254. Happy New Year!

(ABC WEDNESDAY letter 'X' is number 253.)


HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Another year has passed and  gone;

Once more it's time to travel on.

Maybe we view the year askance:

Will it lead us a merry dance?

The year that's gone was not the best,

But still, so far, we've passed the test.

Think of all that we've come through!

We're pretty feisty, me and you.

Everything will turn out fine

(We hope!) in the coming year, Oh-Nine.

Extra! Extra!

AVAAZ

This is an organisation dedicated to lobbying the powers that be, often with success.

Google it to read what it has to say about the present idiocy.

AVAAZ!

Children scrapping in the yard!

Shaking hands can't be that hard!

'You started it!' we hear them cry,

Over and over as years go by.

Had they known in '48

That their decisions would cause such hate,

Would they have organised the set-up?

Now it seems there will be no let-up.

It was hard for Jews not to have a home,

Always having to drift and roam,

But, now, are they any more secure,

Is Israel safe and is it sure?

Out of the frying-pan they went

Into a fire of discontent.

It's clear the hatred goes too deep;

Who wants a peace no-one can keep?

What a way to start a year!

Faced with enmity and fear!

Strewn with bodies, wreathed in smoke.

Is this the future of which they spoke?

Can't both be adult? Can't both be wise?

Haven't they heard of compromise?

253. X-it!

A little early this week because of New Year.

'X' is this weeks' letter for ABC WEDNESDAY! Not the easiest! But not too bad if you cheat!


My equally dishonest 'X' photograph can be found on my PLUS blog.


X-IT!

Mr X has become redundant!

 Tell him that he can go!

He isn't needed round the place!

As this little rhyme will show.

It's easy to fics what's broken,

It's easy to mics cement,

And sics is a simple number!

So it's time the letter went!

If I'm waiting for an ecsray

It may be my turn necst!

I'll feel ecstremely nervous

And quite a bit perplecsed.

But the letter 'X' won't help me!

I'll just feel rather vecsed

That it keeps on popping up in words

And ruining the tecst!

For sending people kisses

It's very over-rated!

I vote that wretched 'X' should be

Totally

ECSTERMINATED!

ECSIT 2008!

It wasn't ecsactly great!

But still we ecsisted!

We wouldn't have missed it!

I wonder! What's necst on our plate!

Sweet Fruitcake!

SWEET FRUITCAKE!

I'd rather BE a Fruitcake, than just eat one.

You can recognise a Fruitcake when you meet one.

A Fruitcake's slightly dotty,

In fact a Fruitcake's potty,

Even though you very often meet a sweet one!

A human Fruitcake sees life slightly dented,

Sort of curly at the edges and fermented.

A Fruitcake is quite loopy,

But rarely sad and droopy,

And it's odd the way a Fruitcake seems contented.

So spurn those fruitcakes filled with nuts and butter,

Though they make your greedy heart go all a-flutter.

Concentrate on human kind

And I'm certain that you'll find,

That you're better off with a crazy living Nutter!

251. Angelic Attitudes.

                                                     Sellier

This is the SIMPLY SNICKERS choice for this Sunday.


(My SUNDAY SCRIBBLINGS entry is 250.)

These two angels seem so far removed from our knockabout world! Yet they have inspired me to recall an oration poem I wrote about a very different sort of 'angel'.

ANGELIC ATTITUDES

See the angels, calm and mild,

Removed from all that's coarse and wild.

See the wing that's folded neatly;

Imagine voices singing sweetly.

Feel that wave of deep emotion

Wafting over land and ocean!

*

That takes care of the words required.

But with something else I am inspired.

Talk of angels and I recall

The most unusual of them all.

See below verses I penned

When a certain life came to it's end.

Although a Sceptic, I wanted to say

Something meaningful on that day.

*

Betty died about four years ago. We both belonged to the same little musical group that toured Nursing Homes. It was called The Lemon Drops. I have now left the group and the leaving has made me look back on past performers. Betty was a one-off, a completely unselfconscious, larger-than-life, untidy, genial woman who made magic for the old people. Her specialty was singing 'the old songs', about the bush and the outback; songs the old folk could sing along to, or, at least tap their feet. How they loved joining in 'Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport!'! I am not a believer, but I wanted to write something for Betty's funeral, something which would make her laugh. I don't know what the Minister thought about it,

 but it made the other Lemon Drops cry.

