Frank Halliwell's Poetry Page 2
The Monster
Jimboomba, Australia
In the northwest foothills of the mount
That's known as tamborine,
When the evening mists swirl up
In a surrealistic scene,
The landscape writhes beneath the moon
And black-lined, scudding clouds,
And in the swamps, the tea-trees
Wear their foggy, dripping shrouds.
When the purple shadows lengthen
On the flanks of tamborine,
And the bleak wind wails in lonely gums,
Then races on unseen,,,
The somber ribbet of the frogs,
The music of the night,
And suddenly a hunting owl
Glides by in silent flight.
Amid the high-pitched cricket sounds..
The lowing of a cow..
A hint of sound just past that dam,
The frogs fall silent now..
And even the cicadas cease
As if in deadly fear...
The world stands still...
There's not a sound..
A silence
you can
hear.
And then, a sobbing, strangled cry,
like someone sorely maimed..
The monster then, has struck again,
Another victim claimed.
It prowls around Maclean's bridge,
Verses dripping from it's jaws.
The locals live in terror
Of that huge voracious maw.
For years he's fed it bits of rhyme,
To whet it's appetite,
Then loosed it on a trusting world,
One dark and dreadful night.
The populace has vanished,
From this land of brave, bold men..
For Johnson's rhyming monster
Is upon the land again !!!
Dedicated to Don Johnson, of Jimboomba, who must bear much of the responsibility for inflicting the monster on the world.
Bushfire
Jimboomba, Australia
The sun hangs like a furnace in the brassy sky at noon,
All living things are hiding from it's blaze.
The sultry air surrounds us like a smothering cocoon,
The distance is a dusty, shimmering haze.
The old, dead gum stands gauntly on the highest point of ground.
Two almost fledged young hawks prepare to fly,
While mother hawk sits watching with the game that she has found,
Until her newly fledged have had their try.
The ever shifting puffs of wind become a steady breeze
And swing around into the north northwest.
It strips the last of moisture from the grasses and the trees
And gently rocks the fledglings in their nest.
The months of drought have turned once verdant land a lifeless brown,
The earth is parched and cracking from the heat.
The trees are dry as bulldust from the roots up to the crown.
A week of steady rain would be a treat.
But down along the river to the west, below the ridge,
It seems that fate has formed a different plan,
For a curl of smoke is rising from the grass beside the bridge.
For whatever reason, here the fire began.
Timid at first, the flames advance across the earth's dry face
Toward the litter lying thick beneath the trees.
And a bone dry bush says "welcome", to the flames' torrid embrace
And the sparks go swirling downwind on the breeze.
And where they touch the flames spring up to spread the fire wide
And the insects die in millions in the grass..
As the questing flames seek out the spots where they have run to hide
And the searing heat leaves nothing room to pass.
Emboldened now, it crackles on along the river bank
As the choking smoke goes streaming towards the trees.
And up the slope beside the track through herbage dry and rank
And it vaults across the narrow road with ease.
Both predators and hunted watch it come in great dismay,
Their enmity forgotten in the quest
To find a sanctuary: somewhere safe to get away
From the monster that's approaching from the west.
But the beast pursues them upward through the thickets and the glades
And hastens flying feet with searing breath.
'Til a rocky wall confronts them, and all hope of refuge fades,
As capricious fate metes out a fiery death.
And the fire spares no pity as it rages up the slope
With it's smoke and heat and flame that act as goads
To the mass that flee before it, with evaporating hope
As the superheated canopy explodes.
It cascades burning embers as it leaps from tree to tree
And spawns the fires' offspring far and wide.
Two scared young hawks await their fate in their remote eyrie
As the fire charges up the mountainside.
The hot wind is a living thing, a servant to the beast:
To this ever changing monster without form,
And the oxygen it carries garnishes it's master's feast..
As it feeds the all-consuming firestorm.
The eyes recoil from blinding smoke, the skin, from scorching heat
And the flying sparks attack like angry bees.
