Thursday, March 31, 2011

Excess Baggage!


Are you slightly overweight? Come on now! Don't be shy!
I suggest an exercise that you might like to try.....
1) Begin by standing easily then stretch out both your arms;
(Picture the lovely slimmer you, with all your many charms!)
Practise standing steadily; try once on the first day;
You'll be doing very well if you manage not to sway.
Increase your term of balancing until you feel quite steady.
You'll know when you're firm as a rock that you're definitely ready,
Ready to move up a notch to exercise number two,
Which is a little harder, dear; I admit that that is true.
2) (Remember that this exercise is scientifically planned!)
Find  five-pound potato sacks and hold one in each hand.
Repeat your balancing until you feel you've had enough.
I'm sure you're feeling healthier, slightly lighter and quite tough!
3) Now replace the five-pound sacks you've used up to this point,
With ten-pound ones, though they may make you ache in every joint.
After several days try larger sacks, the fifteen-pound sort works.
(Of course you feel a trifle tired with all these physical jerks!)
4)Work your way up with larger sacks, till you reach those labelled 'Fifty'.
By now you're slim and lissom and you're feeling pretty nifty!
Everyone you know remarks on your wonderful progression!
And as for you you're glowing at the end of every session.
You'll certainly continue and you know you wont look back!
Next put a small potato in the bottom of each sack!


We give it such a cosy little name,
As though sweetening it
Will make it less terrifying.
Then we give that very name
To a chocolate bar,
So that, by eating it, we can prevail!
The Milky Way.....
How about
Snow Path
Sprinkle Street?
Anything to cut it down
To our own dimension.
The reality of it
Is too overwhelming.
It makes us feel small,
When, of course, we're not!
Face it!
We are a dot
On a dot
Dependent on a dot
Among dots and dots and dots......
A star is a sun,
Not an earth-like planet.
We cannot see
What equates to us up there
Because it is too small,
Too unimportant.
Our sun is a nothing, too.
So small,
So insignificant.
Our sun!
That controls our lives!
Multiply our sun by
Two hundred billion
To gauge its importance!
And there are billions of galaxies!
But why bother looking at them!
They are probably no longer there!
Gobbled up by black holes
Eternities ago!
Then there's the little matter of the Universe....,
And all the other Universes
Outside the Universe!
And the neverendingness of it all!
To hell with it!
Let's have a Milky Way!


Wednesday, March 30, 2011



Keats was only twenty-six when he died! I've tried to honour him with an attempt at his style!


 Thy youthful face looked out upon the world
As though a life of length stretched out ahead.
And yet you faded e'er the bud unfurled;
A few brief years and, sadly, you were dead.
The age in which he lives must make its mark
Upon a poet's writings and his soul.
Thy life was brief, a quickly sputtering spark,
And we are left with part of the great whole.
And we, who follow after, living long,
Protected by great medicine from thy fate,
With extra years in which to sing our song,
Should produce poems many times as great!
Ah! But such works of art can never be!
Genius feeds upon life's brevity.



When I'm faced with a word like 'platitude'
I feel overcome with gratitude.
To think that I can have the latitude
To write with my normal rhyming attitude.
Verse that rhymes is out of fashion,
Though I enjoy it with a passion.
Wordsworth and Keats are cast aside
Where once they were a nation's pride!
Yes, I'm aware that rhyming verse
Is considered, by some, as rather worse
Than jingles in a birthday card!
So life for me is rather hard!
So, here goes, I'll do my best
To put my poecy to the test.
Take the same word and turn and twist it.
(Let's hope there are those who can't resist it!)
PLATITUDE (Blank Verse)

So say it
In your own words.
Let the untidy jumble
Fall from trembling lips.
Never use the words of others
To break my heart
Into a thousand jagged pieces.
Those words
Found in some other gutter.
Dredged up to placate me.
Copied from TV programs
And chickflick books.
At least let me have honesty,
Raw words,
Harsh words,
But newly minted.
Let them be honest
If nothing else was.


Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Lest We Forget


Does it really matter that it's gone?
After all, you know, we must keep moving on.
Everything that starts must cease to be;
That, of all things, is a certainty.
This was our R.S.L*. for many years.
It started after Blood and Sweat and Tears;
After the First World War when men returned,
Hopelessly shattered, scarred or maybe burned.
The RSL was the club where men could meet
And talk about the days of battles' heat.
Those who survived with, maybe, not a scar,
Could meet to have a chin-wag or a 'jar'.
In time it was a public place to be;
Part of our local small community.
It wasn't all that smart towards the end,
But it was a friendly place to meet a friend,
To just relax or have a bite to eat;
Or just say 'Hi' to friends from down the street.
Last time, I glanced up at the youthful Queen,
Who's gazed down so benignly at the scene,
And said 'Goodbye old Girl! It's time to go.
They're going to pull it down. You'll be laid low.'
The wreckers will arrive and you can bet
That everyone will say
'Lest We Forget.'
*Returned Servicemen's League.



