We Don’t Want That!

We Don’t Want That!

Violence is a poor excuse

No winners there!

To be avoided and condemned

But a divergent point of view

Heated discussion!

Maybe disapproval!

Or opinion that’s not kosher,

That might get someone in a stew!

 

Bring on the silks and defamation

And let’s not forget the Government

They’ll bring you into line

With either a hefty litigation

Or you’ll be looking for a new job!

Yeh, that one works every time

 

Isn’t that what an insult is?

A comment that upsets someone.

Are we to live without insults?

Always believing that we are always right?

No disagreements?

Life without debate?

 

Then goodbye to democracy

Hello facial recognition, Border Force,

Facebook likes and CCTV

 

And a phone that sends uncalled-for messages

From whom?

Where’s my privacy?

 

Yes welcome to the matrix

Come and join the queue

We have genetic engineering

To produce what we desire

Guided by big brother and the media

As to what we should aspire

Something normal that fits the mould

Certainly not something different 

Or dare I say bold.

 

Which raises the question

Just who is “we”?

 

Enough! No stupid questions!

Work hard and put your head down

Don’t think too much 

Get your degree!

Bullshit!

It’s not who you know , we’re always told

Isn’t this the land of the free?

( my computer just told me the on-line editor is going to F*ck up my layout and “help” me

by “improving” it)

Bullshit!

Forget about a fair go!

In this land of  i-phone isolation

Where only a few seem to get ahead

(Unless you’re” in the know”)

Of their appalling situation

And when the time comes, vote sensibly

No party-line voters please!

Think!

 

 

 

What Next?

                           The USA have lost their way

They’ve lost their moral compass

                           The alt-right will be here to stay 

                           As long as they can Trump us

                           But surely the next time they vote

                           They’ll all turn out “en mass”

                           To try and find a President

                           With at least a bit of class

                           And tell the current President

                           To pull his pinkies from his ears

                           And face the music gracefully

For the last four disastrous years

                           And may they realise that it’s up to them,

                           Let’s hope they see the light

To speak out on Election Day

And neuter the alt right.

We Don’t Want That!

Violence is a poor excuse

No winners there!

To be avoided and condemned

But a divergent point of view

Heated discussion!

Maybe disapproval!

Or opinion that’s not kosher,

That might get someone in a stew!

Bring on the silks and defamation

And let’s not forget the Government

They’ll bring you into line

With either a hefty litigation

Or you’ll be looking for a new job!

Yeh, that one works every time

Isn’t that what an insult is?

A comment that upsets someone.

Are we to live without insults?

Always believing that we are always right?

No disagreements?

Life without debate?

Then goodbye to democracy

Hello facial recognition, Border Force,

Facebook likes and CCTV

And a phone that sends uncalled-for messages

From whom?

Where’s my privacy?

Yes welcome to the matrix

Come and join the queue

We have genetic engineering

To produce what we desire

Guided by big brother and the media

As to what we should aspire

Something normal that fits the mould

Certainly not something different 

Or dare I say bold.

Which raises the question

Just who is “we”?

Enough! No stupid questions!

Work hard and put your head down

Don’t think too much 

Get your degree!

Bullshit!

It’s not who you know , we’re always told

Isn’t this the land of the free?

( my computer just told me the on-line editor is going to F*ck up my layout and “help” me

by “improving” it)

Bullshit!

Forget about a fair go!

In this land of  i-phone isolation

Where only a few seem to get ahead

(Unless you’re” in the know”)

Of their appalling situation

And when the time comes, vote sensibly

No party-line voters please!

Think!

Saturday Arvo At The Flics

Saturday Arvo At The Flics

 

 

 

You can forget your church on Sunday

Or watching footy kicks

Us kids just couldn’t wait

For Saturday arvo at the Flics

When the noonday sun was highest

We’d all queue up for  our ticks

Except for Max

No dogs allowed unfortunately

But that was o’right by Max

For he knew his limitations

You could always count on Max

To never rise above his  station.