Each breath's a painful, gasping chore, the lungs are near defeat,
And the fearsome roar is echoed from the trees.
At the plateau's edge it falters, here the boulders thickly lie,
And the grass and scrub grow sparsely here and there,
And without the fuel to feed it, it must very quickly die,
And the hot wind wails a note of pure despair.
The blood-red sun descends to earth beyond the ravaged plains
To be swallowed up beneath the distant seas,
And through the night the hungry flames consume what fuel remains,
Punctuated by the crash of falling trees.
The new day arrives in glory, with a sunrise to amaze
The like of which is seen by very few,
But it lights a scene of stygian murk and drifting smoky haze,
With blackened ruin the only thing in view.
The old dead tree is burnt out and lies shattered on the ground.
No sign of life near what was once a nest.
But the morning holds a promise, as a distant rumbling sound
Comes from thunderheads that rise out to the west.
Yesterday was full of losers but it's often something wins.
Now the sound of thunder echoes on the breeze,
And in the sky above the ridge as this new day begins,
Three hawks soar high above the blackened trees.
Magic Squares
Jimboomba, Australia
The postman waved a greeting as he sped off up the hill:
..Junk mail for sure, a paper, and the mandatory bill!
I tripped over a sleeping dog as I went through the door..
The weekly village paper fluttered open to the floor..
The heading leapt up from the page: "Square dancing's not for squares":
...The western shirts, the crinolines, the happy, laughing pairs...
The memories came in a flood, as clear as yesterday,
From twenty some-odd years ago, and half a world away....
When thursday night meant Barrie, where the "Hayloft Squares" would fly,
I remember my blonde corner, with the twinkle in her eye!
Saturday,..Toronto beckoned through the snow and sleet to me...
That the "Circle-B's" were rockin' in the hall at Bramalea!
The week-ends at the square dance camps in all the summer's heat,
And though the perspiration flowed, the fun was hard to beat!
The "sets in order" on the dock when we forgot to brake...
And when the "spin chain thru" was done, three sets were in the lake!
But times and circumstances change, and from the snow and ice,
I found myself transported hence and set down in a trice
In mysterious Australia where the ancient stories sing
Of the terrifying Bunyip, and the dreaded Pigeon-wing!.
But that was in the distant past, so many years ago..
Have I forgotten all of it? I'd really like to know!
Temptation's strong to have a whirl,..I'd like to try,..and yet..
I wonder if it's really true you never do forget?
Out in the back, untouched for years, the boxes are unpacked,
And in the bottom of the last: the square dance clothes I lacked!
Perhaps a half are left complete, the bugs have got the rest,
And most of those intact have shrunk, but few can pass the test!.
Ah, there's the hall, ablaze with light! I find a place to park.
The throbbing beat of hoedown drifts inviting in the dark.
So up the stairs and through the door despite lingering fears.
I'm greeted like an old dear friend they haven't seen in years..
The squares are set at Loganlea, I'm really glad I came!
My corner's face is different, but the twinkle's still the same!
I'm just a trifle rusty, but the aim remains sublime:
...To re-create the magic,..in another place and time.
Not for me
Jimboomba, Australia
No, not for me; the plastic verse,
The lines of fractured prose.
Give me instead the singing rhyme
That each true poet knows.
The imagery that overwhelms
And sweeps you like a flood.
The thrilling, driving, metered verse
That pulses like the blood.
I want to feel the joy and pain
I want to taste the fear;
So take your plastic poetry,
And stick it in your ear!
Extinction
Jimboomba, Australia
The ship snapped out of hyperdrive twelve thousand miles from earth
The planet loomed immense upon the screen
With gleaming ice at both the poles and white clouds 'round its girth..
A floating ball of blue and brown and green.
The crescent of an ancient moon above the planet's rim,
Its face illumined by the brilliant sun,
And craters from ten thousand rocks gave it a visage grim,
Suggesting that it be a place to shun.
"Magnification, number one! Let's have a closer look!"
Said the captain as he eased into his chair.
"The colonists were landed here, according to the book,
So scan the place for life with every care!"
