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.
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!
Taxpayer Thomas’s wife would be on tenterhooks
Wondering what her husband’s response would be
Would he be dejected, shout and yell
Or would he dance and prance with glee
He’d toil away at a job disliked
To pay his family’s way
So he saw his refund as his hard-earned reward,
‘A reward for my troubles,’ he would say
‘Not just your way,’ his wife would add,
‘But paying for those that cannot work,
Like John & Debbie Tucker,
And poor old Nelson & Mary Burke.’
Tom’s finger pressed against the page,
Against the envelope
Pushed it open, took out the note, and said;
‘S**t, it’s gotta be a joke.’
‘Honey,’ his wife said, excitedly,
‘It’s not like you to be obscene.
What on earth can be wrong?
What can it possibly have been?’
‘Look what they’ve done,’ Tom replied,
‘They’ve added a chart to my refund check.
It tells me where my tax dollars go.
Oh, what the bloody heck?’
By now Tom’s wife was adamant
Her husband had gone quite off his tree.
He hadn’t spoken like this before,
Not since his days at sea.
The chart, it was before him
In colors blue, yellow, red and green.
Twenty-three thousand went on welfare,
He wished he hadn’t seen.
Seventeen billion dollars a year
Went on Disability alone.
He’d seen it in the paper
Yesterday, when he was home.
Tom, (well, the taxpayer in him at least)
Threw the paper to the floor,
And said to himself (as you do);
‘I can’t take it anymore.’
His wife was always careful
To see the other side.
‘How could people less fortunate
Get by,’ she said, she sighed.
‘The welfare system exists for a reason
And we taxpayers pay our share.
But at the end of the day,’ Tom’s wife thought,
‘Someone has to care.’
She quietly put her arm around
Her husband’s shoulder, on a whim.
She knew she could mould him.
Tom’s wife could feel him releasing
All his inhibitions and frustration.
He was no longer concerned, she felt,
About the social welfare of the nation.
At last Tom had come around,
He could see the other side
Until next year (when his refund came again)
And he’d have a hissy fit, and cry.
Happiness found in day at Fair,
Worry left at home.
Sadness knocking on neighbour’s door
As Concern’s left lying on the floor.
Excitement joins Happiness at the Fair –
Anxiety lost along the road –
Sleeplessness found in another’s bed –
Loneliness’ is Gloom – Gloom sees red.
Delight joins his friends at Fair,
Tiredness found in nursing home.
Obsession lost in shopping mall,
Misfortune, clumsy, took a fall.
Delirium hops on round-a-bout,
Happiness, Excitement, watch and shout.
Pessimism, ill at home, sheds tear –
Apprehension crashes into Fear.
Exhilaration on slippery slope, enthused,
Delight, Delirium watch on.
Displeasure sick, taking pills,
Misery rugged up warm, with chills.
Paradise at Fair, mates join the throng,
Harmony sings a happy tune –
Optimism enters their world to share
Their pure amusement at the Fair.
At home they live in ‘nother world –
Hope lost in spate of Sorrow, Gloom
Whilst the friends at Fair, from swing, get down
They laugh aloud, run into Clown.
Paradise yelled out; ‘We’re home, at last
At the Fair we had a blast!’
‘But we saw Phobia along the way.
He jumped the fence to get away –
Misery loves company, they say.’
Around the house was the smell of Fun
Displeasure, Pessimism, Misfortune, gone
Cloud went too –
As Sunshine shone.
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.”
Words, they drew me unto you
An easel read to me
A letter, brush
A page, a stroke
Delight, to write
A bird, in flight
A feather on the floor
In front of crowd
More come through open door
Drawn to share
On easel is a portrait
Words on page
Organise, arrange and sort it
Comes from the heart
Healthy life, its own prescription
Whence we derive
To reach a new conclusion
Reflect and reap and sow
Anxious they are to grow
Brush in warm and soapy water
The place to start
Says mother to her daughter
Words and pictures
Sister walks with brother
(Need both to show)
Can’t have one without the other
Every day I live
Is yesterday for me
A life half gone – but
Yet to begin
Every day I live
Is tomorrow, newly found
A life, renewed to
Live without, within
Today’s tomorrow now
A life I dreamt
But never thought
Three days ago
Lived out three times
I’m living tomorrow
I feel that I have
Before I lived out
Like it never would be
Now every day I live
I’m sure to shine
Today, has become
I thought I heard her flap her ears
That day when I awoke
I thought I heard her by my side
That day when I first spoke
I thought I felt her lick my face
‘Get up, the day’s begun’
I thought I saw her wag her tail
But there was only one
I thought I felt her paw my arm
Hanging out the side
I thought I heard her almost purr
There by my bedside
I thought she rolled over on her back
Was it my imagination?