So sadly minus Max

We’d descend into the hall

And breath in that spacious musty smell

Of carpet, and Lysol

 We’d settle in our seats

As the lights would slowly dim

The curtains would creak open

And  the projector would kick in .

A flickering beam of light

Would strike upon the screen

And those scratchy countdown numbers

Would reflect back to our team

Filled with muted expectation,

For the hall was dark as night.

First we’d rise to greet the Queen

Then at the Cinesound News we’d stare

But even blind Freddy could surmise

That weren’t why we were there.

We’d come to see Road Runner

And that stick of dynamite,

Whether Tonto saved Lone Ranger

On Universal’s backlot, black as night

While Mickey Mouse , brought down the house

And Goofey shucked & gawed

And Popeye fought with Bluto

Over the slinky Olive Oil.

So’d come intermission

Dazed, we’d walk out in the sun,

 Wander down to Fotios’s

Buy a malted milk and discuss the fun

Seated in a wooden booth

Surrounded by  wood veneer

Beneath a scene of Tropic Splendour

And a greasy fan that scythed the air.

Till it came time to go back

And catch up on the main show

That longed-for feature film

Starring Bogey and Garbo.

And content we’d leave the flea-house

Where waiting Max with the gyrating tail, I’d greet

Happy to do it all again

At the Saturday flics next week.

Happenstance

Happenstance

Chance and circumstance

Select our fate.

One wonders if our choice had changed

What other circumstance

Might have therein reigned

Against the shackles of relentless time

As the apposite slips from our grasp

And having passed on

Is forever lost,

Sealing our fate,

Both yours and mine.

The Night Horse

Stars in their millions shimmer

Across an inky jet-black plain

Disturbed only by the wind and lowing cattle

As they quietly chew their cuds and then

 

A snapping branch or bird screech ,

A fallen limb or lightning hit

Spooks the bull,

Makes him bolt

The herd following in a fit

 

At an ever quickening pace.

The stampede’s on the run

On this windswept moonless night,

The thundering has begun.

 

John ,

Lanky with bowed-out legs

From years spent on his horse,

Swings into the saddle

As he lets out a curse.

“I’ll head off the bull!

Get after them damn cattle!

 

Hooves thundering through the grass

Galloping on uneven ground ,

Fallen branches , rocks and stumps,

The night horse brings them round.

 

Seeing what no other horse can see

Leaping over hidden stumps

Overtakes the panicked bull,

The leader of the herd,

Turning them upon themselves,

With pressure on the flank

‘Til they’re running in a circle,

Slowing down and calmer now.

The stampede’s course is done.

 

Thanks to a horse that’s sure-footed,

Can see well in the dark;

A horse that’s like no other

When the herd is on the run.

 

But for the breeze in trees and grasses

Everything is calm

And  John can get some shut-eye in

Before the morning sun

For they’ll have to be rising early

To get some droving done.

 

Millie

She was prim and short and proper

Was Millicent Mary Moon

But the locals just called her Millie

She was the backbone of Yeppoon.

 

Whether sorting goods down at the Op shop

Arranging flowers for the church,

Baking cakes for market stalls

Or helping neighbours in the lurch

You’d think she had no time left at all!

 

But she always found a way 

With a kindly little word;

Always dressed so very neatly

And as lively as a bird.

 

If you needed someone to talk to,

She’d sit down and take a chair.

Take a moment to hear what ailed you

And reassured you just by being there

 

That everything would be okay.

Not just with empty words,

But thoughts and suggestions

That would help to save the day.

 

Yes a fountain of care and action

Was  Millicent Mary Moon

And they all thought kindly of her!

She was the backbone of Yeppoon!

