Thursday, 11 August 2016

Pining fo you

Gunna miss you Annie,
Gunna miss your smiles
Gunna feel your love shine through
Across those vacant miles
I saw your face reflected
In a great grandmother's tears
Happy happy tears.
We may have met but only once
And once again must do
So as you say goodbye
To Australia's shores
Our best wishes and lots of love
Go off to foreign shores with you.
Should you travel down to Cornwall
And walk among ancient stones
Look upon the names carved there
I'm sure you'll find a family name
or two there
It's where we our forefathers sailed from
where our genetics grew
So sing of your Australian links
When the flag of Australia's flown
With a foot in each hemisphere
You can call Australia home.
Gunna miss you Annie,
Gunna miss your smiles
Gunna feel your love shine through
Across those vacant miles
I saw your face reflected
In a great grandmother's tears
Happy happy tears.
We may have met but only once
And once again must do
So as you say goodbye
To Australia's shores
Our best wishes and lots of love
Go off to foreign shores with you.


Thursday, 4 August 2016

A little bit from Chapter 28 of Les Gillespie's Gold

Within minutes she had set up an office, arranged a colour printer for her suite, ordered paper and arranged a temp for tomorrow. She perused the menu and wine list and arranged for room service. It was time to open the picture files from Spoggy’s phone. Her own phone kept beeping with messages. She set it to, silent and decided to look at them later, but now the geologist in her wanted to study the samples she’d collected from the creek.
She rummaged in her case and found a pair of pantyhose. Out of habit she sniffed them and screwed up her nose, better to wreck a pair she had worn, rather than cut up a good pair. A coffee cup would serve as the repository to catch anything small and heavy that washed through her sieve. Sam didn’t know what to expect, semiprecious stones would be great, diamonds a possibility, but gold would be better. Sam stretched the stocking over the cup and secured it with a rubber band. Using a finger to create a void and poured in half of her sample. She sealed the bag and dropped it into her briefcase.
Room service arrived and the waiter steered in a tray. Sam slammed the briefcase shut, closed the screen on her laptop and washed her hands.
‘An experiment,’ She said when the waiter looked at the cup, ‘for my thesis. Prof says it’s easy, but I’m not so sure.’
‘Better you than me, I was too interested in girls to put much stock in study. Now look at me, nearly fifty and still waiting tables. It’s a good job that one of those girls said yes and made me get a steady job, eh.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘Want me to set out, or are you right to manage it.’
‘Thank you, I’m fine, I’ll do it. And tell that lady of yours, she picked good, yeah.’

‘Thank you, Miss.’ He pointed to the phone, give the desk a ring and I’ll come back for the tray, or you can leave it outside the door if you don’t wish to be disturbed.’

Ode to the Flinders Ranges

CJ Dennis was a poet we studied at school and last weekend while in Laura I took a photo of his statue.

They were having a country music festival there and I'm sorry I missed it. However, this morning prompted by photos one of my friends had posted on Facebook, a poem started forming in my mind. It's still rough, but in recognition of the Sentimental Bloke, here is my ode to the Flinders Ranges.

For you CJ


I hear your hills a callin'
Callin' me back home
To see my friends and family
And stop this ache in my heart
When I feel sad and alone
So somebody please
Write me a letter
Send me a card Sing me a song
When I feel lost
And times are hard
I feel your pull
You are the mighty Flinders
Place of my birth,
I'll keep missing you
And your people so badly
Until that sweet day
I’m returned to your earth.

Friday, 15 July 2016

Dave the Slave

I found a note I had scribbled onto a piece of paper when I was working on business names some time ago. I threw the paper out today and before I knew it, a few lines rolled themselves into a ball and came out of my fingers as a poem. It needs work, but here are a few rough first lines.
Dave, everyone thought he was slow
Because at school his grades were low
Teachers gave him extra work
Soon the target of the high school Jerk

But Dave was a thinker strong and kind

Tuesday, 12 July 2016

A Novel Writer's Blues

Rain and hail beats a heavy tune
The wind rips outside my winter room
And like a banshee does wail
I’m trying hard to force the flow
But my chapter just won’t grow
Yesterday I had that gift
But today I just don’t know.

Words that tempted me when I young
Haunt me now like songs we sung
Today every sentence written fails
I tap the keys time and time again
Read my margin notes scratched in pen
Where is this gift I’m sure I had
Why today are my words so bad

A ray of sunshine tries to sneak through
Rain and wind soon wipe away a sky of blue
Write something else I tell myself
A song a rhyme to find my flow
Advice for others if their words were slow
But what’s it worth, advice for free
Story of an angry day and stormy sea

Heavy the rain still beats its tune
And wind still rips outside my writer’s room
And like a hundred banshees does wail
Still trying hard to force the flow
But this chapter still won’t grow
Yesterday I had the writer’s gift
Yet today I’m lost, I just don’t know

Saturday, 9 July 2016

Loneliness and Laughter

I  found this poem today and gave it a bit of a polish. I have posted it as Pop before, but have changed the title today to bring it more in line with the message.
If anyone wants to play with the rhythm and the beat to make it work better, please feel free to have a go.  



He was grey, he was old
And in the lines on his face
His story is told
Spotted with age and hands bony thin
His life’s story is written on him
His mind still holds his memories so sharp
Has no time for tears
For love beats his heart

On his front porch he sits all alone
Black tea cools a cup and he’s holding the phone
It rings and he answers and answers again
A smile crosses his lips, and it's hello old friend
He shuffles, he snuffles and sometimes he creaks
Says there's no time to grumble, 
When it's friendship he seeks

He starts in the morning, at a quarter to ten
You'll see him each day
He's out there again
Humming while he’s dialling
And phoning a friend
He’s laughing because of
Another story to tell
A group of old friends
All denying their Gods or the Devil
Swift passage to heaven or hell

Another day’s passed 
He wanders inside and thinks of his day
He smiles because 
It doesn't matter that little was done
Everyone, laughing and lying
About deeds that they’d done
The sun's set and changed into night
Is he lonely you ask him
And he says that he might
But only after he kisses her photo
And turns off the light