Thursday, June 30, 2011


'bump, knuckle, transfix'


I'm wide awake! It's three-fourteen;
That must mean something! What does it mean?
Normally I sleep like a log,
Never woken by a barking dog,
A passing car, or a yowling cat.
Never woken by stuff like that.
Yet here I am wide-eyed in bed,
Filled with a trembling sort of dread.
Ah! A bump! Not imagination!
My heart jumps! It's a palpitation.
I lie and listen, watch and wait;
My breathing seems to hesitate;
I pull the sheet up to my chin;
The air seems clammy, cold and thin.
I clench my fists; the knuckles whiten
What is it that has come to frighten?
I lie transfixed! I wait and wait
For the next  bump to eventuate.
That it will come is very certain.
Is that a twitching of the curtain?
Three-fourteen! An ungodly hour!
Soon 'it' will have me in its power!
I feel 'it' coming ever near
I squeeze my eyes tight shut with fear.............
And suddenly, without a warning,
It's eight-fourteen and it is morning!



If I were a blue-eyed lemur (and I'm rather glad I'm not)
And I met a brown-eyed lemur whose blood was running hot,
I'd avoid his loving advances and tell him to get lost,
Making it plain as a pike-staff that our stars were certainly crossed.
For brown-eyed lemurs are ho-hum; they're ten-a-penny indeed,
Whereas the blue-eyed lemur is a very special breed.
In the jungles of Madagascar we'd play games among the trees,
But anything like an 'engagement' (a la the birds and bees)
Would make me seethe with resentment and possibly blow a fuse,
For all the babies would have brown eyes, not my beautiful blues.
As it is with our human neighbours, my blue's a recessive gene,
So I'd have to find a blue-eyed beau, if you know what I mean.
So, if I happened to chance upon a gorgeous blue-eyed male
Who was looking-out for a love-affair, I'd catch him by the tail!
'Come up and see me sometime' I'd whisper tenderly
'Then all my dear little babies would have blue eyes just like me.'

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

In Miniature

wants a wide view


I look up at the night sky
And view the planets.
I look inward at my brain
And view the planets.
The universe is encased
(So they say).
My brain is encased
( I am certain.)
Is my brain a universe?
Is the universe a brain?
In my brain
The little planets make contact;
I think, I speak, I do.
In the universe
The planets make contact ,
Or would if they could.
Far into the future
The planets may link,
As do the planets in my brain.
Then the universe brain
Will speak to itself,
As my brain does.
And it will wonder
'Am I part of a bigger brain
Outside myself?'


(With Apologies to 'Ten Green Bottles')

Twelve fat pigeons sitting on a wire.
Twelve fat pigeons sitting on a wire.
But if four fat pigeons should suddenly expire
There'd be eight fat pigeons sitting on the wire.
(Plus one observer!)



Admit it! You've done it and so have I.....
Told that xenobombulation lie.
Pretended to sickness rather than
Face something unpleasant, like a man!
Malingering is its other name.
It's Human Nature that's to blame.
As a very small child you clutched your tummy
Saying 'No school, please, Mummy!'
Yes, we've all turned that little trick;
Writhing around and playing sick.
We'd get a nasty pain in the chest
Whenever the class was due a test.
A headache would rear it's ugly head
And we'd spend a blissful day in bed.
But parents very soon recognise
Little children's malingering lies.
That doesn't stop us trying it on
When our youthful days have gone.
Being clever, the day before,
We complain that our throat is sore,
Paving the way with a cough or two
Timed for when the boss walks through.
Our voice, on the phone, when we call next day,
Is weak and rasping and fades away.
Admit it! This little scenario,
This fabrication of wilting woe,
Seems to come very naturally
To everybody, including me.
But now there's a new word you can use
When trying-on the malingering ruse.
'I'm xenobombulated today!'
That is all you need to say.
You'll blind them with science and know no shame
As you spend the day at the football game!