"They've had a million years or so to populate the place,
So they may not be so very hard to find.
They had some competition from a rather larger race:
Alien beings of a very different kind!
In only a few seconds then, the screen burst into life,
And the image of a commodore appeared,
"My report is that we prosper, though we've had a little strife
From the giants that our ancestors once feared!"
"We lost millions to the chemicals they broadcast everywhere,
They dealt our kind an almost mortal blow...
'Til they stripped the earth completely, and they fouled the seas and air,
...And they went the way the unresponsive go !"
"So report that we're successful and we've made it our abode,
And a new age for our kind has now begun!
Antennae will wave exitedly to mark this episode
When your ship arrives back home on Cockroach One!"
The Crow
Jimboomba, Australia
He's cursed by men from sea to sea,
He's hunted and exiled.
He's hated by most everyone,
And everywhere, reviled.
His morals are not those of men,
Nor will our wishes change him,
He's bold as brass! - He's black as night!
He's just as his god made him.
Dorry's Ridge
Jimboomba, Australia
In the fading days of summer; in the early afternoon,
We climbed the path that winds to Dorry's Ridge..
Where the crispness of the autumn air fortold a snowfall soon
On the rolling hills beyond the Springtown Bridge.
See the reds and golden yellows of the woods up on the hill
Where the maples stood all summer dressed in green.
Can you feel the breath of winter in the early evening chill
With the north wind stealing down the lake unseen?
Does a sense of wonder fill you, as the wild geese fill the sky
As they start their yearly journey to the south..
And the strung-out chains of emigrants call loudly as they fly
Past the rocky point down by the river's mouth..
And when once more it's silent, and our world is still again,
And our geese have disappeared beyond our view,
I'll lead you down the ridge, along the pathway from our glen,
And wander back along the lake with you.
On Dorry's Ridge the snow lies deep, and up along the hill..
The maples stand forlorn; their branches bare.
The lake lies deep beneath the ice; caught tight in winter's chill
The fox is sleeping soundly in her lair.
But one day soon the spring will come, the land will blossom then,
And life will wake again, as nature planned.
We'll climb the long path to the ridge, returning to our glen,
And watch the geese returning, hand in hand..
Leviathan
Jimboomba, Australia
The bay from high atop the bluff; a jewel of bright translucent green,
The children's cries above the wind, "A whale! Oh,look! A whale!"
One whale, then two, then three and four: at last a pod of ten are seen,
A rainbow dancing in the plumes and spray of massive tail.
They sail regally down the bay and mark their path with plumes of spray,
Sounding, rolling, diving, leaping high above the sunlit sea...
A joyous, ponderous ballet transforms an ordinary day
Into a magic afternoon we never thought we'd see!
And in the cobalt canyons of the deep abyss, beyond the shelf,
The language of the ocean depths; both haunting and sublime,
Is murmured by Leviathan, alone and singing to himself
The strange songs that have echoed down millennia of time...
The gunner aims; the deck gun roars; the azure sea is stained with red,
Radar above, sonar below, the quarry had no chance!
Fat profits fill the balance sheet, with little care for years ahead
When nothing but the whitecaps fill the ocean's wide expanse...
The whalers took our heritage and treated life with utter scorn
And in the purple canyons now the ancient echoes sleep,
And generations yet unborn shall never know... but ever mourn
The great gentle Leviathan, the singer of the deep.
Flight of Fancy
Jimboomba, Australia
If I had a magic carpet or a giant set of wings,
I'd leave this world of parking lots and noise and motor cars,
And I'd fly to far off places, and I'd see a million things,
And I'd sleep beneath a canopy of fifty million stars.
So play a game of "let's pretend" and climb aboard my carpet
And we'll fly away and do those things we usually cannot...
We'll race the dawn around the world, as swiftly as a comet,
And set down in a gentle land; the Island of Shalott.
We'll journey then to Scotland, to a misty rockbound coast...
