Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Pumpkin Pathos

letter 'P'


I sing of the pumpkin,
So golden of hue,
Which wakes in the meadow
All sparkling with dew.
He knows that he's ready
And fatly mature.
He'll end up as dinner
Of that he is sure.
Imagine the shock
When he's carved with a knife!
It's not how he thought
He would exit this life.

His mother had told him
He'd be on a plate,
And he had been, secretly,
Proud of this fate.
He knew he'd be tasty,
He knew he'd be praised,
And he knew that for this
Useful task he'd been raised.
I sing of the pumpkin
Who's really surprised
When he finds as a human

He has been disguised.
They've chopped and they've gouged
Till he looks like a man!
He hadn't expected 
This change to the plan!
When someone lights a candle

Inside his carved shell,

How the pumpkin reacts

It's not easy to tell.

But suffice it to say

(And, I beg you, don't mock)
Our big handsome pumpkin
Is in for a shock.


Losing love is like losing life;
The pain of it twists like a knife.
Everything single thing he said
Writhes and pierces in your head.
You feel that you cannot go on,
Because your Only Love  has gone.
You're completely devastated;
When he said 'Love' was it then he Hated?
Has it all been a pretence?
Nothing's making any sense.
The thought of death is in your mind;

So sweet, so soft, so dark, so kind.

Death, which could take the pain away

And, at the same time, make him pay!

How he'll suffer when he learns
That you've gone to the land of No Returns!
Maybe you'll hover above his head
And hear his response to the sad words said....
'She's killed herself! Oh no! Oh no!
Why did someone so lovely go?
She was an angel! I see that now!
I'll repent for ever! This I vow!'
You'll have had your revenge. You'll have saved your pride.
In the course of which, of course, you've died!
I was a young girl long ago,

So this sad scenario I know.

This is a message I send in rhyme;

'It'll get better, given time.'

Punish him by living well.
Play-acting can often break a spell.
Pretend his hateful words weren't spoken
Pretend your heart was never broken.
Go out and act a happy part;
Then watch the healing process start!
In months, or, maybe, in a year
You'll forget you ever shed a tear.
Suicidal thoughts will have truly waned;
Instead if losing, you'll have gained.
You'll be involved in your Plan B
And Lover Boy will be......

Tuesday, October 30, 2012


provided the illustration


There's a time in all our lives........
Before we're grandmothers and wives.......
When weather hasn't any power,
Be it deluge, be it shower.
As we age we start to grizzle
About the dampness of the drizzle.
We start complaining about the breeze
And how it's whipping round our knees.
We squabble over the allocation
Of the umbrella's situation.
'Hey! Mind my eye! with those blasted spokes!' ......
And, believe me, we're not making jokes.
But there are times when we recall
That weather didn't count at all
In those long-gone days of sweet romance
When all the raindrops did was dance.
Even the cold rain of December
Felt like a benison, I remember.
If we felt damp, and water trickled,
It didn't chill, it merely tickled.
And then we laughed and laughed together,
Sharing the big joke of the weather.
These two will, one day, be so staid
That rain will make them both dismayed,
But, just for now, soaked to the skin,
It's a perfect climate that they're in.

(A Fable)

An Elephant and an Eagle chanced to meet one day.
Said the Elephant to the Eagle 'Why do you look that way?
Why have you mighty wings that beat and let you rule the sky?
How come you are the King of all that great big realm on high?'
Said the Eagle to the Elephant ' It's because I am the best;
Very much superior to you and all the rest.'
'Oh no!' replied the Elephant ' I am of much more worth
Because I rule the creatures that are living here on earth.
My strength is truly wondrous; I could crush you with one blow.
I am superior to you. I think you ought to know!'
They argued and they argued about who should be the King,
The creature on Terra Ferma  or the creature on the wing.
They wrangled and they wrangled  and they almost came to blows
Till they both said 'This is silly! Why should we two be foes?
Let us combine our attributes, then all will be aware
That the mighty Eaglephant is King on Earth and in the Air!'
And so the Eaglephant was born, in truth a mighty creature
An Elephant with Eagle's wings, a most unusual feature.
But it was one that could not fly because of the great weight
And, in the jungle, it could not move! Such was the creature's fate!
Time and again the Eaglephant tried to run and soar,
Testing its equipment till it could try no more!
Exhausted, collapsing on the ground, it admitted its defeat
Admitting that an Eaglephant is an easy thing to beat.
So one went back to flying and one to stomping round,
Both of them magnificent, in the air or on the ground.
The moral of this story is  'Be happy with your lot'.
Or else you may lose even that which you thought you had got!

