the chair, to reflect
I told him; 'stay there, don't neglect'
Attention sent, ne'er deflect
To bird sitting on the floor

The bird, he turned, to his right
Knowing the bird on the floor was within sight
He waved his wings, as if in flight
Before he moved away

Yet how was I to know he was a 'he'
He could as well have been a 'she'
So long as it was either 'he' or 'she'
'He' must be one or be the other 

Is this a poem or a diatribe?
For until now I've not described
What he (or she [or it]) looks like
And how it came to be...

I happened to be sitting in the rain
Under cover, (heat was hot), the day the same
Noiselessly the day begane
And then continued on...

As bird arrived, with clawed feet
'Hello', it seemed to say, 'we meet,'
Though nothing was said when we greet
We merely doffed our 'hats'

Black and white, with long neck
His eyes, no matter - oh, what the heck!
I still don't know, not now, not yet
Perhaps I never will

But somehow this bird seemed a friend
The way he'd look and turn his head
It's hard explaining, even when
I knew he wouldn't stay

He looked at me, right in the eye
Turned his head from left to right
Never went out of my sight
Well, not now at least, 
Not yet

Looking me right in the eye
Makes me wonder; 'Heavens, why?'
I didn't push, I didn't pry
To find the colour of his eyes
That day when we met

No matter whether rain or shine
With me laying, sitting, there, he's fine
Never once did he whinge or whine
We talked 'bout little things

'Bout the simple things in life
Weather, health, things of that type
Simple things bring pleasure, like
Bring happiness and fun

He's my bird, I hope you see
Black and white, he sat with me
Not away on some pine tree
But close to where I lay

My bird finally flew away
I said; 'bird, I'll see you another day
Even if I'm far away - 
I'll know just where you are.'

I returned and saw you 'round the bend
Beaked, clawed, winged, my feathered friend
We greeted, like only we 
Could comprehend - Our story - 

Close the book...

The end.

Poem – I knew too

I knew that I didn't know
What I'd never known 
Before

I didn't know I'd always know
What I'd had in store

I knew you didn't know
What I didn't know 
You knew

I knew I'd always know
You'd never know
What I didn't know - 
Of you

I hadn't known you'd known
I didn't know you knew 
I knew

But I'd always know that
What you knew of me
Was what I knew of you - 
Too!

Poem – Oliver

Oliver strolled to the highest mountain
To seek out a magical sight.
It was a mountain greener than the greenest of pastures,
It spoke of goodness and light.

From the mountain-top Oliver saw the cliffs,
Far to the west they stood.
On top a four-leafed clover found
By the wee man wearing a hood.

A clover was lucky, four-leaves to be sure,
So rare that to seek and to find
Would give good luck for time immemorially,
Attached to the finder and to his kind.

A wee little leprechaun has special powers to search
For what others find barely at all.
Faith, hope and love, a three-leaf clover can give
But the fourth leaf keeps one enthralled.

Oliver the shoemaker can hide the clover away
In his shoe, and there it will stay
Until others attach themselves to the little green man
And they try to take it away.

Then the others ask after the leprechaun’s gold,
Pots of it they think he does have.
“You’ll never take it away,” the little man says.
At the end of the rainbow it’s safe.

But the wee little man could not hide the truth,
A lie he never could tell.
So he moved his pot of gold from the end of the rainbow
Down to the water well.

The Jester had listened, intently he’d heard
All that had come from the ‘crowd.’
He had nothing to add other than harmony, verse
And with that he sang this out loud;

“Roll over, roll over, that four-leaf clover
Become the leprechaun’s friend
Roll over, roll over that four-leaf clover
Can’t wait to see Oli’ again.”

the true story of Santa…

Once upon a time there was a man with a very big beard. He was a very jolly man. One day in his older years he thought it an idea to wear only red and white at Christmas time. And with it came a very big black belt.

As time had passed, his beard had grown and as he got older it turned white and fluffy. He thought it a good idea to grow his beard long and bushy, and as he did his moustache grew too.

Children in his village said ‘hello’ to him as he passed them by in town. Sometimes he would even stop and chat with them, especially during holidays. He brought a smile to their faces and good cheer to their homes and families.

