The Lone Star Motel

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One Star Motel

The sun was setting in the west,

I could not drive much further,

My eyes were bleary, to stop was best,

“Safety first,” my mum I’d heard her.

 

I then drove through a tin-pot town,

You know the type with tumbleweed,

But lack of habitation made me frown,

All I wanted was a sleep and a feed.

 

There was nowhere to rest my weary head,

No Bed and Breakfast, not a hotel,

The next town I thought I would head,

But then I spied the ‘Lone Star Motel’.

 

Excited I knocked on the reception door,

Looking down I noted the ‘Welcome’ mat,

Finally a lady ambled across the floor,

Rollers in her hair, ciggy and a tatt.

 

“Are you on your own?” the lady said,

“I have to check if there’re vacancies,”

I pleaded, “Please only a feed and bed,

Your sign did not say ‘No Vacancies’.”

 

She checked whilst sucking on her smoke,

“Our tourist trade is running pretty hot,”

This comment almost made me choke,

As there were no cars in the parking lot!

 

“You are lucky, Luv,” the lady conceded,

“Number 5, you’re certainly in the hunt,

It has more than you would have needed,

But I need the money paid up front.”

 

“A restaurant?” my gut was starting to ache,

“Only room service,” the lady pursed her lips,

“For dinner, we have got chips and steak

And for breakfast it is steak and chips.”

 

It would have to do, I proceeded to pay,

And as I went out to await the tucker,

Plain as day I heard the lady say,

“Hey Harry, it is another city sucker.”

 

The first thing I noticed as I opened the door,

Was the smell, not that of lavender,

And was that tomato sauce on the floor?

I was hoping to not find a cadaver.

 

What’s more the TV was very blurry,

The AC didn’t work, the heat intense,

And around the bath was mould so furry,

‘Lone Star’, meaning one-star, was making sense.

 

“Room service,” the lady was at the door,

My chance to complain about the place,

As I was about to argue with great candour,

She said “Enjoy” closing the door in my face.

 

Alone I whiled away the hours to bed,

My phone had no signal, I played Solitaire,

This place was starting to do in my head,

It was like in a cell full of fetid air.

 

Sleep was how to deal with the yearning,

The bed bowed in the middle like a valley,

Midnight, one, two, me tossing and turning,

I felt destitute in some backstreet alley.

 

The chips and steak gurgled in my gut,

Sleep virtue of some painkilling drugs,

I had found respite from the Lone Star rut,

But then I dreamt of some giant bed bugs.

 

Groggy in the morning I handed in the key,

Too tired to rustle up any type of complain,

I was just glad to escape, be finally free,

And drive quickly across the wide open plain.

 

“How was it? I hope you enjoyed the room,”

She must have thought that I was a goon,

“I am sure you will be back here real soon,”

She smarmily sniggered as I left the room.

 

“No way,” I thought as I got into my car,

Pondering her final words would not be smart,

So I turned the key to escape the Lone Star,

But for some reason my car wouldn’t start.

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My Mullet

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Mullet

(Author’s note: To be sung to that classic ‘Achy Breaky Heart’)

 

Don’t shave my mullet, my lovely flowin’ mullet,

Just watch it swayin’ in the breeze,

And if you shave my mullet, my lovely flowin’ mullet,

I’ll fall down cryin’ on my knees.

 

You can stand and bellow that I’m not a modern fellow,

That my hair is shorter at the side,

But lookin’ at my mane that’s givin’ me my fame,

There’s no need to make it go and hide.

 

Now you can trash my trailer, yell it from a loud hailer,

Laugh and joke at my retro look,

But Billy Ray perfected it, why are you rejectin’ it?

I’m proud of it and will not be a sook.

 

I can say it’s fair that the girls just love my hair,

They stroke and fondle it like a cat,

But there’s an older dame who really adores my mane,

It’s aunt Raelene with her ciggy and her tat.

 

So you can look like new and grow a mullet too,

There are styles that never ever fail,

Now there‘s one with a perm, with bleach to make it firm,

Why not that trendy ratty tail?

 

Don’t sneer at my mullet, my lovely flowing mullet,

It’s the greatest hair-do by a mile,

And if you sneer at my mullet, my lovely flowing mullet,

It might soon come back into style!

The Tour

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  1. The Welcome

“Namaste, welcome to our wonderful land,

Esteemed guests, so honoured to meet you,

For everything I will be your helping hand,

Our Timeless Horizons, it is so very new.”

 

Our guide then asked where we heard of it,

‘Timeless Horizons’ not a name before met,

The price was good, seemed the perfect fit,

We all agreed, we’d found it on the internet.

 

Sunil, the tour guide, had the blackest of hair,

Tall, chocolate skin, with the whitest of teeth,

Grooming immaculate showing greatest of care,

This most striking man we felt so far beneath.

 

We all huddled in a small Delhi hotel room,

All of us Americans, bar the lone Englishman,

India was so foreign we could be on the moon,

But we all looked forward to this exotic land.

 

Getting from the airport, the traffic too scary,

Their disregard for lanes, and constant beeping,

Only for languid cows they seemed to be wary,

So many close calls had some of us weeping.

 

  1. Old Delhi

“Watch out,” we all cried at our fellow tourist

As a local urchin reached deep into her bag,

Wrenching it away, she displayed her big fist,

And the boy scampered off to find the next bag.

 

We had travelled through the historic Delhi city,

With a people mass few of us had ever seen,

The seething millions, some wanted to take pity,

Others wanted to take photos, was this being mean?

 

A naked man walked through the crowded street,

His penis swaying like an elephant’s trunk,

Hog’s heads on the pavement, would they eat?

Two eunuchs skulked around appearing to be drunk.

