44. Dreamtime

Here, in Newcastle, we rarely see a full-blood Aborginal person. No doubt we see many people of Aboriginal descent, probably from our local Awaba tribe, but we don't recognise them as such. The plight of the truly Indigenous people in Australia is dire and no-one seems to know exactly what to do about the problem. We all fantasise about the 40,000 years during which various Indigenous tribes held sway over this country, and, no doubt, we tend to romanticise their lives. By the law of averages they must have been as flawed as human beings as we are, but, as my poem suggests, they did seem to inhabit a Paradise.

DREAMTIME
We intend to master
Everything that's faster,
Wider, taller, bigger, more bombastic.
We have set our sights on
New ways to turn our lights on
And technology grows more and more fantastic.
But there was once a race
Who had regard for place;
For whom the laws of nature still held sway.
They live among us yet
And we must not forget
The lessons that they still teach us today.

Took a walk one sunny Saturday, through Awabakal Reserve
And the gums were cool and shadowy where the bush-track made a curve.
And it seemed that I was all alone like a Koori from the past,
With all the world my oyster, before the die was cast.
There were fruits and nuts surrounding me, there were insects by the score,
And I had no need of credit cards: I could just take more and more.
And the sea was full of fish for me, and the rivers ran so pure,
And the laws were just and certain and the way of life secure.
Should the winter winds assail me, there were furs to wrap me round,
There were native birds to call to me and make a cheerful sound.
And the rubbish in my middens soon returned back to the earth,
And my 'place' was all I needed and I understood its worth.

But I came back to reality! Once again I was just me,
And I missed the great tranquility of the days that used to be.
Though I'm wedded to my way of life and I know I can't return,
In my heart there is affinity with the bush-track and the fern.

We all know the world's gone mad
And we yearn for what they had,
And we can't help thinking back to way back then.
In Awabakul a stroll
Has the power to ease a soul.
In Awabakal we learn to live again.
*

Blowing his Own.

BLOWING HIS OWN

'I'm learning the membranophone!' my grandson said with glee.
"My teacher says the very best in all the class is me!'
'My boy!' I cried, delighted, 'I'm so very, very proud!

I always knew that, one day, you'd stand out among the crowd!'
Next day I went up to the club, still puffed up with my joy,
Feeling quite sure that little Ben was truly Grandpa's boy!
And as I walked up to the club I felt I had a mission
To tell the world about my genes and my family ambition.
'He'll go to University!' I chuckled as I strolled,
'And all the great professors there will say he's good as gold.
He'll no doubt go to Italy to study with the best,
And it's certain he'll be head and shoulders, way above the rest.
The Membranophone recitals will always feature him,
And his Grandpa's cup of happiness will fill right to the brim.
I can see him at the Opera House, or else Carnegie Hall,
I'll be there in the audience and I'll feel ten feet tall!
I must tell Charlie Arrowsmith; he always like's to boast
How his repulsive grandson, Tom, plays Soccer for the Coast!'
Into the club I made my way and quickly looked around.
Yes, there was Charlie Arrowsmith! How lucky he was found!
'Guess what!' I said to Charlie, as my pride began to swell,
'Ben's playing the membranophone! He plays it very well!'
'So what!' said Charlie, looking bored, 'I used to play one too.
Another name for membranophone is .....wait for it.......KAZOO!'

42. Mandela

Sorry to inundate you! But there's only one window of opportunity to write this little offering.

MANDELA

At twenty
He raised his voice,
He thumped his table,
He wrote powerful letters,
He hammered on the walls of his prison.
He was a leader,
And an orator.
And the world didn't hear him.

At ninety, when he spoke,
The whole world hung on his words.

41. Comeuppance!

Now I've started this Blog every little event seems to be grist to my mill! This has just happened! And I can't wait for you to share it!

COMEUPPANCE!