How does this shot affect you?
Could you be the man in red?
Or do you picture yourself up there
And shy away with dread?
I find that I'm fascinated
Even though I am repelled!
My skin crawls with apprehension
And the fear will not be quelled.
I don't think that it's vertigo;
I can take heights as a rule.
And my school-marm side is adamant
That the man in red's a fool!
It's just that I know, were I up there,
I'd be drawn to that empty space!
I'd see myself floating off the cliff
With elegance and grace!
I can hardly look at the picture
And yet I can't look away!
I wonder how it affects you!
Do you feel the same way?

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

The Driving Lesson

supplied the illustration


When I was learning to drive I went out on the road with Tom;
I'd scarcely learned to work-out which was 'To' and which was 'From'.
We came up to this road-sign which was simply painted white
And I began to panic.... was it 'Left' or was it 'Right'.
Tom yelled , in a terrified voice, 'You idiot! It's a Reverse!
So, of course, I obeyed him and reversed into a hearse!



Maybe a muted yellow, but a very vibrant view,
Merewether waterfront and a sky and sea of blue.
A solitary reader enjoys the morning sun;
Very soon it will be too hot, but the day has just begun.
The pillars may have faded, but their usefulness won't fade
As, later in the day, they give that very welcome shade.

Speedy Gonzales



He's been round the track a time or two.
Maybe he saw his dreams come true,
Standing drenched in French champagne
As he was cheered time and again.
Maybe he beat the other chaps
Doing quite astounding laps.
Maybe he crashed-out once or twice,
He didn't care; he'd pay the price.
Maybe the girls all swooned about him,
Saying they couldn't live without him.
Maybe his manly charms were such
That he was a joy to kiss and touch!
Maybe he actually beat his breast
Declaring to all he was the best.
Those days have gone but look at that face!
He's still a winner in life's race.


The Beatles coined a little phrase
To show the passing of the days;
They wrote the words at, maybe, twenty,
When their future days were plenty.
"Each day just goes so fast....
I turn around, it's past."
And isn't it a great disaster
That old age makes it go much faster!
Xmas now with Easter merges,
Waves of Time roll with great surges!
Birthdays pile up ceaselessly!
Branches grow on the Family Tree.
Surely the Beatles were quite young
When this original song was sung!
Surely they couldn't imagine, clearly,
That time would gallop so, and yearly!
It was just a useful phrase
To register the passing days.
Now they're all old , it seems to me,
They sing it in a minor key!
They realise that finite Time
Can't be contained in a simple rhyme!
'Stop! Stop!' we cry, 'Slow down! Slow down!
In minutes, hours and days we'll drown!'
Inexorable! That's the word
That makes we humans feel absurd.
Helplessly we're swept along
To where all used-up things belong.
The terrible, terrible speed increases
Until it ceases.

The Bleaching

calls for a brief response to this illustration.


The bright fish fled from the Barrier Reef.
'Quickly, friends! We'll come to grief!
Global Warming has bleached the coral!
Why are humans so immoral?'


One of the world's most looked-at images!
Far more provocative than a nude!
Marilyn Monroe in her famous pose
And no-one could call the picture lewd!
Out on the beach, the girls, bikini-clad,
Show far more flesh than is here revealed
And on countless stages a host of females
Show off attractions that are here concealed.
The secret lies in the floating skirt, of course,
Though the model's attractions can't be denied.
What will the next bold gust reveal to us?
What does Marilyn need to hide?
It's called titillation, that's the name of it;
Think of the wiles of Gypsy Rose Lee!
Lady Godiva used her hair for it;
Men had to imagine, but could not see.
What puzzles me most is Nature's reasoning!
Surely animals aren't the same!
Mating is mating and there's an end to it!
Why do humans play this game?
Why have humans evolved to titillate?
What is the evolutionary cause!
Is it a sign of our species' playfulness
Or just one more proof that all males have flaws!