The village was cold during the holiday period, and so he felt the need to wear a big, warm, woolly jacket, with matching trousers, of course, for fashion was important to him as warmth. He soon began to wear his woolly jacket everywhere he went. He even bought one for his wife. One Christmas she bought him big black boots, just to finish off his fashion ensemble.

‘Wear these when you go out,’ she said, giving him a big kiss on his cheek. ‘It makes perfect sense and will keep you from cold.’ ‘Thank you Mother,’ he said to his wife, for that is what he called her. He kissed her, and as he did his wife was tickled by his bushy, snowy beard. His new boots fitted perfectly, and as he walked through the village spreading Christmas cheer, he did so safe in the knowledge he would always be warm and cosy, inside and out.

The jolly old man kept a reindeer in his back yard. He lived at the North Pole and rode the reindeer through town. His back was mildly arthritic and his feet didn’t carry him as far as they used to.

Soon, the reindeer was as well-known as the jolly old man and people would cry out; ‘Hello, Rudolph,’ as he rode through Town Square.

Due to the cold weather, Rudolph developed a red nose and the villagers started referring to him as ‘Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer.’ It became a sign of affection in the village, and Rudolph seemed to like it, as he tilted his head to the left or right and accepted with warmth the strokes the young villagers would give him.

After more cold winters the jolly old man decided to share his good cheer with the villagers by climbing roof-tops on Christmas Eve. How he got up there nobody knew, as they never saw him climbing and they never saw him come back down, but word around town was that he climbed down the chimneys of the cottages in the village and left presents for the villagers to open on Christmas Day.

He gained a reputation throughout the village as a kind of Robin Hood with a difference, for he gave to all, whether rich or poor. Only those who had behaved poorly in the village would miss out on his kind-heartedness.

Some heard he gave only to children and that may well have been so to start, but as time went by it became clear he gave to their parents too, because he would leave them a note with the present he left – a card at Christmas, with an inscription wishing them a ‘Merry Christmas.’ Some of the well-behaved children’s parents would leave something for him in return, like eggnog or milk, with a whiff of something stronger, to say ‘thank you’ and give him the energy to keep going all through the night.

The jolly old man became a ‘father’ of sorts to the villagers and as his good cheer spread further, to neighbouring villages, the villagers from his home town started to give him a name – they would call him ‘Father Christmas.’

There was a great deal of love amongst the villagers for Mr. And Mrs. Claus, they were like the elder statesman (and woman) of the town. Yes, Father Christmas’ real name was Claus – Nicholas Claus in fact. The religious amongst the villagers thought he was a saint so they called him ‘Saint Nicholas.’

But for those who rarely went to church but still loved to take part in Christmas celebrations, they simply called him ‘Santa.’

And so began the story of Santa Claus, a story of a man whose kindness knows no bounds.

 

oxymoronically-speaking

Never before, once again

Away, at home, forever

Sincerely dishonest, as was before

Always, maybe, never

 

An honest liar, stubborn tolerance

To liberally legislate

Hedonistic stoicism

Accepting of difference and irate

 

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Out of sight means you’re out of mind

Forgetful of those not in our sight

What you see is all there is to find

 

Energetically sedentary,

A soldier of poverty I found

Giving to the wealthy, taxing the poor

Cruel to be kind, such thoughts abound

 

Do unto to others before they do unto you

Treat others as you’d treat yourself

Parental supervisory neglect

A librarian who leaves books on the shelf

 

A serious joke, an honest thief

Pain is required for pleasure

Happily sad, alone together

Sun proves we’re in for nasty weather

 

My day was busy doing nothing

We were ridiculously sublime

Clearly confused, alone together

Oxymoronically defined

 

Entitlement

I have a plan to build on.

I know that it will work.

It means I’d rely on others

And on leaving Back ‘o Burke.

See, I want a kid, I know I do,

One of my very own.

But I need to find a fella

Who’ll not leave me, not disown.

So I went a lookin’ for my fella,

And I found one, handsome, awesome, cool,

On match.com. I wrote a novella

And I was not thought a fool.

His name was Ed, or ‘Handsome Hunk,’

Edward Brown it was in full.

The kinda guy who’d stay around,

More ‘pussy-cat’ than ‘bull.’

