Category: Poem

He left his friends and loved ones behind him
On that island so timeless and old
And he came to this new world down under
To this land of the proud green and the gold
But his heart ached and longed for his homeland
Oft times he would lay down and cry
He missed the green fields of Old Erin
Many sad tears he brushed from his eye.

But he worked really hard for acceptance
He mixed well and drank beer with the rest
And he embraced the football and rugby
Loved the cricket as they won every test
He spent big on the dogs and the horses
And a good wager was one of his joys
At the Melbourne Cup and the Footie Grand Final
He was a mate… he was one of the boys.

He took the Oath of Allegiance soon after
When he swore to be loyal and true
A bright certificate and bible was given
On Australia Day he became a True Blue
And he worked hard in building this country
On mine sites on tower blocks or dome
He did well from the fruits of his labour
And for his family he built a fine home.

On retiring he tried creative writing
He liked tales of this place he called home
But he fell flat on his face as a failure
Trying to write a fair dinkum bush poem
For he knew not enough of this vast land
Of the hardships of droughts or its clime
Or the great distances needed to travel
And they told him his lines didn’t rhyme.

For many years he tried to write true words
To describe the harsh life in the bush
But he couldn’t quite capture the essence
He gave up…now his voice is a hush
On his tombstone they wrote an inscription
As you pass by… you can easily quote
‘He lies here in Peace, May God rest him,
The Ten-Pound Aussie, Bush Poet.’

My poor back is aching, my feet they are sore,
My eyesight is weak and my teeth are no more.
When I look in the mirror in horror I gaze,
But I shouldn’t be shocked; it’s just my old age.

My head of black hair is now a lost cause,
A queer mixture of grey but it’s mostly bald.
My face once quite handsome now looks a wreck
All pitted and lined like the contours of earth.

My hearing is poor, many words I can’t hear,
The arthritis has almost locked-up my knee.
I have two hip replacements and a new hearing aid.
Bifocals and dentures, they help my old age.

My steps they are slow though quick my heart rate,
My blood pressure soars; my cholesterol is eight.
Sometimes I worry the old ticker might fade,
My doctor he tells me that it’s just my age.

Cut out the coffee the tea and the beer,
Don’t take any sugar and salt you must fear.
Don’t smoke tobacco; your lifestyle should change,
And maybe you’ll live to enjoy your old age.

So I think to myself, if I can’t have a vice,
Will I live any longer, will I have a great life.
I can’t change the past and the futures’ a haze
So use it or lose it; have a happy old age.

Sometime in the future the curtain will fall,
The Good Lord will ask me to answer the call.
When the ledger is checked it’s then I will know,
If He calls me to go up or I’m kicked down below.

Old Charlie came down to the Big Smoke.
From his home in the north of the state.
He would have one final fling in the city,
Before Saint Peter called him through the gate.

He didn’t care much for the big towns.
Preferring his campfire to share,
With his horse and his dog his companions
He had no worries and never a care.

But he fancied just one last flutter,
Ft the casino, the trots and the dogs.
There was always a degree of excitement
It was the best way to spend a few bob.

Old Charlie had one last ambition,
And there was a big regret in his life.
He had never sired any offspring,
He had not fancied nor taken a wife.

As he rambled the streets of the Big Smoke,
He mused as he whistled a rhyme.
When the time came to depart this creation
That would signal the end of his line.

There before him stood The Fertility Clinic,
And a sign that brought thoughts to his head.
In the window he saw a large notice,
Sperm donors are needed, it read.

That’s for me thought Charlie with fervour.
A donation of sperm I will give,
And when I am long dead and forgotten
My genes will be vibrant and live.

The doctor looked sternly at the old guy,
And said we look for the best of the youth.
We need to choose donors with caution
She said you’re a bit too long in the tooth.

But Charlie demanded a fair go,
Might be old but there’s no way I’m dead
I have the same rights to the service
I fought two wars for this country, he said.

Then he filled out the relevant forms,
So that all was right legal and fair.
And she watched as he signed at the bottom
Well aware of her duty of care.

She gave Charlie the sterile container,
Then she explained the procedure demands.
If you feel you must make a donation
The onus is now in your hands.

Into the blue room Charlie was ushered,
The place was a sight to enthral.
The walls were all covered with pictures
Of nude girls and muscular boys.

A movie was playing in one corner,
The actors were two guys and a gal.
Charlie had seen nothing quite like it
Since he had been to the brothel in Kal.

Old Charlie began to feel frisky,
The juices would soon start to crank.
His donation would be saved for the future
Preserved in The State Sperm-Bank.’

One hour passed with no sign of Charlie,
Something’s happened the doctor could tell.
Had the old fellow collapsed in the process
And maybe suffered a stroke as well?