And if we listen to the bleak seawind, we'll surely hear the knell
Of a phantom church bell tolling for a long dead pirate's ghost,
That wanders still the headland, listening for the Inchcape bell.
A horse drawn carriage waiting near a lake that's frozen over...
The snow is falling gently in the wood that's dark and deep..
But we have no time to tarry, this is just a short stopover,
For we have things to do, and miles to go before we sleep.
The undulating curtains of the northern lights are glowing
With their dancing colours beckoning as far as we can see.
We'll see the Yukon's frozen face and feel the chill wind blowing,
And we'll rest beside old Lake Lebarge and talk of Sam Magee.
Now across the bleak Aleutians, past the snows of Fujiyama
To the top of mighty Everest, where we'll enjoy the view
Of the Himalayan valleys and the mountain panorama,
And the one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu.
It's dawning; with the vista of the wide brown land before us...
Endless miles of golden beaches as our carpet brakes to slow.
I hope you all enjoyed your trip and none of you were nervous!
It's morning, and there's movement at the station down below.
____________________________________________________________________________
The Lady of Shalott ........................................ Alfred Lord Tennyson
The Inchcape Rock .......................................... Robert Southey
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening ......... Robert Frost
The Cremation of Sam Magee .......................... Robert Service
The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God ........... J. Milton Hayes
My Country ..................................................... Dorothea Mackellar
The Man from Snowy River ............................. A. B.'Banjo' Paterson
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Calabogie Lake
Jimboomba, Australia
So you reckon you've seen black bass ?
...There was one gave me the shakes
At a lake just south of Renfrew,
And just north of Rideau Lakes..
We'd been fishin' all the morning,
And could barely stay afloat!
We just rattled the bait bucket
And the fish jumped in the boat!
We were tired, sore and hungry
and were headin' in for lunch,
When Old Fred up an decided
Just to play a little hunch!
There's a small bay over yonder
Near that little stand of pine
And I saw one there last summer
That sent shivers up my spine!
How about we just meander
Over there and have a look?
You or Jack can run the motor
I'll tie on a bigger hook.
So we flailed around the bay a bit
And didn't get a bite..
And the afternoon went quickly:
It was gettin' on for night!
We were pullin' up the anchor,
And were callin' it a day...
When that silver thing got swallowed
By the monster of the bay!
The chain sang like a fiddle
As the anchor line came taut..
And we took off like a rocket
>From that one-time tranquil spot!
He towed us up and down the lake
At speeds that were no joke..
Till that old chain threw in the towel..
And finally it broke!
I can tell you don't believe me!
You're a doubter through and through!
I'm a fisherman! And, honest friend...
I'd never lie to you!
But I'll be back up next year
And I'll prove that I'm no fake..
When I catch that big-mouth monster
Out in Calabogie Lake!
A poetic fisherman's amusing reply can be found
on the poetry pages at http://www.oceanside.com
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APOCALYPSE
Jimboomba, Australia
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REFLECTIONS
Jimboomba, Australia
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The Gift
Jimboomba, Australia
Public Domain
Young Bill was pretty typical of young folks of today
And life was lived at breakneck pace; no time to take it slow.
No matter whether right in town or on the broad highway,
His speed was always faster than the frenzied traffic flow!
He drove his car with little care, as young men often do..
With little thought, and scant concern for water on the road,
And lost control around a curve and skidded straight into
A large truck that was carrying a very heavy load.
"There is no hope!", the surgeon said," and no more we can do!
His mind is gone, his time is up, and he has little left.
His body yet may live a while, his prospects now are few.
And even with full life support, of future he's bereft.
But I have something I must ask; it pains me to intrude,
But people all around the world have need of donor parts.
There is a need, and I must ask, although it may seem crude,
People are dying every day for lack of lungs and hearts.
So if you; in your time of grief, might spare a thought or two
For others who are sorely ill and living deep in strife,
You may find deep within yourself a charity that's true
To overcome your tragedy, and give the gift of life".
With glowing lights, they wend their way along that last long mile
Between the files of stately trees and rows of polished stone.