I thought; “Ah-ha. I got him,”

Reigned him in I did.

I’d opened a can, a can o’ worms,

I’d taken off the lid.

Within the can was a family man

Who’d earn something called a living,

Whilst I brung up my baby girl,

Good and proper, no misgivings.

Now, his family, I made them me own,

I was enchanting, really nice.

They’d be my fortune five hundred family,

So I acted sweet like…,well, once or maybe twice.

They called me ‘Darl,’ ‘Sweet pea,’ and ‘Honey,’

I felt part of their inner family.

“Better learn their name,” I thought

(for the record, it was Hamley).

They were so keen to bring me in

As part of their extended troup.

Almost made me feel guilty, like

When I took off with half their loot.

Not really, just fiction of sorts.

See, they’d give me lots of things.

It’s funny what being nice can do,

It’s funny what it brings.

But I wasn’t finished,

Oh, no, not yet,

I had so much more to do.

I had to apply at the Government Office

For that Social payment, as ya do.

The Government, it gives a hand-out

What’s referred to as an entitle-ment,

Where no-one even has to work,

It sounds absolutely Heaven-sent.

I’m pretty sure ‘Social payment’ is what it’s called,

And I know it does ya lots a good.

Better than goin’ out to work,

Answering phones, Jeez, I never would!

I’d heard so many people say,

In the form of a story, of a fable,

“Ya won’t look back girl, be the makings of ya,

Just don’t tell them you are able

To work a day or maybe two

Or they’ll have ya servin’ tea

At the local cafe, ‘Jimmy’s’ I think it’s called.

Luv, it wouldn’t do for me.”

They told me that I could get thousands

If I just played my cards right.

Dan ‘is name was, behind the counter

Handed me forms, in blue and white.

“What did this mean,” I wondered,

As I sat there lookin’ dim.

I got no idea what to fill out first,

So I acted on a whim.

I went for Sole Parent Pension

Cos it brought me the most cash.

Family Tax Benefits were a given

So through that I put a dash.

“Congratulations,” Dan said to me,

As I handed him my forms.

“You’ll hear from the Government, officially

But I’ll tell ya what’s the norm.”

“We encourage a big hand-out

To people like yourself,

Left alone by ya partner,

Left up on the shelf.”

I wasn’t ’bout to tell him

Well…you know…,the truth

If I did he might take me pennies back

Give others my hard-earned loot

‘Cos even though Ed, my man

Lived…,well, just around the corner,

I deserved that pension, that I did!

Not my neighbour, Wendy Horner.

Dan said; “We must protect ya,

That’s what the Government is here for,

To fork out cash to those in need

Not like it was before.”

“Before the Great Depression, see,

Ain’t nothin’ like this welfare

Each man (and woman) for themself

No Government could care.”

On and on, this Dan went

Talkin’ ‘bout the past.

I wasn’t really listenin’,

Wanted to get out really fast.

“God, this Dan,” I thought, “what’s he about?

He’s givin’ a history lesson.”

I stood there not takin’ it in

And not feelin’ like confessin’

I didn’t have a clue like

About anything he said.

It made me tired, gave me headache,

I should have been in bed.

But it sounded as he walloped on

Like Government’s day had come.

The story told of Government

Makin’ money on the run,

Off the taxpayer, payin ‘is tax (and mine)

On payin’ more than his fair share,

From them to me and others too,

Spent on those who couldn’t care

That they were bleedin’ dry the workin’ man

Who toiled all day long is all.

Hard-workers like Tom, and Wal…,and then Dianne

So sods like me, we wouldn’t fall

Below what the Government called a poverty line,

But me, I couldn’t see it.

Not likely to, it ain’t exist,

Was made up half the time.

I was a bit quizzical, like,

I’d taken money, other people’s.

Just ‘cos I didn’t want to work.

It sounded rather feeble.

Just ‘cos I could, was accepted practice

To make money off the system.

Encouraged I was, and better off too,

It was too hard to resist ’em.

And so my plan had begun,

Money was as good as in my purse.

What’s good for them is good for me.

Let’s face it, could have been lots worse.

What good for me is the welfare system?

Better in my hands than anyone else’s.