I went up to the pharmacy to buy some little pills.
(For even perfect specimens can suffer minor ills!)
I was feeling lithe and limber, and only about sixteen;
The creaks weren't over-creaky (and you'll all know what I mean).
My back was fairly youthful; I had done a mirror-check
And the widow's hump was covered by a scarf around my neck.
The hair-dye was still evident; there wasn't too much grey,
And I almost skipped along the path as I made my merry way.
I bought the pills. ( And now I know you're straining at the bit
To ascertain my 'problem'. Well, darlings, this is it.....
I want to make a Satay dish this-evening for our tea
And I sometimes get all swollen from a peanut allergy.
I was buying anti-histamine! Not terribly exciting!
But tonight that Chicken Satay will be safe and so inviting!)
I chose the pills, I paid the young assistant with a smile,
Feeling youthful and attractive and quite lovely all the while.
I left the shop and checked my docket, standing in the street
And what I read demoralised me! Knocked me off my feet.
My bill had been discounted! I nearly hit the roof!
'Pensioner discount' written large......

AND SHE HADN'T ASKED FOR PROOF!'

Toy Boy!

 

                                               Google

TOY BOY

To the tune of 'One Day When We Were Young'.

Song.

I'm such a charming boy, the ladies all fall at my feet,/ Adoring,/ Imploring,/ And telling me I'm sweet./ They think that I'm the tops and I think the very same way;/ I render/ Them tender/ And they're prepared to pay./ They touch me/ And clutch me/ And gaze deep down in my eyes./ I charm them,/ Disarm them/ And tell some flattering lies./ They treat me as a pet and I simply smile and agree./ I fashion/ A passion/ For I'm in love with me./

I'm such a gorgeous thing the ladies just see me and swoon./ They nab me/ And grab me/ Most every afternoon./ Doubtless, I am divine; my mirror declares that is true./ I'm honey;/ They're money/ And worship must be due./ They simper/ And whimper/ And ask for kisses as well./ I tell them/ I sell them/ And they buy all I can sell./ Don’t you admire my face? The contours are fine as can be./ Adore me;/ Yearn for me./ We're all in love with me./

*

39. Debacle!

Definitely not a day to remember! Last year we went down to the Opera House in Sydney to a concert followed by lunch on the water. We had a great day! The music was easy-on-the-ear (Tchaikovsky and Haydn as I recall) and the lunch was a success, on a well-appointed restaurant ship in glorious weather. Today was a different story! I, for one, found an hour of very modern music hard to cope with, and our Lunch booking had been overlooked! As you see, I can't be bothered to waste too many words on it!

(Just one photo on Clickpicks, taken before the day went pear-shaped!)

DEBACLE!

Our excursion;
A diversion.
Up at five,
Half alive.
'On your mark!'
In the dark.
Chilly breeze
Round the knees.
On the train.
What a pain.
Concert choice
Choral voice.

Straining throats,
Discord notes!

Not much heart
All too smart.
Off to cruise.
Awful news.
Not booked in!
Couldn't win!
Lunch in caff
Rather 'naff'.
Hours on train
Home again.
Straight to bed
Feeling dead.
Hear us say
'What a day!'

.

38. The Deflowering

I'm publishing two poems today because I'm off on a spree tomorrow! (Do young people ever go off on 'sprees' I wonder.) Anyway, this idea came to me from WORD TOSSER's Blog and I couldn't resist an immediate reaction. I'm hoping my new Blog contact doesn't think I've taken liberties!

THE DEFLOWERING

Such a sexy sort of title! Giving hints of bygone days
When a lot of innuendo was contained in such a phrase!
One thinks of damsels in distress and virgins white as snow,
And fiesty little maidens shouting out a brave 'No! No!'

One thinks back to our young days when innocence held sway
And we kept our girlish purity until our wedding day.
Then at last came the 'deflowering'........ but we'll simply let that pass.
(Was your deflowering glorious or was it just a farce?)

But today I read a Blog (look up 'Word Tosser' when you can)
And 'deflowering' was covered with no mention of a man!
This lady says she sallied forth to weed her garden bed
Only to find she'd pulled, not weeds, but all her flowers instead!

The weeds, she says, clung manfully to the soil in which they grew,
While the flowers simply just relaxed! One pull and out they flew!
So her garden's been 'deflowered' and the weeds are going strong!
(If you thought this was a naughty rhyme I hope I've proved you wrong!')