The shiny cars are big and black, their drivers never smile,
And in the back; a woman weeps with head bowed, all alone...
The room is light and airy in the bright fluorescent glare,
In contrast to the grayness of the rain and fog outside...
A vague and distant scent of antiseptic in the air...
A nurse in white is hovering near the youthful patient's side.
A pretty girl of seventeen, she'd lived those years with strife
Melinda winced and waited for the chest pain to abate.
With weak heart from her early years; she'd barely tasted life,
With no transplant available, all she could do was wait!
The cortege moves at somber pace along the rainswept streets,
She fought the fight as best she could, but now at last she sleeps.
And though one held a winning hand, that hand was never played..
The gift was never given, the commitment never made...
She'll never be a blushing bride, another soul could not decide..
And all along that last long ride, another mother weeps...
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The Beaten Track
Jimboomba, Australia
Public Domain
Degrees in English Literature do not a poet make I'm sure,
In spite of years of study that their holder may have spent.
Though free verse may have some allure, it's meaning often is obscure,
With no meter to carry it, the verse is impotent.
"Traditional", they call my path, forevermore they'll earn my wrath..
Those self-styled experts who promote invalid reasons to..
Reject the rhyme and meter lath, and walk the unobstructed path,
Where verse is free, and words will beat no meaningful tattoo..
So make decisions on your own, and pursue not the braying herd...
..Heeding those experts; self-proclaimed, that clutter verse's stage.
And read! Digest the poet's words and pay no heed to what you've heard,
..For windows to the poet's soul stand open on the page...
oOo
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Stealth
Jimboomba, Australia
Public Domain
Among the scattered rocks he glides
Between the clumps of grass.
The graceful hunter has a skill
No mammal can surpass.
The prey sits, all unknowing
On his log beside the stream,
That his time has come full circle..
..That his fate is long and lean.
There's no warning of his coming
For he doesn't make a sound.
...The embodiment of 'deadly'
As he flows along the ground.
Along the stream and meadow..
Through the dark and dank woodland,
The darting forked tongue tastes the air,
..A meal is close at hand.
The quarry keeps a wary bug
Beneath his scrutiny,
..His senses deaf and blind to
His approaching destiny.
Two eyes of jet fixed on him
As the ambush is prepared,
And the quarry now will never know
Just how it was he erred.
He adjusts his body slowly
Lest his dinner plans be foiled,
'Til his head can swing quite freely
and his counterweight is coiled.
Did he move?.. The strike was blinding..
Just a blur that tricks the eye..
And one player goes on living,
While the other one must die!
..Just another of life's dramas
That are played out day by day,
And the play remains eternal
To the players in the play.
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Fragrance
Jimboomba, Australia
Public Domain
They're small and warm and furry
all attributes we prefer
in a pet that we can cuddle,
..Be it thoroughbred or cur.
But there are few would have one,
'Though their resume's ideal,
They're readily available
Though not very genteel.
They will seek you out to meet you,
They will share your humble fare,
They will clean up all your food scraps,
They'll reside most anywhere.
One moved in here two weeks ago..
..Quick and brown and lean,
His presence lingers on, although
His spirit's left the scene!
His mortal coil has passed
Down in some wall's deep hidden spaces,
Rats always seem to breathe their last..
.. In inconvenient places!
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Modern Gadgets
Jimboomba, Australia
Public Domain
A cowboy from the Texas plains,
..East of the great divide
Inherited some money when
His rich old uncle died.
After weeks of celebration
And a big West Texas feast,
He packed the wife and all his kids
On a stagecoach headed east..
..Cause he'd heard about the cities
Where they never dim the lights
And he reckoned that he'd take his kin
To see those wondrous sights!
They had to change at Little Rock,
Where ol' Tex got the word
That the new stagecoach was silver,
And it flew just like a bird!
So they flew on into Kennedy
Just gettin' on for dark,
And as all tourists have to,
They got mugged in central park!
They saw so mny wonders
In this new world they had found:
They travelled on a subway train
Way down under the ground!