No Escape!

The theme is Halloween; I chose Witches


How terrible to be a witch
In the days of the ducking stool!
Say something out-of-line
And a swift death was the rule.
When one was strapped in the ducking-stool
It was only a matter of time
Before one died a dreadful  death,
Whatever was the crime.
The stool was held out over water
And the witch was dunked right in.
If she died that was certain proof
That she'd committed a sin.
But, if she lived, it was equal proof
That witchcraft had saved the day,
So the 'witch' was taken and burnt at the stake
In a truly horrible way!
'The good old days' ? I think not.
Nowadays were much more free
And you can cast your witchy spells
With equanimity.

                                          Newcastle; NSW


Sailing into my home port after a week on the ocean,
I felt an unexpected joy that was sentimental emotion.
Newcastle isn't fashionable, it's full of industry,
And it's really quite peculiar that it means so much to me.
Growing-up in English prettiness, then living in London Town,
With a stint in glorious Cape Town, truly South Africa's crown,
A middle-sized city Down Under, designed for hard work and trade,
Surely can't compete with Sydney, which wins every accolade!
But sailing into the harbour, I rejoiced in the pleasant views,
And, most of all, in the blues and blues and blues and blues and blues.


Nearly all my pee-esses seem to involve food! Yesterday a group of us met to celebrate The Fifth Monday. I have instigated this, being President of the Probus. We normally do things on Mondays, but a few times a year there's a left-over Monday, a fifth one in the month, so I thought we could meet for lunch that day. We went to The Burwood Inn on this occasion and we enjoyed the fod and the company.


Image: Satellite image of Hurricane Sandy at 2:30 p.m. E.T. on Monday.



Every so often they come along.....

Wild and raging storms,
With rain and wind! It's Natures wrath
In all its many forms.
We think we're so important
And yet we have to quail
As roofs are blown off buildings
And cars are wrecked by hail.
At the moment New York's suffering
And the city's in our thoughts.

This will be a mighty storm
According to reports.
Soon it will be over
Skies will clear again,
Rubble will be cleared away
And all signs of rain,
But for a while well remember
That we are far from strong.
And then we will forget it
Until another storm comes along.


To those of you in milder climes
These flowers are not exotic,
And labelling them as something rare
Is really idiotic.
But where I live in New South Wales, 
Down beside the sea,
Pretty little Springtime flowers
We very rarely see.
We have our jacaranda
And our wattle's golden bright
And the curtains of wisteria 
Are a truly lovely sight.
But cowslips, bluebells and the like
Are something rich and rare
And so we travel to the Highlands*
To see them growing there.
* The Highlands of New South Wales!

Submarine Sensation




Oh Jellyfish! Thou haunts the deep,
And, similarly, when I sleep,
Thy tentacles enfold my brain
Wafting from thy black domain.
Some people fear the squirming snake
And hissing sounds that serpents make.
Rats that nibble human toes
Disturb some minds, when in repose.
Spiders are creatures that create
Terror as they lie in wait.
But, Jellyfish, thy tentacles
Are horrifying spectacles!
Thy sightless look appears to peer
Into the dark and spy me near!
Thy jelly blubber is nauseating
Utter revulsion in me creating!
Imagine if thy floating hairs
Should catch this swimmer unawares!
Imagine if I were entangled,
Sucked at, squeezed and even mangled!
They tell me that, in far Japan,
Jellyfish the size of man
Float in their millions in the seas
In wafty giant colonies!
Even thy watery friends, the sharks,
Don't rate the exclamation marks!
And, judging by the number here,
You'll realise I have a fear
Of jellyfish. But I never swim!
So the chance of meeting one is slim.
And thou art a pretty red.
In thy defence that can be said.