 Here is my tribute to Betty Bohenik.

(See Betty on my PLUS blog.)

 THE ENTERTAINER

I've seen pictures of angels:

They play harps and they dress all  in white.

Their long hair is golden and silky

And their diadems shine in the night.

They have soulful and delicate faces

And their silken gowns reach to the ground,

And they fill all the air with their voices,

In melodies sweet and profound.

Each angel resembles another;

They line up as a heavenly choir,

And their golden wings flute out behind them

With the feathers a-shimmer with fire.

Yes, I've seen pictures of angels,

But now things are not quite the same,

For now there's an unusual angel, 

And everyone here knows her name.

This angel is dressed in bright colours,

In yellow and purple and red.

There are corks hanging off her akubra

And a stuffed bird up high on her head.

Her largaphone's beating the rhythm

Of a rollicking bush-ballad air,

And a plastic snake's circling her shoulders,

Its tail tangled up in her hair.

And her theme-song's 'The Entertainer'

Playing as she takes her place

With a bright cheery word as a greeting

And a smile on her genial face.

And all the pale angels are laughing

For laughter is her stock-in-trade,

And they clap their slim hands and applaud her

And forget to be holy and staid.

For this angel has taken to Heaven

The jovial joy of her art,

The gifts of her good-natured clowning

And the warmth of her generous heart.

So, though we're deprived of her presence

And her comedy's with us no more,

If we listen we'll hear angel-laughter

As Betty walks in Heaven's Door.

Notes: an akubra is an Australian hat; a largaphone is a long stick with bottle-tops loosely nailed into it; it is hammered into the ground to make a jangly rhythm.

250. I Believe

This is my response to the SUNDAY SCRIBBLINGS prompt 'I Believe'.
(My SIMPLY SNICKERS entry is number 251.)

I BELIEVE.

I believe that LIFE is just another word for God. 

And LIFE just IS..... there's no two ways about it.

I can't believe a deity created all that's here.

He may have done, but I, sincerely, doubt it.

"How did everything get here then?"

I hear my friends inquiring.

"Why is the world so great and good,

Beautiful and inspiring?"

If I respond "Well, who made God?"

They answer, without blinking,

"Don't be silly! God just IS!

Whatever are you thinking?"

They can accept that God just is

From here to Eternity.

Can't they see I believe the same,

But God is called LIFE for me?

Universes without end

Stretch on into infinity,

Eternal LIFE is bursting forth

Devoid of all divinity.

True, LIFE cares not for human woes,

But neither does it taunt us.

Pure chance rules over everything;

There are no ghosts to haunt us.

I'll be snuffed out when my LIFE is done;

I have no expectations.

And so I have no useless dreams,

No wild anticipations.

"You can't be very happy, then".....

My friends view me quite sadly.

They ignore the fact that I worship,

Deeply, truly, gladly..

The world is all I've got, you see,

So I treasure every day,

I worship the air, the sky, the trees,

The people along the way.

I'm living in a miracle,

But one that I know I'll leave.

I speak of LIFE and not of God,

When I say 'Yes, I believe'.

249. Star-Sign Unions Three.

Since there are over 70 variations on this theme and I only intend to publish one a month on this blog I am now publishing them more regularly on a new blog called "BETTER OR VERSE" reached from this page.


After all, there must be millions of couples about to tie the knot who are waiting for my approval
 (or, as is often the case, the opposite!)


COINCIDENTALLY, WE HAVE JUST HEARD OF A BRYANT ENGAGEMENT!
(See details on my PLUS blog).
I don't know their stars, but I'm sure they're auspicious (tongue in cheek!)

 

ARIES with GEMINI

Wow! I'm full of envy now! Your partnership's a glory!

Of all the tales in mating's books, yours is the Great Love Story!