They had their supper that night
In a big five star hotel,
And Tex went to the lobby
To set and rest a spell.
The place was packed with people
with functions here and there
An old folk's seminar was on..
..And a fashion show upstairs!
Two massive doors slid open
On the far side of the hall
In stepped an ancient lady
In an old and tattered shawl.
The doors slammed shut, the air was filled
With high pitched humming whine
Above the door a counter climbed
From "G" to forty-nine!
A moment passed, then numbers came
Back down again to "G"..
An apparition stepped out
That was all ol' Tex could see!
She wore a tiny mini-skirt
With legs right up to here..
..A tall and stately red-head,
He couldn't help but leer..
Another old girl went through
Into the room beyond,
A few short minutes later,
Out stepped a stunning blonde.
Tex reckoned that he'd seen enough.
This modern stuff was fun!
He leaned across the table,
And he whispered to his son..
"That aeroplane was okay,
But THIS gadget works real slick..
Rush back into the dining room,
And fetch your mother, quick!"
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Swan Song
Jimboomba, Australia
Public Domain
I've never felt the morbid urge
To read obituaries
To see who may have left the scene
Among my luminaries.
We're getting older by the day!
Although we may be clever,
We're just here for a little while
And no one lives forever!
So we all know that it's coming,
For the writing's on the wall,
But we have no way of knowing
Whether summer, spring, or fall.
If only we could choose the route
We'd take to leave this place,
I'd likely choose to die in bed,
A big smile on my face.
If I can't have my druthers though
And pick a path thats warm and nice,
Then something like a lightning bolt
That's quick and clean might just suffice!
So when the dealer calls my hand,
My joy won't be be delirious,
But I'll be pretty happy
If what kills me's not too serious!
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Confession
Jimboomba, Australia
Public Domain
Why is it I feel no remorse?
My enemy is dead!
Her crowning glory on the floor,
For I've removed her head!
No longer will her strange offspring
Make my blood pressure rise!
No longer will my curses ring
At figures I despise!
For years she's irritated,
Aggravated and annoyed,
And to-day was once too often,
With my patience, that she's toyed!
She sat there small and vulnerable
And offered no defense.
I attacked her with my pen-knife
To avenge her impudence!
She was arrogant and haughty
Not a thing did she repent!
Even though she must have known now
That her end was imminent!
She's now a part of history..
Gone like the Mastodon.
And life is full of joy again..
mY CAPS LOCK KEY IS GONE!
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Stamina
Jimboomba, Australia
Public Domain
Old Randy was a bachelor who'd been around a while
At ninety-five the passing years were not cramping his style.
Lolita was a worldwise doll just short of twenty-one
When Randy popped the question, she thought wedlock might be fun.
But there were dire predictions that no good could come of this...
And age would be a barrier to their domestic bliss,
Rumours flew and fingers wagged with knowing looks exchanged,
And folks were sure that shortly a divorce would be arranged!
Six months later Joe was walking Rover in the park,
The day was almost over, it was getting on for dark,
And there upon a park bench was old Randy, looking sad!
He moaned that life, at one time good, had lately turned to bad!
"Ah yes", said Joe with knowing nod and noting Randy's frown
I guess it's just the fact that old equipment lets you down?
"Oh, not at all", said Randy, "though the body's in decay,
We make out all around the house 'bout fifteen times a day".
"Though I've not been home for a week, I'm sure that she'll forgive
me everything, if I can just remember where I live!"
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Daybreak
Jimboomba, Australia
Public Domain
The glow is in the eastern sky, the night is almost done.
Excitment at the garage door, the new day has begun.
The dogs are prancing at the door, anxious to greet the dawn..
And leave no blade of grass unsniffed, no tree unpiddled-on.
If you keep dogs around the place as I have always done
You'll know there's no real substitute for all their furry fun,
But as much fun as my chums are, there's nothing that comes free..
And you I'm sure, must pay the price for dogs as well as me!