Blake fancied a Ferrari when he was six years old,
And not the sort of Dinkie car a little boy can hold!
He knew he couldn't have one for at least a year or two,
So standing by a bright red one would simply have to do.
When we went to the museum, there was the very one,
Shining with the redness of a brightly setting sun.
I took a photo of him since photos were allowed.
I know he didn't own it but, my goodness, he looked proud!

Monday, March 28, 2011




Nature's full of wondrous ways that war against free-will.
A Mother bird is always drawn toward a yellow bill.
This sight, which leaves us unaffected, attracts her like no other!
She is compelled to flutter up, a tired worm-laden Mother.
The baby birds show no respect; they screech and nip and peck
Inside her beak , devouring her and leaving her a wreck!
'How odd!' we say 'That birds behave in such a curious way!
If human children behaved like that there would be hell to pay!'
Ah, but they do! When they are born we're utterly bewitched.
We even cope with crying, which is fearsomely high-pitched!
The baby may be ugly, with a newborn colouration,
But parents stand and worship it with utter adoration.
From that day on it rules us, it's beak open ever-wide
And we're forever popping little morsels deep inside!
For eighteen years we cherish it, though it consumes the nest;
With every little thing it does we're crazily impressed!
So never criticise the birds for we are just as bad.
(To understand this poem you must be a Mum or Dad!)

To the tune of 'Red Sails in the Sunset'


I'm Red Shirt the scarecrow!
I'm not a real man,
But I've got a purpose,
To do what I can.
The children have placed me
Out here at their school,
The little birds see me
And think I'm a fool!
My job is to flutter
Swing round in the breeze
Though people may mutter
'The poor thing hasn't got knees!'
I'm Red Shirt the scarecrow!
And I play my part
While standing so proudly!
A real work of art!

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Feet First


I've reached the age for carpet slippers,
Sad though that may be,
And I've never worn a pair of flippers
For flipping in the sea.
But this jolly craft, so blue-and-white,
With its man in red, mid-leap,
Was a very appealing jaunty sight,
As he headed for the deep.
As craft were jostling side by side,
On the waters of the Bay
I almost hankered for a ride,
And a flippered leap that day.


Remember Moira Shearer? Remember 'The Red Shoes'?
(In an era when the main film followed the 'Pathe News')
I remember it clearly, because of vanity;
When I was young it mattered what people thought of me!
And I was a girl who wore spectacles! Could anything be worse?
'Boys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses.'....the message was very terse!
I was asked out to the cinema (by whom I can't recall);
I only know I felt that I was heading for a fall!
I'd never get a cuddle in the back row of 'the flicks',
No-one would ever 'insult' me or get up to 'funny tricks'!
I had a choice ...'see or be seen'; it wasn't hard to choose.
I'd go un-specked and trust to luck I could pick up some clues!
So I saw the film as a whirling mist, although the tunes were pretty.
And I never saw the 'shoes' at all, which was really quite a pity!
As to the reason for my ruse, 'he' can't have been too thrilling!
I can't recall 'fulfillment' even though I was so willing!
So I never saw Moira Shearer; I never saw her dance.
But I still equate 'The Red Shoes' with that magic word 'Romance'.

Saturday, March 26, 2011



A work of art in progress.
A delicate careful touch.
The sort of shot that pleases
A Grandma very much.
An Easter preparation
All organised with care;
A little Blake in an apron
Sitting upright in his chair.
What an array of colours,
Everyone sure to please!
Lucky, lucky Grandma,
With such happy memories.


The time's flashed past since this picture of Max at the age of two,
When approximating words was all the speaking he could do.
He delighted in his 'mowo'; it was his pride and joy.
And everyone would chuckle as they watched the little boy.
His passion for lawn-mowers was much in evidence then,
And he'd mow his daddy's back lawn again and again and again!
Back and forth and back and forth he'd trudge for quite a while
Ending the whole procedure with a wide and beaming smile!
Not only that but a 'thumbs-up' that made everybody laugh
And rush to get their cameras to take a photograph!
Is it already so long ago? The time has gone so fast!
And the memories of Max at two are already in the past.
It's only just a moment since Max became alive
Yet now he's a chattering person and this year he'll be five!