Poor old Charlie lay there exhausted.
Said, I tried really hard but I’m beat
I twisted and turned until my hands burned,
I even tried using my feet.

I knew it was hopeless so I gave up the fight
Because I failed in all that I did.
I tried with my left hand I tried with the right
But I couldn’t unscrew that damned lid.

The moral of this story is simple,
Don’t wait until it’s too late.
Use it or lose it …do it today
Or you might suffer Poor Charlie’s sad fate.

There are many roads to travel
As we journey through this life,
There are many loads to carry
Some are heavy some are light.
And some loads may be enormous
The rest may be quite small,
Many folk contribute little
Some are asked to give their all.

There are many born lucky
And bask in lots of wealth,
But their riches are as nothing
If bereft of strength and health.
While others who are poorer
Might struggle just to live
But they always put their hand up
And are always first to give.

We should be forever thankful
For the good things we have got,
And not be always chasing
That elusive Golden Pot.
This modern life has problems
That was unheard of in the past,
As the world gets ever smaller
And the big changes do not last.

The people must keep updating
The technology they share,
As they struggle ever harder
With neither cash nor time to spare.
And they fight to pay the mortgage
On the new house, boat and car,
The problem gets much bigger
When they try to stock their bar.

There are many loads to carry
As we travel through this life,
And while some are just mere hiccups
Many others cause much strife.
But there is one thing sure and certain
When we are called to end of game,
We will all be judged together
The rich and poor the same.

Long time ago when I was young
The country folk to have some fun
Would tell tall tales so strange and queer
As we sat round the fire in dreadful fear
They told of terrible ‘Beings of Fright’
That preyed on man in the dark of night
Ghosts and ghouls and demons cold
Could eat your heart and steal your soul

We youngsters sat with mouths agape
Bodies in shock and horror shake
Then huddled under bedclothes warm
And pray our God to keep us safe from harm.
I feared the night so dark and bleak
My eyes from beneath the blankets peep
I watched each shadow each corner dark
And heard each sound of silence crack

But as I grew up and wiser got
I thought such childish nonsense rot
I learnt such things did not exist
They were merely tales of urban myth.
We now have the net and the smart p.c.
Enthralling millions like you and me
We learn so much but each powerful plan
Affects the lives of modern man

Knowledge abounds for one and all
As the world we know gets ever small
Technology has made man extra smart
But has taken toll on the human heart
We care not for what was once held dear
The Gods of old we do not fear
The past is dead… live for today
The world owes us, no need to pay

Now I am old and past my prime
I fear the threat of violent crime
Where criminals abuse our suburban life
And gentle folk find so much strife
I do not fear the Spooks of Fright
Because I dare not go out at night
As I lock each door and set the alarm
I pray the system keep me safe from harm.

There are many roads to travel
As we journey through this life.
There are many loads to carry
Some are heavy some are light.
And some loads may be enormous
The rest may be quite small.
Some folks contribute little
Others are asked to give their all.

There are many born lucky
They bask in lots of wealth.
But their riches are as nothing
If bereft of strength and health.
While others who are poorer
Struggle daily just to live.
But they always put their hand up
And they are ever first to give.

We should be always thankful
For the good things we have got,
And not be forever chasing
That elusive Golden Pot.
This modern life has problems
That was unheard of in the past.
As the world gets ever smaller
The big changes do not last.

The people must keep updating
The technology they share.
As they struggle ever harder
With neither cash nor time to spare.
And they strive to pay the mortgage
On their new house, boat and car.
The problem gets much bigger
When they try to stock the bar.

There are many loads to carry
As we travel through this life.
And while some are just mere hiccups
Many others cause much strife.
But there’s one thing that I’m sure of
When we’re called to end of game,
The rich and poor together
Will all be judged the same.

‘Do It Yourself For Beginners.’
He browsed through the book off the shelf.
It promised to guide and instruct him
On the many projects he could do himself.

So he handed over his last thirty dollars,
And he purchased that neat little book.
Their house was in need of a facelift,
And so positive action he took.

He placed a big order with Bunnings
For new timber, big nails and screws.
He bought a hammer, a ladder and brushes
Bright paints, fillers and glues.

The spare room was used for storage.
In the beginning it seemed to make sense
Buying in bulk was really the answer
A dollar saved is one dollar less spent.

Soon the house was a mess with rubble,
As he demolished and constructed with glee,
He put new doors where a door wasn’t needed
And he put windows where one shouldn’t be.

But his wife felt she was totally neglected
As he hammered and nailed and screwed,
He was fully engrossed in his hobby,
But to ignore his good wife that was rude.

Now she wasn’t one for complaining,
And she had put up with a lot in her time,
But to treat her as though she was nothing
Well that was really too much and unkind.