I thought she smiled, that soft way she does
Must have been my re-creation
‘Hello, my friend, how are you today?
Did you have a good night sleep?’
And when I realised she wasn’t there
It almost made me weep.
The world beyond the fatal shore Not like the world in days before Danger we could glean Danger knows not, of hill-top morn' Or life of old-country, worn Hard yakka it had been But enough of hills, enough of grass You knew young love would never last Life offers so much more Past the dip, a rip, a mystery That drew me to the fatal sea And back toward the shore The shore knows not of ocean, sought And knowing not of what it brought And nil of harbor fore Leave harbor fore, explore beyond Hurry, scamper, go, abscond And travel far from here Travel further than you thought To see where sacrifice, it fought To see where life was fear Breathe in the air, forget your task Keep filtered with a hip, a flask Forget about your chores That he would, with glass and lid Atop the glass, filled to the brim Life brought a world, unknown Fit as a right old mallee-bull The curtain, not yet down to pull Excitement on the phone It drew him far, drew him away His stomping ground was shaken, frayed He'd never be the same It drew him, portrait-like, with pride Stomping ground to other side Alive he felt, again Breathe it in m'lad, it's now or none Or you'll never know where life begun Or, oh, to where it lead Suck it up, m'lad, m'son In mug or cup, you know you won A life by family creed That creed be one of loyalty Not God-forsaken misery We ought to feel alive So, feel free to stay or go afar Keep our secret in a secret jar Enjoy, be happy, that you are For God's sake, let us thrive!
Johnny met Ted at the local pub down the road
Where they’d talk of the issues and news of the day
After a few beers they’d chat with Des (and his hat)
Who’d tell them; “Don’t worry, it’ll all go away.”
Johnny was worried he’d lose his house quite at random
With rising sea levels and his house by the ocean
“Don’t talk such crap,” said Ted and Des (and his hat)
“All you’re doing is causing commotion.”
“Everyone needs something to believe in ya know,”
Said Johnny to Des, at the bar having a beer
“Mate, they just want their face to be seen, fifteen minutes on screen
They play on everyone’s fear.”
“But this summer, Des, it’s been so bloody hot,
I know it’s climate change, global warming that’s caused it.
It’s gotta be true, everyone’s sayin’ so too,
And I believe ‘em, for no-one abhors it.”
“It’s all sensational fury from Greenies like John & Deb Bury
They say every day will be forty degrees
They tell reporters we won’t survive, heat will kill us, we’ll die
And don’t forget about those rising seas.”
“I shoulda bought up the cliff,” poor Johnny retorted
“There was a warning in 1980.
Back then it was thwarted, thank God it aborted
But not before the drowning of old Tom Delaney.”
“There’s so much said,” Ted rejoined, “and not enough read
About where tax dollars are goin’, ya know what I mean?”
“Too right,” Des said from the bar, fillin’ up another beer jar
“Our money’s flowin’ down the river upstream.”
“Have ya read ‘bout that wind tree? They think it’s for free
In Paris it was out on display.
Guv’ment subsidies fund it, the pollies are for it
But it energises nothin’ and no-one today.”
“Just seems to me they say lots but do little
While spendin’ wads of taxpayers’ cash
Cash I could use to take my wife on a cruise,
Have a bit of the old splash and dash.”
Six months later Johnny met Ted and Des at the local again
To discuss news of the how and the why and the when
The sea levels were down, but Johnny came with a frown
Greenpeace had joined up his 18 year-old son, Ben.
“If ya not red at eighteen you’re not part of the scene
Ya can’t join the protesters when marching
But if ya Liberal by fifty you’re seen to be swifty
The obscenities can be quite disarming.”
That summer Johnny measured the tide, but it failed to rise
He’d worried for no reason at all
Then he got the call, to give some, give all
But declined with a smugness of sorts
It was time to retort what the Greenies had thought
Next election he’d watch their vote fall.
Twelve months later, temperatures, they had abated
Officially, or so we were told
But the lefties maintained the rage, no matter their age
Like the Revolutionaries of old
Forty-five years passed by, and with good reason why
Climate change was carried away in a coffin
The science proven wrong, a hoax, no longer attracting a throng
Like the boy who cried wolf once too often.
As warming the planet had faded (activists now feeling jaded)
Political correctness, it didn’t survive
It was finally over, as hard as finding that four-leaf clover
If only Johnny, Ted and Des were alive.
How happy they’d be, or so it would seem
To see lefties flowin’ down river upstream
They felt detested, the anti-argument festered
Uncared for, untidy, unclean.
As the story began, a new page (a new fan)
The old story could no longer offend
Though climate change had been swarming, without any warning
It was dead, buried, cremated! The end.
Postscript: Please read this as it’s intended, as satire.