Friday, March 25, 2011

Chaos Theory


I believe in Chaos because it seems to me
That turbulent and messy is how things are meant to be.
Take that wretched universe! Why don't planets match?
Why on earth do they vary so? Tell me; what's the catch?
Things created the same way from the same primeval dust
Must be much more similar; it's obvious! They must.
But no! They're higgledy-piggledy; some gaseous and some not;
A completely chaotic universe is what we've finally got!
So it doesn't really surprise me when things in my own life
Refuse to be ordered and dignified, but full of mess and strife.
I subscribe to Chaos Theory. Everything's so immense,
Unmatched, far-fetched and peculiar, that nothing makes much sense.
So, when his socks get lost in the wash, my husband should not get terse;
After all, I'm obeying a Law of the Universe!


Imagine yourself a mouse with this lovely yellow corn!
You don't feel particularly small, for that's how you were born!
Your 'hands' aren't tiny to you; they seem a natural size.
You look out onto a mouse-sized world with your lovely big brown eyes.
Of course, some creatures are HUGE; you think they call them men.
And TINY creatures, like ants, you step on now and again.
But a mouse-size is just right; it's the size things were meant to be
For, of course, the world was made for mice as anyone can see.
And this corn is the size of a hefty meal; you hold it in two paws;
You can chomp on it for quite a while, licking your lips, because
It was made this size for a mouse to eat whenever corn is in season.
Yes, the whole world is fashioned mouse-size for one particular reason;
Mice are the Lords of Creation; the world is correctly sized.
So if you find that Heaven's full of mice don't be surprised!

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Loud Limerick

supplied the first line


An old lady with spring her walk,
Had a voice which was more like a squawk!
When she shouted 'Good-morning!'
It was like some fog-horning,
And the people cried 'Don't let her talk!'*


The First Tuesday in November? Does that ring a bell?
If you are an Australian you'll know it very well.
It's the day the Melbourne Cup is run, the day the country pauses,
Forgetting Wars and Climate Change and other important causes.
At three o'clock in the afternoon the country hesitates,
Glues itself to the 'telly', draws in a breath and waits.
And then 'They're off!' is shouted and the horses start the race,
Pounding down the track they go at a quite enormous pace.
It's over in a moment. has your horse been a winner?
(Yes everybody's wallet's bound to be a trifle thinner.)
For every punter 'has' a horse. I choose mine by the name;
I haven't a clue about the 'form'; to me they're all the same!
So I may have lost a dollar, or I may have gained a bit,
But usually it's the bookies with the greatest benefit.
So this year as usual there will be the  get-together;
Where we all dress up in silly hats and brave all sorts of weather.
The gentlemen wear bow-ties, or even smart cravats
And some brave souls have even dared to turn up in their spats!
Here is my friend, Noel, as he was at the 'do' last year;
He must have won some money! He's grinning from ear to ear!



I'm off to lead a life of ease
On 'The Rhapsody of the Seas'.
In eleven days I will be back.
Blogging hasn't got the sack!
I've scheduled a poem every day
For the time that I'm away.
But Comments will not be appearing
As to The Barrier Reef I'm steering!
Farewell to all, but shed no tears!
Cruising may give me poem ideas.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011




A boring human baby doesn't really have much history,
I speak of the 'pink and fleshy, which is how we used to be.
But a jelly baby is different; its story is written down
And, in confectionary circles, it's a 'baby' of renown.
Jelly-babies were invented at the end of World War One,
To celebrate the fact that war was over, finished, done.
The 'babies' represented renewal; a brand new generation;
They were launched with quite a fanfare and every expectation. 
But production ceased in World War Two; sugar was in short supply
And 'peace' could not be celebrated when men were going to die.
However, their popularity continues to this day
And it seems that jelly-babies are surely here to stay.
One interesting footnote...... nearly fifty years ago
The Beatles adored the 'babies' and let everybody know.
So, in England, they were pelted with them when on concert tours,
By screaming fans, who added them to conventional applause.
When the Beatles went to America, jelly-babies were not known,
So the crowds threw jelly-beans instead, each one like a little stone!
They found this rather painful, and each gave a little yelp!
(Maybe they'd been singing that well-known ballad ......'Help!')