Both spontaneous, full of life, bountiful, attractive!

Your sex lives will (how can I say?) be very, very active!

Gemini has a roving eye, but the body follows rarely,

And Gemini knows that Aries will react if used unfairly!

Both of you love adventure. The great wide world awaits!

And best of all, these lovers, can be firm and friendly mates.

You'll both thrive on an argument and love each great conclusion!

Like two bolts of lightning there will always be a fusion!

Intelligent, that's both of you, ingenious as well,

But Gemini's flirtations may involve 'kiss' but not 'tell'.

Aries makes the decisions; Gemini lags behind

But, in the end, it works out well as you will always find.

You're intelligent, and popular; my goodness! You're the works!

But restlessness may haunt you both; dissatisfaction lurks.

You've got it all and yet you yearn for even greener grass.

Hang in there! For those feelings, as the years go by, will pass.

Keep hold of the friendship! That will see you through.

And how the world will envy

The old age of you two!

Extra! Extra!

GOODBYE EARTHA KITT!

Goodbye Eartha!

Who knows, maybe

There was time for one more

'Santa Baby'!

As Time Goes By

AS TIME GOES BY

I thought I'd remember, forever,

Those 'milestones' of which people spoke!

Weight at birth, then first word, and first friendships!

Forget them? That would be a joke!

I thought that affection preserved them,

Every detail I'd know from the start.

There was nothing on earth could erase them,

Those 'milestones' engraved on my heart.

But, forget them I have, I admit it,

Their statistics now pass in a blur.

And yet at the time, they engulfed me,

Causing such an emotional stir!

Now sometimes my middle-aged children,

Who're parents themselves by this time,

Request a statistic to guide them

And my blank look is almost a crime!

They ask for 'first words' or 'first teacher'!

They ask me 'Did I act this way?'!

I look like an uncaring Mother

For I've simply got nothing to say!

They slip through our fingers, those moments,

Which seemed set in concrete back then.

And I mourn, in contemplative moments,

For they'll never be babies again.

247. Cybergreetings!

CYBERGREETINGS!

And so we meet in cyberspace,

All members of the human race,

Some from there and some from here,

Some who're far and some who're near.

Gathering to celebrate

An ancient and a special date.

Be devout or have a ball!

Happy Christmas to you all!

246.Wonder.

The ABC WEDNESDAY letter this week is 'W'


My 'W' photograph can be seen on my PLUS blog.

WONDER

I wonder at the wonder

Surrounding a little story!

A baby born so long ago

Now imbued with pomp and glory.

I wonder at the wonder

If perchance it should be true.

And I wonder at the ways of man

And what belief can do.

I wonder at the wondrous words,

Tale-telling down the ages,

And I wonder at the power of books

And their reverential pages.

I wonder at world-wide beliefs,

Passed down through generations.

Widely accepted everywhere

Without any reservations.

We live in a world of wonder

Whatever's false or true,

And it's a wonder in itself.....

What wondering can do!

P.S. Advert for PLUS

I've just placed a selection of photos on my PLUS blog. These are, chiefly, for my godson, Mike, who is due to visit us next month. I want to whet his appetite. But you're welcome to take a warming peek.

ADVERT!

If you're snow-bound, freezy-toed,

Sliding on an icy road,

Visit PLUS where you will see

Warmth being sent to you from me!

(O.K! I admit, I feel quite smug!)

But have fun beneath your cosy rug!

From

Brenda (Rinkly)

245. Hot Diggity Doggerel.

HOT DIGGITY DOGGEREL!

What is a Writer? I hear you ask.

Who is this person and what their task?

They may be living in garret or hovel,

Writing the perfect Australian novel. 

They may bend their brows over timeless prose,

Through which the course of history flows.

Or maybe they write for Mills and Boon,

With men who smoulder and girls who swoon.

They may be producing a heavy tome

Concerning the goings-on in Rome,

With inspiration from the past;

A cavalcade with a mighty cast.

On the other hand  there's the essay-writer

Whose works are briefer but never slighter.

Memoirs are writings that seek to capture

That well known 'first, fine, careless rapture'

There are writers of speeches who use the pen

To spur things on in affairs of men.

