When I turn Sixty – I’ll hike the Kokoda Trail (No way my body will fail), I’ll bound up the highest mountain, Frolic naked in a city fountain. And when I turn Sixty - I’ll photograph like a kid, No lines, wrinkles, nothing hid, My skin pristine, cheeks a flush, OK they might use the odd air brush. And when I turn Sixty - There’ll be no stopping me, Watch me climb the tallest tree, Hey, I will be the living proof Of the meaning of Eternal Youth. And when I turn Sixty - I’ll prove that being Sixty Is the new Fifty, Forty, Thirty, On the wrong side of middle age? No, Sixty’s got to be all the rage. But now that I’ve turned Sixty - I’ve started to feel a bit ditsy, Memories start to make me misty, And the old back is playing up, May be no longer the young pup. And now that I’ve turned Sixty - I think I’ll take Sixty lying down, Curl on the couch like a sleepy hound, Snooze, then pop open a can of VB, And watch adrenaline sports on TV,
What is the point of a pigeon?
Have you ever pondered this thought?
I’ve scanned the books, all religions,
And believe this bird to be a rort.
There you waddle, pecking at refuse;
Fat head bobbles, you coo and scratch;
And you can home (that’s no excuse);
Those other birds you cannot match.
But God must’ve something in His mind:
A niche, a role for you my friend;
In pity I wink, reason sure to find;
Stop this poem reaching a sad end.
But now white goo splatters my eye;
Then a wink from pigeon up on high!
RED, RED NOSE
O my Love’s like my red, red nose,
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Love’s like an allergy,
That helps us snore in tune.
Now you’re so cool, my bony lass,
But so deep in snot am I;
And I will love you still, my dear,
Till all my sinuses go dry.
Till all my sinuses go dry, my dear,
And we can have some fun;
But I will love you still, my dear,
When again my nose does run.
So see you soon my only Love,
And see you, for a while!
And I will come again, my Love,
With one big snotty smile!
(Author’s note: Apologies to Robert Burns for the take on his poem ‘Red, Red Rose’)
AT A BARNES AND NOBLE
I met her at a Barnes and Noble
She was young, I was much older
Coo-coo-ca-choo, she behind a folder
Our eyes then met, and I told her
I’m looking for a book
At a Barnes and Noble
We made love in a Barnes and Noble
It happened in the non-fiction section
Between Religion or History on reflection
No one noticed, no detection
Only the books saw the action
At a Barnes and Noble
We were married at a Barnes and Noble
It was literally a fine celebration
Filled with friends and the odd relation
Books and us – the ultimate creation
Books hailed our matrimony
At a Barnes and Noble
Our children live in a Barnes and Noble
Reading books is our only pastime
Other kids play Xbox, games of that kind
But this line I’m struggling to rhyme
I will get the answer
At a Barnes and Noble
This poem is brought to you
By Barnes and Noble
‘Book a Life’
At a Barnes and Noble.
When the darkness is so overwhelming,
Look to the stars above for some hope,
The glow in the eyes of a child playing,
Helping the mind restore and to cope.
There’s a light at the end of the tunnel,
A hope to help lift us from despair,
A hole for water to escape a funnel,
Letting us out when the world’s unfair.
You will enter a place of still solitude,
Peace and quiet, solace from all the din,
To get there you’ll need to show fortitude,
As this nirvana you will find is within.
You caught my eye as
I ran on by
I doubled back to
take a look
And in the shop you
peered at me
in every way
Like Bo Derek in 10
a vision splendid
Such style, such elegance
a Sophia Loren
The curves, the contours
But then I noticed you
did not move
We came from near and from far,
To the hall at the end of the tar,
To dance to Frank and his band,
Far from war in another land.
We waltzed long into the night,
Till night gave way to first light,
Two tops in a twirl and a spin,
We danced with aplomb and a grin.
We joined as one in barn dance,
Chance to romance and to prance,
We thought our life was just made,
No chance of the bombs from a raid.