So she plucked up the courage to face him
And she told him just how she felt.
‘If you don’t call a halt to this nonsense
You’ll wind up here all by yourself.’

But Murphy was caught up in the project,
As he had been right from the start,
And he failed to take heed of the warning,
Sure he wasn’t too bright or too smart.

She was a lady, who craved for attention,
And she didn’t shed tears or lament,
Next morning whilst he was still screwing
She put her bags in her car and she went.

The silly guy still hadn’t copped on,
Til he looked for his evening cooked meal,
Then he found the note she left on the table
‘It’s over, I’ve got myself a new deal.’

Work has ceased and the project has ended,
Because no building approval was sought,
He had made several bad errors of judgement,
He was dobbed in and he had been caught.

Now he sits all alone in his wrecked house,
Amid the timber the nails and the screws,
With the hammer, the ladder and brushes,
And the paints, the fillers and glues.

And each night he ponders his losses,
And he knows now that it’s much too late.
He keeps the book by his bedside to remind him
How D.I.Y had sealed this man’s fate.

When my time’s up and you lay me to rest,
And the kind words and the prayers are read,
There is something that you must remember,
Is to make certain and sure that I‘m dead.

Departing this world does not scare me,
It’s a journey all humans must take.
But don’t plant my poor body too hastily,
Just give me a damn good wake.

      ‘So! Listen up’

Let the Guinness and Smithwick flow freely,
The Harp Lager and Murphy Stout too,
With kegs of Kilkenny and Caffrey’s,
The best pick of the fine Irish brews.

And don’t forget the good Ischa Beatha,
The Bushmill’s and Tullamore Dew,
Get Jameson’s, Power’s and Paddy.
Add a bottle of Poteen or two.

And sing the great songs of our heroes,
To gain freedom they died for our land.
Dance the jigs, reels and hornpipes,
To the sounds of a great Ceili Band.

That was the way of my father,
His father and grandfather too.
And I hope to keep up the tradition,
The old ways combined with the new.

Remember to play the pop music,
The Rock ‘n’ Roll, Skiffle and Jive.
Let everyone sing and be happy,
Give thanks that you’re still alive.

Lay my coffin deep down in my Island,
That most beautiful land I have seen.
Beneath the heather and shamrocks,
Draped with ‘The Orange, White and Green.’

But I awake and I’m back in reality,
And I knew that my dreaming was bold.
Because I’m far far away from my homeland,
In this great land of Green and Gold.

      ‘So!’

When my time comes, don’t fret or worry,
I don’t care what you do when I’m dead.
On the barbie cook big steaks and snaggers,
And drink cheap wine and stubbies instead.

The word the man said was Anthology.
Poor Murphy! He hadn’t a clue.
He thought it sounded quite medical
Or maybe something from out of the zoo.
Now Pat, he wasn’t the smartest,
And not wishing to seem like a fool.
Just sat there and kept his big mouth shut,
Sometimes he looked rather cool.

But he planned to know what that word meant.
He would learn, no matter the cost.
So he went to see Doctor McCarthy,
And he asked for help from the doc.
Now the doctor was up to his eyeballs,
T’was the season of flu, there’s no doubt,
He didn’t have time to spend checking,
On words he knew nothing about.

He told Murphy; I don’t think it’s serious,
But chances we had better not take.
You will need to have medication,
To build your resistance, in case.
Take this letter to Farrell’s The Chemist.
Some herbs and drugs he will mix.
Take it three times a day without failure,
And I’ll see you again in a week.

So Murphy went down to Farrell’s.
Taking with him the doctor’s note,
He hoped the chemist would tell him,
The words that the doctor had wrote.
If he thought he might learn from the chemist,
He was soon told and left in no doubt.
The Privacy Act was in force there.
That word was not bandied about.

I will fix you the brew as requested,
It will take me almost an hour.
You must go get police permission,
To use dangerous drugs in this town.
Take this note I have written, make haste now.
Go see Sergeant Timothy Browne,
His decision alone, it is final,
He alone can refuse or allow.

The old cop scowled at poor Murphy,
He looked all efficient and keen.
Said, I hope it’s not contagious,
Whatever, Anthology means,
I will grant you that special permission,
On condition, you go see the priest.
He’ll know how to deal with the problem.
It’s his job to care for lost sheep.

Father Mack looked kindly on Patrick,
In hushed tones asked what he’d done.
Have you been playing with that queer lot?
Enjoying their deviant fun?
You must now make a good confession,
And pray that your soul is not lost.
Be ready for whatever might happen,
Anthology could come with a cost.

Poor Murphy was feeling confused now,
He didn’t know if he was blest or cursed.
So went into the pub round the corner,
And there he prepared for the worst.