A Dog’s Life

A Dog’s Life

 

 

A Covid silence envelops our streets

 

Deserted , peaceful

 

Giving pause for reflection

 

A dog in fear , submissive on its back

 

We wait for the numbers to fall

 

Don’t get too near

 

Wear your mask

 

Time passes so slowly

 

Tired of our screens

 

Weary apprehension replacing our dreams

 

Remembering back

Last Round at The Pub ( update)

You may think I’m talking drinking

Savouring Guinness or a beer

But that’s not what I be thinking

Ay, I wish you could be here.

To hear the lively music

As Paddy starts to squeeze the box,

Sets his Squeeze-Box reeling

Boy, they are a lively bunch.

 

Helen starts a strumming

                   Music starts to fill the room,

And Tony’s plucking banjo

Picks up on the tune,

Chris on fiddle, Mark on spoons,

And others join

The growing throng.

 

Flutes,tin whistles and mouth organs

And Irish drums as well,

Uillean pipes and a piano

Join the ever-growing swell.

 

The reel  keeps getting louder,

Rhythmic , frenzied in its pace,

And kicks down to a lower key,

A wave spilling its white lace.

 

The music starts to swell again,

Getting faster all the while

Fingers dancing on frets , keys and holes,

Feet jigging time as well.

 

It’s a bit like with a symphony,

They’re all smiling upside down.

                   Playing music’s serious business

And can cause a soul to frown,

 

‘Til it comes to a crescendo

And stops.

 

There’s no’ut that we can do ,

But clap and shout  and share the moment

With what we’ve just been through.

 

Well they’re going to pull the old pub down

It is  the Corkman’s knell

There’ll be no more clinking pots and small talk

No more music here as well ,

No more shooshing the bar patrons

To hear the odd poem or two,

 No more dancing, singing ballads ,

Just the noisy wrecker’s crew.

 

I hear they’re building something

Where the Corkman once did stand,

Maybe an administrative wing or apartments

Or something equally grand.

 

But if I should pass through

 Its white corridors

Under a sterile white-light glare

I wonder if I’ll hear ghostly echoes

Of those who once were there.

 

Is that a reel or banjo playing,

Or Jim or Mark  about to sing,

Or Paddy on his squeeze-box?

 

 

Naaa,

 

 Oi  must be hearing things.

 

Well a couple of years have passed

And we’re playing at the Jar

 

The asbestos dust has settled

We haven’t moved very far

The Corkman site lies empty

With hoardings now in place

Thanks to the developers

The bottom-feeders of their race.

 

For they pulled the pub down

One weekend

When no-one was around

Despite heritage protection

They raised it to the ground

 

And the site is now in limbo

And the silks have come to joust

Nothings going nowhere

Until the silks have  worked it out

Ay

It’s a sad , sorry situation

And we’ve come to rue the day

On that weekend, years ago

When developers came to play.

 

 

The Chairman

It was the fifthtieth anniversary of our Club

 Everyone was there

 And we were honouring a member

 Who had recently done himself considerable damage

 Coming off a bike at speed,

 Now in a Nursing Home, unable to manage;

 Giving him an award for he all had done

 Before his new life-course had begun

 

 

As everybody moved to their seats

 We headed for the Chairman’s circular table

 To claim ours

 And found they looked out at the windows

 Not at the stage

 

Doing  a quick appraisal

 I switched the name tags

 Without joining the dots

 So that  our new seats looked to the stage

 And the two people for whom they were meant,

 Alas, had our old seats facing the windows.

 But such was my intent.

 

 The dots fell quickly into place

As they came and were introduced

 For they were the guests of honour,

 The wife and daughter of the gentleman in question

 Such was not my intent.

 

 

They sat down

 And I had to confess what I had done

 They did not seem to be  upset , maybe shocked

 “ Fish out of water” stunned

 

 My wife seemed happy enough

 With my adjustments

 But oblivious to the consequences

 

 

 

I did not offer them their seats back

 I was beyond absolution

 What kind of act is that?

 

The Chairman asked what had happened to the seats

 I told him the sorry tale

 He raised an eyebrow

 But did not judge

 It seems he just needed to know

 What had happened to his seats.

 

 Some acts are just beyond the pale.