We slipped to the back of the hall,
None saw our stealth and our gall,
Not to think of whether we should,
We carved our love into the wood.
the floor has sprung
boarded windows clatter
in wind like a percussion solo
rats scuttle to their pit
battered paint peels
‘Albie loves Essie’
a developer eyes the structure
‘Yeah, it’s a knockdown mate’.
A CHANGE IS IN THE WIND
They’re watching us, these things called humans
Pens out, monitoring our rumens
Cows no fun
Pointing their fingers, shuffling their sheets
Murmuring about the planet’s heat
Cows help sun
Worried faces, showing their petulance
About our burps and our flatulence
Cows need bung
Uttering words, the most common ‘methane’
Hoping us cows would kindly refrain
Cow’s bad bum
With a gut like a still, it’s our only torment
Grass sloshes around, slow ferment
Cow’s big drum
Big cows with balls are the worst offenders
Blame males, that’ll help defend us
Cows well hung
They think it’s best to fit us with gas masks
Give us new grass to stop all the farts
Cow’s new tum
They’ll want us to dispose of our very own cow pats
Placing them into some underground vats
Cows no dung
See they carve us up or milk us bone dry
Now they say that we make all things fry
Cows hard done
No bull, we’re so over their bovine jokes
Go away and pick on some ‘udder’ folk
Cow bad pun
And don’t they belch things out, that’s a fact
What’s spewing from that factory stack?
Cows not dumb
See all we want to do is chew on our cud
Moo, poo, and trudge though the mud
Cows hum drum
So it’s over, all of this crap is enough
We’re taking a stand, getting so tough
Cows done fun
Let’s fight for ruminant freedom
Run with the buffalo, the sheep
Let’s herd together, fight to the end
Cows are one
Let’s stampede the Golden Arches
Go on long protest marches
Fight on beaches and on pastures
Even take to the air in the fastest
Cow Top Gun
And now the end is very near
The day that all of us cattle fear
The last to the abattoir is to be tanned
The fight was called ‘Muster’s Last Stand’
Cows out gunned
So if this story shocks, scares and amazes
That we Daisies could be ‘pushing up daisies’
Next time you question our windy emissions
Consider the risk of milk and meat omissions
Cow’s life done
(Author’s note: It is reported that ruminants, including cows, are directly responsible for 6.3% of anthropogenic global warming. Apologies to Dana Lyons for using some ideas from his song ‘Cows with Guns’)
You never show me any emotion
I’m always showing you devotion
You do not even know how to try
What do you want me to do? Cry?
You so do not really understand
Hey, I am only trying to be a man
A nice gift, a little kiss on the lips
What’s the problem? We go on trips
Surprise me, be romantic, my honey
I know, you want more of my money
Wait, there’s someone I’ve got to text
Let’s go and have wild, passionate sex
You’re always trying to get me into bed
Now you’re really playing with my head
At least the girls they will shop with me
And the boys they let me feel so free
This long discussion is going so nowhere
It’s an argument, you’re not being fair
You’re shirty, you’ll now give me the snub
That’s right, I’m off now down to the pub.
I’m sorry, here are flowers to show I care
Flowers, that’s a change, so very rare
Can we kiss, make up, and get some food?
Long as it’s not make out, not in the mood
Let’s call it a truce? I will be there for you
And I will try to accept you for being you.
In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy (and Nancy)
Gone a wine-making up to Mudgee where all the tree-changers go,
Or are they doing permaculture? Not just sure of their fancy,
Only their life has pleasures that the city folk never know.
I am sitting in my dingy office in the dusty, dirty city,
Listening to meaningless talks from the next door jerk,
Oops, I’ve missed another deadline, oh what a pity!
Now to head home on trains which rarely ever work.
And I somehow fancy that I’d like to change with Clancy (and Nancy),
Have a home among the gum trees where the seasons come and go,
But I guess they’ll be out there till they go to ‘greener’ pastures,
And I’ll stay where I am and watch my in-tray overflow.
(Author’s note: Apologies to Australian poet Banjo Paterson for using some lines from ‘Clancy of the Overflow’)