It seems to me the films of yore
Have a great deal to answer for.
They led us to expect Great Expectations.
I grew up thinking life would be
One huge Broadway Melody,
Set to music, with no complications!
I knew, one day, Dick Powell would come
And a heavenly choir would start to hum,
And soon he'd take my hand and sing a chorus.
And all the Waiters round about
Would join the song, without a doubt,
And all the other diners would adore us.
Or else some Busby Berkeley girls,
With rosebud mouths and careful curls,
Would enter in a sinuous formation,
They might descend some golden stairs,
In groups of three or, maybe, pairs,
And everyone would gasp in admiration.
While Fred Astaire would swoop and glide
And be there smiling at my side
Before he whisked me off to Gay Paree,
And, all the while, angelic choirs
Which every scene of love requires,
Would sing their songs of romance just for me.
No 'naughty bits', and no-one nude,
Just a romantic interlude,
And when a little girl is only four,
She tends to take the whole thing in,
 Not realising 'sex' and 'sin'
Are part of the life that, sadly, lies in store.
As I grew up into my teens
I waited for romantic scenes
But they were very rare and not inspiring.
Dick Powell never came my way
To say the words I'd heard him say
And noone did much swooning and admiring.
I came to terms, as people do,
With what is false and what is true,
But I never lost a sense of melancholy.
To think that it was all a lie!
But now I'm understanding why....
Florence Ziegfield!
You knew it was all  'folly'.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011


supplied the prompt.


Oh Moon! Thou shinest round and bright
Central to the velvet night.
And we, thy handmaidens, draw nigh,
Worshipping thee, Queen of the sky.
We are poor things that feebly glow,
Standing on stalks, transfixed, below!
Thy silver orb is oh so great,
We cannot hope to emulate
Thy fearsome whiteness shining down
On this, our shabby little town.
We turn our faces up to you
Trying to learn what we should do.
But we are in the power of men,
Switched on and then switched off again!
Oh Moon! Oh goddess! Cast thine eye
Upon thy handmaidens who.........try!


Newcastle, is a city that isn't widely known,
And yet it has attractions that belong to it alone.
Take Nobbys, once an island, till an artificial beach
Was built to keep the wild waves within reasonable reach.
This was in the days of sail, when many ships went down
Traversing the heavy surf as they attempted to reach town.
Now Nobbys is under discussion......should restaurants be built,
Leaving the historians with quite a sense of guilt?
Or should it remain a relic of the days of long ago,
Something that developers call backward-looking, slow?
Watch this space for a year or two then, maybe, you will see
What the outcome of this brouhaha will be eventually.

Alpha Male

supplied the illustration.


Angus McDee, that Alpha Male,
Before whom lesser mortals quail,
Gathered the people of his clan
And said 'I am a Mighty Man!
Shortly I will sally forth
To fight the Beastie from the North!
The people cheered, the people shouted!
The warrior's prowess was not doubted!
Angus cried 'I'm not afraid!
Of the toughest stuff I know I'm made.
The poor old Beastie has no inkling
That I'll despatch him in a twinkling.
See! Here I have my trusty sword,
With it's shining blade so sharp and broad.
And here I have my trusty dagger!'
(Here he gave a little swagger.)
'Then there is my trusty knife
With which I'll end the Beastie's life.
Not to mention my trusty dirk!
And now, goodbye. I'll get to work!'
The people cheered, the people yelled;
With pride their Scottish bosoms swelled.
He set off over the hills alone,
Weighed down by his testosterone!
The Beastie, which had for years survived,
Was waiting when our man arrived,
Pawing the ground and loudly snorting.
(The whole affair was very sporting!)
Angus McDee, the Alpha Male,
Didn't blanche and didn't pale!
He bellowed 'Which of us will yield?'
And held aloft his trusty shield.
His weapons sliced, his weapons slashed,
Loud and clear the weapons clashed,
They made a pleasant whizzing sound,
But the angry Beastie stood its ground.
The battle raged for half a day
With neither of them giving way.
The members of the clan awaited
Angus, with their breath all bated.
When he returned he began to wail
'Sorry! I only got the tail!'



Evening sunlight heralds night.
Shadows stretch before sleep.
The trees will stand guard in the darkness, alone.

Oh No!

                         Local Press


A Spelling Bee
Is not for me!
You get a word
You've never heard!
You do your best
To pass the test.
Is it silent-k?
Is it 'ay' or 'ai'?
Ow! That one's mean!
What's  a 'tureen'?
Mum's looking stressed!
I'm doing my best!
I hear the gong!
I got it wrong!
Then there's a vote!
I missed the boat!
This Spelling Bee
Is the last for me!