My dogs are large and as they say, in time all things must pass,
And every day there can be found large lumps out on the grass.
It cannot be left there of course, for everybody knows
It feels too disconcerting squishing up between your toes!
So first thing every morning when I've put the kettle on..
I take my trusty shovel and I go and scout the lawn,
Removing fertilizer that the dogs and donkey leave
Restoring all the beauty green expanses can achieve.
So behind the aloe vera patch and safely out of sight...
Is a six inch layer of "smelly stuff", (I try to be polite!)
But I digress from my story, for I have all through the year
Big flocks of winged visitors that usually appear..
At first light every morning and before dusk every night,
All looking for a handout and quite sure they'll find a bite..
Of suet and of birdseed and some honeyed water too,
And the feast is laid on every day at uncle Frankee's zoo.
Resplendent in their rainbow coats the lorikeets appear.
The royalty of this feathered world, for none do they show fear.
Their subjects sit and grumble round the fence and in the trees,
And wait noisily for their turn and for the crowd to ease.
My cheeky black-backed magpie arrives with her demand,
Self-service isn't good enough, she must be fed by hand!
So pussy's dish gets raided, to get a scrap of meat
So Cheeky and her bigger mate can have a bite to eat!
..Two slits of jet in yellow orbs, a furry ginger coat,
..A furtive movement in the grass might very well denote...
The cat is out there watching and would like to try her luck..
..A malevolent island in a sea of feeding ducks.
Down by the dam a spoonbill seeks his breakfast round the edge
Sifting for small crustaceans through the bullrush and the sedge,
And sleek in brown and white atop a single rock nearby,
A cormorant preens her feathers with her wings hung out to dry.
And up behind the aloe patch with a dignified strut
A royal ibis pokes and prods hunting for god knows what!
I wonder what the day will bring..it will be no surprise
If it's like all the others here...perfect, with sunny skies!
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Choices
Jimboomba, Australia
Public Domain
There's little doubt you've heard it said
That dogs are man's best friend.
Their loyalty is true, where others' fade.
She'll stand beside you, steadfast,
And defend you to the end,
Forgiving the transgressions that you've made.
When you've important things to do
She'll smile and not complain,
Or grumble that you never take her out..
And if you leave her home
You can be sure that she'll remain,
Your faithful friend, there'll never be a doubt!
If she goes to the littlest room,
It won't be for an hour,
She's just going to get herself a drink.
If you come home a little late
She'll never scowl or glower,
Or raise the roof and make an awful stink.
In fact, it's quite the opposite,
..the later that you are,
The happier she'll be at your return.
So you need not ever worry
When you're leaning on the bar
That she'll be cold, aloof and taciturn.
Your dog will always understand..
..to get your point across,
Sometimes you really have to raise your voice!
And she will always realize
Her master is the boss,
And in that knowledge she will but rejoice!
If you pat her on her bottom
Her delight will be quite clear,
No quest for hidden motives will be sought!
And there'll be no repercussions
And no need to cringe in fear
If you play with other dogs and you get caught.
Your dog will never ask about
The other dogs you've had,
Because your dog just doesn't want to know.
Expensive rings and shiny things
Are not a doggie's fad,
So she won't run your bank account too low.
But doggies have one drawback though
You'd best not overlook..
Though she's a warm and faithful friend,
She'll be a rotten cook!
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Bulkmailers
Jimboomba, Australia
Public Domain
The sun is shining brightly
there's a soft and balmy breeze
and the birds are singing cheerily
around us in the trees..
The day is almost perfect
But prepare an epithet
For those rotten E-mail bombers
..Paparazzi of the net!
They waste our time and money
And invade our privacy
Try to escape and type,"remove"
Is just a fallacy!
You don't want their advertising?
Is there a means that exists
To avoid their download garbage
and keep your name off their lists?
I will complain to anyone
Who would try to impose
Their advertising on me,
and refuse to buy from those!
I suppose we should be thankful
Though junk mail's a bitter pill,
That unlike the paparozzi scum,
There's no way these can kill!
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