Who use their language to make that spin

That lands us all in the mess we're in!

And then there are  diaries we daily write

Recording our lives before sleep each night.

Although they have no literary merit

They're something others can inherit!

So much for prose! Now we come to verse,

Lyric and long, or short and terse.

There are those for whom the thoughts run deep,

Whose passions shudder and terrors creep.

These words are chosen with lengthy care

And the depths of  souls are then laid bare.

A hint of a rhyme would be out of place

And a rollicking rhythm would be a disgrace.

And then there's the poet we know full well:

The higgledy-piggledy and pell-mell.

Whose simple doggerel  merely hops

From rhyme to rhyme until it stops!

Yes of all the many different bards

Let's remember the writers of greeting cards.

The writers of la-di-dah and chant

Whose words you send to your favourite aunt.

Those poets who write 'the holly berry'

And neatly rhyme it with 'Joy' and 'Merry'.

With Happy Birthday! Glad New Year!

Anniversary,  Festive Cheer!

Lots of Luck or Congratulations!

Even, at times, Commiserations!

Brand New Baby! Hole in One!

Happy Retirement from Everyone!

Although their words aren't smouldering, yearning,

They do help this sorry old world keep turning.

And now it is the holiday season

I write to greet you!

A very good reason.

244. Bah! Humbug!

I belong to a Speakers' Club. Our current topic is 'Bah! Humbug!' Writing the speech gave rise to the poem!


BAH! HUMBUG!

I've been asked to make a speech and 'Bah Humbug!' is the title,

And something rather seasonal is absolutely vital.

Of course, we're all familiar with that old Dickensian phrase;

That  Scrooge expletive rubbishing Victorian Christmas Days.

Being assigned this topic has made me think a bit

And I have to say, in many ways, 'Bah! Humbug!' seems to fit!

My up-bringing was Church of England, very, very staid,

So Christmas was a bit subdued, not a big parade.

Three times to church on Christmas Day, and carols, only, sung,

And the all-insistant melody of church-bells being rung.

We had a special meal, it's true and small gifts were exchanged,

But my father'd find the Christmas of this century deranged!

I turned my back on organised religion as I grew;

I simply felt I could not find the proof that it was true.

But a lingering reverence remains for beliefs that are sincere,

And I even envy other folk who hold religion dear.
I'd  never sneer at people who find church makes them secure;
It must be nice to feel one's future's certain and quite sure.

And there's nothing wrong with Festivals, or even spending cash,

Or buying Santa brooches with little lights that flash;

Or getting drunk at parties and flirting with the boss.

But it hasn't got a lot to do with Christ upon the Cross.

And I feel for True Believers as they find their faith demoted,

With cheap and cheerful Xmas cards having Christian phrases quoted!

It pains me hearing 'Rudolph' sung straight after 'Silent Night'.
And 'Jingle Bells' with 'Hark the Herald Angels'! That's not right!

Angel-fairies, flashy Crib-scenes, anything that's bright and crass,
Mixing Christ with Jolly X-mas, cheap old cheerfulness en masse!
I feel for all the truly faithful, seeing their story treated so.
All that whizz-bang arrant nonsense when they just need candle-glow.

I'm all for a Family Festival, maybe at New Year,

A great big Get-Together, with folk from far and near.

And if Spending Big is part of it, well, it helps the economy;

We could pile up New Year presents underneath a New Year Tree!

The truly Christian Christmas could be a quiet affair,

In which we non-believers wouldn't even need to share.

But the mad conglomeration in which now we all take part

Pains me because, if he were here, it would break my father's heart.
He'd feel that something special had been horribly debased
And he'd miss the gentle reverence which now has been replaced.

Here's to a Family Festival, flash presents, a big feed!

But let's not mix it up with someone's truly Christian creed.

BAH  HUMBUG!

P.S. Catch-up

(Scroll down for 'Scribblings' and 'Snickers'.)

CATCH-UP

'I'll write a poem every day'.

That's what people heard me say.

But now I find, I must confess,

Saturday's put me in a mess!