In every picture that I've seen
Ophelia looks neat and clean
Laid out in a tidy way
Unruffled by the river spray.
Always clutching to her heart
A bunch of flowers, works of art.
Nothing ugly, nothing crude,
Nothing of a morbid mood.
She's always floating with her face,
Still alight with warmth and grace,
Pointing upward to the sky,
Like Dresden China, smooth and dry.
But I have found this little gem
Showing the green weeds round her hem,
Showing her face all pale and wan
As it would be when life had gone.
Her hair is streaming out behind,
Her gown falls loose, all unconfined.
She is drifting on the tide
Like a corpse and not a bride.
The picture's morbid, but, for me,
There's a powerful sense of reality.


Not personal news today. I was very impressed when I saw this use of the Sydney Opera House 'sails' on TV today. The event is a YouTube concert. Musicians from round the world, having been auditioned on-line joining together to make music. The news is so full of doom and gloom that something like this is very uplifting by comparison.

Monday, March 21, 2011


has asked us to write about lies and deception.


New South Wales goes to the polls
In another day or two.
And, once again we're pondering
On the false and on the true.
Both sides accuse the other
Of lies, deception and such,
And we, the poor old voters,
Are not assisted much.
I keep hoping for a candidate
Who praises 'the other side',
And doesn't keep parroting the cry
"They lied! They lied! They lied!"
Why not give credit where it's due,
Or copy a policy?
A blanket smear (if there is such a thing!)
Seems devious to me.
Not all politicians are villains;
They start out meaning well,
And then that wretched expediency
Sets them on the road to hell!
They're merely muddling-along, my friends,
Exactly as we are;
If I found one who admitted it,
I'd hitch myself to his star!


Three aspiring detectives had to take a special test;
Only one of them would win by proving that he was best.
A profile like the one above was shown to Student A.
And he was questioned on it in a searching kind of way.
'How would you describe this man?' The Examiner first said;
'Can you tell that he's a criminal by looking at his head?'
'Of course I can!' said Student A.' His nature is quite clear!
I can see that he's a criminal! He's only got one ear!'
He failed, of course, so Student B. was put in the selfsame spot,
And asked the question.....was the man a criminal or not.
'He's a criminal undoubtedly! And I know the reason why!
Look! You can see it for yourself! He's only got one eye!'
So Student B. was failed of course; he left quite hurriedly,
And then The Examiner turned to speak to the Student known as C.
'Tell me about this man' he said and Student C. replied
'That this man is a criminal just cannot be denied!
He's wearing contact lenses and that's most incriminating.'
The Examiner was impressed by this and, after hesitating,
He said 'And how do you know that?' The reply? ' It's very clear!
How could he wear spectacles with one eye and one ear!'

Uninvited Guest



(A poem for children.)

I went to the Mad Hatter's Party.
My name is Filipo the Flea.
But though you may look
For me inside a book,
You will never, no never, find me!
I went to the Mad Hatter's Party.
And sat on the Mad Hatter's hat!
I jumped all around,
Without making a sound
On the table, the chairs and the mat!
I went to the Mad Hatter's Party
And nobody saw me at all!
You may look everywhere
But you won't find me there
Because I'm so terribly small!

(A Parody on the song 'Send In The clowns')

Isn't it fun!
Isn't it great!
Knowing the toil is all done!
Thank you to Fate.
This is Old Age.
Isn't it sweet!
Isn't it fine!
Knowing the work is complete!
Drinking the wine!
Turning the page.
This is Old Age!
Once I was young, long time ago,
Now the time hurries where once it seemed lazy and slow.
Making my entrance back then with a toss of my head,
'I'll hate old-age!'
That's what I said.
Isn't it rich!
Isn't it neat!
What a surprise finding life is still funny and sweet!
Still on the stage!
This is Old Age!
I'll continue to 'rage'.
This is Old Age.

Late Date

gave us the first line.


A fellow was terribly late
When he took his new girl on a date.
He arrived at eleven
When he promised 'Seven'!
I don't need to tell you his fate!


(An Acrostic)

Creativity is a joy
Only creators understand;
Pen and paint their constant joy.
Yet others can be underhand.
Rhyme or painting, sketch or tale
In truth reflect our very selves!
Grabbers mean a loss of sale
Hence fewer items on the shelves!
The product still belongs to us.
So that is why we make a fuss!

Split Personality

asks us to write about 'Free'.


Such a little word is 'free',
When it means 'give-away',
When it's a little nothing
For which we need not pay.
It's just a litte gimmick,
A ruse to draw us in,
Before the really serious part
Of spending must begin.