 

“My friends this shows our wonderful culture,”

Sunil commented as we disembarked the coach,

Overhead wheeled many a ravenous vulture,

Beady eyes decided what food they would poach.

 

At a mosque it happened the pick-pocket incident,

And then two of our party were late to our bus,

Where could they be? Anger we started to vent,

In time they returned saying “What was the fuss?”

 

  1. Agra

“How ya goin’? My name is Baz and this is Shaz,

And we are Aussies, from the Land Down Under,

And these are our mates called Johnno and Caz,

We’re on your tour, there was a booking blunder.”

 

We all looked stunned at the newcomer four,

Loud, brash, young, with accents so different,

So how could our tour cater for any more?

They’d be difficult to accept, we were diffident.

 

“Namaste,” Sunil said, but we looked dismayed,

“These people will join us, so sorry for the error,”

We grudgingly said hello, introductions were made,

To our very close-knit group they felt like terror.

 

To worsen matters we were struggling with fitness,

We all had ‘Delhi Belly’, even after Sunil’s warning,

With the newcomers this added to our tour sickness,

Stops had to be made for all even by mid-morning.

 

But the Taj Mahal distracted us, as we were in awe,

The majestic temple, one of the world’s great wonders,

We posed for a tour photo, including the new four,

For a moment we forgot all Timeless Horizons’ blunders.

 

  1. Rajasthan breakdown

We sidestepped the hawkers in the fort at Jaipur,

Saw women carrying loads that made us all wince,

We took photos of locals, they were so very poor!

The sun beating down did not make them flinch.

 

The only thing well fed were those drowsy old cows,

They dozily drifted across the very busy roads,

We drove through the desert for hours and hours,

As locals went through life in their sweaty abodes.

 

The Aussie four they were becoming oh so difficult,

They sat in other’s seats, no respect for routine,

What were they saying? Were they all in a cult?

They yelled, cracked jokes, causing a big scene.

 

And to make matters worse in Ranthambore,

As we were on safari, it was so very hot,

Just as we were photographing a tiger’s great roar,

The four jumped up and ruined our shot.

 

Along the road life it could not get much meaner,

The coach broke down, was it made in China?

Stopping at some place offering ‘Lunch & Deener’,

It was ironically named: ‘The Lucky Diner’.

 

  1. The Final Straw

Then the coach eventually started, AC kicked in,

Sunil assured us, “From now it all will be right,”

So persuasive, our worries appeared in the bin,

Plain sailing for the tour must surely be in sight.

 

Then it happened, in some run-down small town,

An incident to make the tour end abruptly there,

A shock to our system that made us all frown,

A worry so bad to put some grey in our hair.

 

As a cyclist road out, our sleepiness it ceased,

The driver swerved, we all exclaimed, “Wow!”

As our coach ploughed into the well-fed beast,

Several of us yelled “Oh no!”, and “Holy Cow!”

 

  1. Epilogue

“Oh Harry, ‘Tour Disasters 1’ it rated so well,”

“Good to hear Art, and the network will do 2,

We put that group through the worst of hell,

They didn’t have an idea that all was not true.”

 

“See some of their issues we certainly orchestrated:

The Aussie intruders, they threatened their order,

But we didn’t do the pick-pocket, their tour was fated,

Delhi Belly played a big part like a foreign marauder.”

 

“And the slick Sunil is an actor from Bollywood,

What’s his stage name? I think it is Sunny Roy,

Next time, we will get a big name from Hollywood,

An actor more out there, Sunny was a little coy.”

 

“The company ‘Timeless Horizons’, it was a big fake,

We’ll have to think up a new name, that one’s used,

And we’ll need a new story line to seal their fate,

And we also have some new passengers to choose.”

 

“But the tour ending it certainly was not scripted,

The coach was supposed to swerve, miss the rider,

When the driver hit the cow, that wasn’t pictured,

He wouldn’t go on, thought the road was wider.”

 

“Even though we had to cut the very last episode,

Our executives, well they had a very good feel,

Though there was a dead cow lying on the road,

The ratings were so high, it was all so very real.”

 

Poem about the rubbish in our oceans

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Plastics in The Ocean

The search for the missing MH370 jet highlighted the amount of rubbish in our oceans. Here’s a poem I wrote about the problem:

THE GREAT PACIFIC GARBAGE PATCH*

Now
We’re in the North Pacific Gyre
To the horizon, a flotilla of plastic flotsam
Hey, there’s even the odd tyre!

We’re in the doldrums of PET remains
Bobbing up and down like sailing boats
Far from the shipping lanes.

We’re in a mire of goopity goop
A slowly spinning whirlpool of waste
A ‘messpool’ of plastic poop.

Future
“This is the best eco-tour of the fabulous five hundreds! So fly on over for a once-in-a-lifetime experience and join us for the Fantastic Plastic Tundra Tour across part of the spellbinding Northern Plastific Ocean. There’s solid pristine plastic as far as the eye can see, borne from over five hundred years of natural accumulation. You’ll be amazed at the white wilderness expanse; wonder at our plastic effigies of extinct animals like the seal, the polar bear; marvel at the size of our plastic Blue Whale – a species that once roamed the vast waters below. Far from the rat-race of our land masses you can even shed your breathing mask and take in our sterilised air. Relax in the comfort of our air conditioned skidoos that float effortlessly across the plastic ice. And then brace yourself for an exhilarating ride up Tyre Mountain from where you can take in the full expanse of the eerie, white wonderland similar to that former frozen landscape: The Arctic. And for the ultimate in ultimate experiences….bungie off a massive tyre cliff stopping only centimetres from the rock-hard plastic icesheet. This and much more to explore with our company: Plastiglorious Tours. And don’t forget our motto – ‘A Plastic Tour will mould your life!’”

(Author’s note: * There sadly is such a place)