What good for me is that Money Tree

If I’m restrained from my impulses?

What good for me is social welfare,

Built on a bureaucrats obsession?

If I don’t get my share of it,

It may lead me to recession.

the Fire Chief…

The Fire Chief relaxed

As he sat down in his chair

He’d just come home from watching his son play soccer

“I can’t believe it,” he cried aloud, with a touch of flair

“My bloody son has had another shocker.”

“That boy,” he said, “I trained him,

Took him up the park

To play, and kick, and catch all day long.

It never sunk into him that foot went before the ball,

I always knew that there was something wrong.”

The Fire Chief, he reclined in chair

Good and bloody proper

Before he heard a siren near

Too late for him to stop ‘her.’

Brring, brring, it went, brring, brring again

The red phone woke him from his slumber

Realising his wife was not at home

He hoped ’twas a wrong number

“Alright, I’m coming,” he shouted at the phone

Knowing no-one could hear him.

But the phone went dead, “Damn it,” he said

“Bugger, Jesus, f_ck ‘im.”

The Fire Chief’s face had turned a frown

He now knew somethin’ wasn’t right

“Another bloody summer,” he thought

“They’ll need me there to fight.”

So the Chief hopped in his car that sunny day

And whizzed down the main street playing

‘Jerusalem’ on his radio

As he thought his villagers weren’t staying.

“Shit. There’s a fire in my village,”

He could see the burning embers

I must get down to help,” he cried

“Or it’ll be like last September.”

‘If I don’t take charge the villagers

Will think; ‘Where was our Fire Chief that day?’

And I’ll live to regret it,

I may as well just walk away.”

“Johnny, tell the villagers I’m on my way

To save them from their grief.”

“What’s that? You can’t hear me?

For God’s sake man, it is your Fire Chief.”

Watch and act alerts were now

Being posted on TV stations

Stay if you must, leave if you can

As the villagers lost their patience.

Arriving in t-shirt and shorts

The Fire Chief made a dash

For the change rooms where he soon got dressed

Ready for the ‘bash and crash.’

The Fire Chief was now in charge

Dressed in Fire garb

“Let’s work as a team

To save villagers’ homes,” he roared

“Like those of George and Debbie, Bill and Barb.”

As the day progressed, the bushfire

Attracted TV in all its glory

They’d come with newscasters galore

To create a big news story.

“I could be a star,” the Fire Chief thought

“It’ll be my fifteen minutes of fame.

I must get an interview with Seven, Nine and Ten

Before the fire starts to wane.”

“Fire Chief,” the stations asked him,

“What next for the red embers?”

“We’ll fight the good fight, toil through Hell we might

So we don’t revisit Red September.”

“Ahhh, yes, Fire Chief, that was Hell-ish for sure

We lost a few that day.”

“But think back further, to times of yore

And all we could do was pray.”

As Fire Chief stood, tall and straight

Talking to reporters

His team put out the fire, ‘Hoo-ray’

Giving not a quarter.

So the fire waned, saved by the bell

The Fire Chief’s team were fearless.

“Fire Chief, you’ve done well,” the networks said,

“Your efforts have been peerless.”

The Fire Chief said; “Thank you Holy Father,

Thank you Jesus Bloody Christ.

Now I can have a beer,

Better still, make it whisky, and bloody-well on ice.”

He’d saved the villagers after all (or so he thought)

His wife, she was so proud.

But that whisky, “One’s fine, maybe two,”

Any more she’d not allow.

The Fire Chief took all the credit,

His face appeared nation-wide.

He ‘thumped his chest’

“Man, I’m the best.”

Yes, he suffered from false pride.

Brring, brring, brring brring, The phone rang,

This time the private line.

“Fire Chief, is that you? It’s the PM here.

What’s that old man? Oh, I’m fine.”

“We want to share our love around

And throw your villagers buckets of money.

A hundred million, maybe more.

What? A joke? Man, this ain’t funny!”

“I’ll be making an announcement on Seven, Nine and Ten

That my government will spend a hundred mill

When will we disburse it you say? I know not when,

But my binding promise is to say we will.”

The long hot summer, well, it cooled

Global warming had failed the nation

The whole episode, the villagers thought

Had been one bloody big sensation.

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