But such a powerful word is 'free'
When it means 'unfettered'.
When it comes to describing release and joy
It just cannot be bettered.
Four letters meaning soaring
Untrammeled, like a bird,
Or 'a little bit of nothing'!
A split-personality word!


How they got there in the first place I haven't got a notion,
But ten men and a woman were high above the ocean.
They were flying in a helicopter when the pilot said
'The engine's giving trouble! We'll very soon be dead
Unless you hang down from the craft by this very handy rope!'
So the ten men and the woman saw this as their only hope!
They were hanging from the helicopter, swinging in the breeze
When the pilot shouted 'You're too heavy! One must let-go, please!'
Then began the arguments; the men all felt that they
Were terribly important and should be allowed to stay.
The pilot bellowed 'Cut the cackle! We're really on the brink!
One of you must jump or else the whole darned lot will sink!'
So up spoke the woman 'It's been my lot in life
To make continual sacrifices, as Mother and as Wife.
I've always got up in the night to tend a child, and then
I've always let the largest portions go to feed the men.
I've scrimped and saved and gone without. I know my place and so
I think that it is right if I'm the one who now lets-go.'
Too late the ten men realised that they had all been trapped......
Not only did they raise a cheer...
Every one of them

Full Moon

                     Teri Sloat

Flowering in the dark blue sky
Up there with the stars on high,
Let your light beam on us all
Lest we stumble and we fall.
Magnificent, against the blue;
Overhead, yet near us too.
Only the sun gives greater light;
Night without you would not be bright.


Oh Virginia! Virginia! That you should come to this!
A tea-towel in your name! What degradation!
Surely someone, somewhere has been very much remiss,
Placing you in a domestic situation!
You'd rather be off 'To the Lighthouse' or to Sissinghurst, perhaps,
Or merely in your study, busy writing.
You'd surely find this travesty a really tasteless lapse,
Though we might find its nuances inviting.
Were you alive, I wonder what your attitude would be
If you entered Shirley's kitchen and espied
This item which speaks loudly of crass publicity,
Something I'm sure you just could not abide!
It's a very pretty colour, I think you would admit,
And at least your name is proudly on display,
But I feel you'd be quite haughty and purse your lips a bit
Saying 'Kindly throw the wretched thing away.'

Sunday, March 20, 2011

It's All In The Tone



It isn't just the words alone;
The trick is mastering the 'sarky' tone.
Practise with the words above,
But don't say them like words of love!
Of course, the 'AND' is pretty telling,
Making the message quite compelling.
And the key-word, 'AREN'T', must be emphasised
So the hearer knows he's been chastised.
So much said with so much brevity
Without the slightest hint of levity.
She doesn't even need to say
'You haven't lifted a finger all day!!!!!!!'

Quasi is a robot who's able to converse!
(I wonder, can he also write silly things in verse?)
He's an anthropomorphic humanoid! How's that for a title?
Of course he has to be programmed! That's absolutely vital.
He's a lot clever than us because his googly eyes
Not only register pleasure, anger and surprise,
But they also change their colour according to his mood!
Compared to his our human eyes are really rather crude!
His eyes can swivvle up and down, the lids can move as well,
So he can be quite expressive when he has a tale to tell!
His antennae have been programmed in the manner of dogs' ears;
He can wiggle them according to the various things he hears.
His speech has been recorded, so this aspect is slim;
We have to gauge expressions if we want to speak to him.
I think that he looks rather sweet, in a robotic way.
But 'Give me a real-life squeezy man!' that is what I say!

A New Chapter

asks us to use the first words from the final paragraph of
 Crime And Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
"But that is the beginning of a new story"


Every dawn is the new beginning
Of a chapter about to start!
By the end you may be winning,
Or you may be nursing a broken heart.
See your life as a special story,
With you the author each day,
Sometimes finding power and glory,
Sometimes finding there's hell to pay.
Enjoy the characters you'll be meeting,
Defeat the boredom and frequent strife;
The tale that's told may prove quite fleeting,
But it will be a slice of life.
Be the villain or be the hero!
Speak your dialogue loud and clear!
No good story speaks of zero.
Yours may be 'the book of the year'!
Psychologists say that people who see their lives as an on-going story have good mental health.



Picture the Explorers, viewing this vast terrain!
With heat and flies and snakes to face and blinding storms of rain!
We stand here at the lookout, with cameras on show,
Forgetting Blaxland and his men of long, long ago!