Little ducks upon a pond
Are things of which we're very fond.
'Look at their little paddling feet!
Look at the ducklings! Oh, how sweet!
See each gorgeous burnished feather!
See how they  swim along together!'
It's only when they're on a rack
That we see them as a human snack.
We see them dangling side by side,
Merely protein exemplified!
We look at them and lick our lips,
Fancying a plate of duck and chips.
Thoughts of 'ponds' are cast away
As we become predators, ducks prey.
Take a look at slices of ham,
Bacon or beef or veal or lamb.....
When they sit upon a plate
In their ultimate gravied state,
They seem removed from agony
As far away as they can be.
They seem inanimate, unfeeling,
Not victims of our double-dealing.
Animals are 'cute' and 'sweet'?
Oh no, they're just our human meat.
But when we see them in a line,
Prepared for a meal (no doubt with wine),
There is a certain reality shape
That our dulled senses can't escape.
'It was ever so' we say
And simply turn the other way.

Monday, October 29, 2012




I described a show as 'Ethnic'
And I thought I knew what I meant.
Somehow I saw someone 'Ethnic'
As living in a tent,
Wearing lots of gaudy beads,
Dancing to exotic beats,
Dressed in brilliant colours
And eating strange sugary sweets.
'Ethnic' meant speaking a language
That was gibberish to me,
'Ethnic' meant having different ideas
Of home and family.
Then I looked the word up on 'Google'
And found, to my surprise,
That 'Ethnic' doesn't mean 'darker-skinned'
Or 'having oval eyes'!
'Ethnic' means 'Belonging
To a group in a foreign land'.
So here was an explanation
That I could understand.
I belong to a cohort
Of 'English living in Oz',
Held together by memories
Of our Homeland that once was.
I don't wear brilliant colours,
My skin is a boring beige,
But I, too, could do an 'Ethnic' dance,
If I chose to, on Life's stage!


If there were ghosts in this modern age
They'd inhabit technology.
They'd hide in the corners of computers
And haunt creatively.
They'd be very poltergistic
In very modern ways;
They'd send us curious messages
And cause untold delays.
They'd do spirity things in the keyboard
Causing mis-hits and mistakes;
They'd make curious tingaling noises
And send us email fakes.
They'd make us lose our programs;
They'd make the screen go blank.
Forget about gloomy corridors
And dungeons dark and dank.
These modern ghosts would never stoop
To just saying 'Whee!' or 'Boo!'.
They'd live inside our computers.
 In fact, I think they do!

Sunday, October 28, 2012




Remember Busby Berkeley? No of course you don't!
He was famous much too long ago.
He lived in an era even earlier than mine
And he could really put on a quite a show.
He used human bodies filmed from up above
At a time when film was in it's infancy.
Tricks were quite surprising, no one was blasé:
Everyone gasped at things that they could see.
If they saw massed bodies they knew that they were there
It wasn't case of multiplying one.
A hundred dancers dancing was exactly what it seemed.......
A hundred dancers dancing. What great fun!
So what does Busby have to do with the flowers up above?
Look closely at the petals there displayed.
See the faces? See the bodies and how cleverly they pose.
Marvel at how cleverly they're made.

From the 1930s

(After Patience Strong)

The tides of life must ebb and flow;
In they come, then out they go.
One day we are full of cheer; 
The next day we feel more austere.
Happiness may sometimes surge;
Sometimes sadness sings a dirge.
But as the rhythm of the sea
Repeats with regularity,
So do our moods swing back and forth,
Sometimes South and sometimes North.
The secret is to stand aside
And view the ever-changing tide
As something passing, either way;
Good or bad will never stay.
When in luck don't stand and crow
On the highest hill for all to know.
When down don't wallow in despair
Moaning that life just isn't fair.
Remember that our lives are strange,
Always influenced by change.
Today you may feel pain and sorrow,
But you will jump for joy tomorrow.
If you are ebbing, at least you know
Tomorrow you'll leap into the flow.

Risk Taking

Journey One

Journey Two

chose the topic


I'm  a reasonably lively person
At times I'm almost brisk,
But I certainly am not the type
To go in search of risk.
You won't find me sky-diving
Or considering a gamble
And when I walk I take such care
I almost seem to amble.
And yet, not once but twice in life
I've upped and emigrated!

And that's a move that friends of  mine
Have never contemplated.
My risk-takings never physical
It's adventure that I've craved
And thats why joblessness and such
Has been,quite gladly, braved.
What is a risk to one person
Isn't a risk to all
I'm a midget in some areas
But in others I stand tall.


Ask for advice when you're in doubt!
Don't think you can do without.
Verify all that you are told.
If possible sort dross from gold.
Consider all things with great care.
Everybody has good advice to share!