I find I've published three at once.

That makes me an awful Dunce.

This is an extra to put things straight.

An odd little rhyme for Sunday's date.

Late!

LATE!

What if Santa Claus is late

On that most important date!

If he oversleeps on Christmas Eve

He'll miss the time he has to leave!
What if he gives a grumpy groan
And says 'I want to be alone!'?
What if he simply shakes his head
And says 'I can't get out of bed!
Leave me for just a moment more!'
And then turns over and starts to snore!
What if they tickle him and shake him,
But simply, simply cannot wake him?

He needs to be an early riser

When he's the Christmas supervisor!

 Think of all his preparations!

Maps of all the different nations, 

Weather forecasts to peruse,

Checking every local news!

Laying out his red regalia

(A thinner version for Australia!)

Taking toys down from the shelves!

Dealing with excited elves!

Making sure that each one packs

Toys in correctly-labelled sacks!

Working-out the wind-direction!

Doing a final sleigh inspection!

Counting reindeer! Is one missing?

Giving his wife a final kissing!

If he oversleeps on Christmas Eve,

He'll never be ready in time to leave!
He's got to be cheery, alert and bright,
To deliver the toys at dead of Night.

If he's only delayed by an hour or  two

It just won't do! It just won't do!

What will all the children say

If he arrives on Christmas Day?
The children will see, in a bright blue sky,
Santa and his sleigh go by!

If he arrives then, for goodness sake,

The little children will be awake!

They'll see him then! That will be tragic

And ruin all that Santa magic.

It's too dreadful to contemplate.....

Dear old Santa being 

LATE!

242. Artless.

                             Paul Klee


SIMPLY SNICKERS suggested a different Paul Klee painting but this one suited me best.


See 243. for SUNDAY SCRIBBLINGS entry.

ARTLESS

I know very little of modern art;

I'd better state that at the start.

But here's a work by the great Paul Klee

That well and truly satisfies me.

The colours merge and mystify,

The shapes and placings please my eye.

It's called 'Magic Garden', well so be it.

If he says it's a garden I can see it.

If he had called it 'Secret Spell'

I could have recognised that as well.

The merging colours really count,

But the title? Not a large amount.

Abstract art has a life of its own,

The name of it need not be known.

I taught little children in my day;

They daubed in a really childlike way,

Yet, sometimes, serendipity

Would present a 'work of art' to me.

The colours chosen, juxtaposed,

The splashes, blots, the white exposed

Would form a painting I would keep

For, truly, it could make hearts leap.

Nature itself makes works of art

Accidentally, with each part

Blending, swirling, crossing, climbing,

All with delectably casual timing.

There is no purpose and no title,

Just the vitality is vital.

Here is a work by...... a computer!

No methodology or  tutor!

An accidental set of clicks

Played this most wonderful of tricks.

And, yes, I find it pleases me

As much as the work of the great Paul Klee.

The experts will label my views untimely.

They'll say only humans paint sublimely.

They'll say Paul Klee was a mighty master;

The accidental a disaster!

But how lucky I am that I can see

Beauty in chance AND in Paul Klee!

P.S. 'Anonymous' will respond, for sure!
That comment I will be waiting for!

241. Christmas Upsidedown

This parrot is perched in the branches of the Christmas Bush. We use this tree as part of our Christmas decorations.

 CHRISTMAS UPSIDEDOWN

In New South Wales at Christmas Time

The summer weather is sublime.

And all the world is in it's prime.

On Christmas Day.

And stars that twinkle in the night

Shine silver soft and burning bright

With an incandescent summer light,

A grand display.


Some folk may miss a winter clime,

Recalled from some old nursery rhyme,

And some far-distant childhood time

When holly grew,

And frost and snow bedecked outside

And sleighs and skates were there to ride

And all the pretty flowers had died

And no birds flew.

But though we don't inspire the bards

And we admit that our back-yards

Don't look like scenes on Christmas cards,

On Christmas Day

Who would exchange this golden glow

For greying skies and swirling snow,

And icy winds that roar and blow?

Not me! No way!