Monday, June 27, 2011

Not For Me

Meditation as a prompt


I don't care to meditate;
I don't care for a trance-like state.
My head's too full of butterflies,
Which would get a very big surprise
If I ever tried to clip their wings
By thinking of transcendent things.
They simply wont fly in formation
So I'm sure that they'd hate meditation.
The act of emptying my brain
Is something from which I'll refrain.
Not that my 'butterflies' are  rare;
They simply flit about in there,
Inconsequential silly things,
But often with splendiferous wings!
Silly rhymes and mad ideas
Swoop and flutter between my ears.
They flap around inside my skull
Creating a life that's never dull.
Repeating a mantra seems to me,
The very depths of monotony.
Sleepless, I have tried counting sheep,
In order to put myself to sleep.
But I always end up playing games,
 Giving the sheep really silly names,
Or making them jump into a lake!
 By which time I am wide awake.
If that's beyond my mental powers
How could I sit for hours and hours
Thinking of nothing? No! I'd hate
To be forced to meditate.



When little boys get in your hair
(A situation hardly rare!)
Simply give them lumps of bread
And lead them to the pond instead!
Pike should be quite highly prized
For keeping 'wild things' mesmerised!

Dear John

asks for brevity on this topic!


Dear John,
You've gone!
Your friend Jack
Says 'Don't come back!'




It's hard to ignore, so I presume,
A hulking great elephant in the room!
You'd hardly look up with a cursory glance
If an elephant entered the room by chance!
Here is the foyer of an hotel!
Will he walk to the desk and ring the bell?
Or will he do a trumpeting laugh
And quite demoralise the watching staff?
See them cowering on the right!
I think they may have got a fright!
I was once in a Game Reserve
When, coming round the bush-track's curve,
An enormous elephant , great head nodding,
Came towards us, slowly plodding!
We were in a four-wheel-drive
But we scarcely expected to stay alive!
One great foot could have squashed us all!
He so big! And us so small!
The Ranger said 'We must just reverse!
Staying would be a great deal worse!'
So, slowly, the car was backed and backed,
While we all hoped to remain intact.
The reversing seemed endless, ages passed,
The track was narrow; we couldn't go fast.
And that great elephant kept on coming,
The whole effect was simply numbing!
At last we reached a wider track,
Turned and drove off. We didn't look back!
But I sympathise with the folk above!
I know just what they're thinking of!
There really is a sense of doom
When you find 'the elephant in the room'!



(A poem for Small Children)

Mummy was  picking blackberries;
Daddy was cutting wood.
Both had said 'Billy Boy,
Sit here and be good'.
There were biscuits in the bucket
There was shade beneath the tree,
But I felt lonely.
Poor little me!
I started to cry,
I started to say
'I don't like it
When Mummy goes away!'
A Mummy Rabbit heard me
As she was hopping by
And she said 'Billy Boy
Please don't cry!'
Then all her Bunny Family
Came hopping down the track!
They'll keep me company
Till Mummy comes back!'


James May, of British TV fame
(Most car-enthusiasts know his name)
Decided to give his dice a throw
And invade the Chelsea Flower Show!
Not with living blooms a such!
His exhibit had a childhood touch.
He used plasticine, play-dough stuff,
Although his flowers looked real enough.
He wheedled, coaxed and then cajoled
The British public into his fold.
Chelsea Pensioners, kids from school,
Hundreds of people formed a pool
Of people making plasticine flowers.
It took them hours and hours and hours!
The rules of the Chelsea Flower Show
Didn't have a clause saying 'Flowers must grow;
Flowers must be real and thrive;
They must be botanically alive.'
No, they didn't say that, so James dived in,
Never thinking that plasticine could win!
Well, the plasticine garden was rejected
By the Judges, all of them, most respected.
But the British Public, with one voice,
Declared James' garden 'The Peoples' Choice'!
Which goes to show that no-one mocks
If you think, with daring, outside the box!


Local Greengrocer



When the cyclone invaded Queensland
It blew bananas away
And Australia is feeling
The loss until today.
Nearly all our bananas
Came from the Sunshine State,
But each and every plantation
Was battered about by Fate.
Now bananas are so expensive
(The few that do appear)
That we don't expect banana feasts
Any time this year.
These bananas may look yellow,
As bananas did of old,
But believe me their true colour
Is very expensive



Shameless Rosella!
Attacking my morning toast
While I am blinded by the glory of your plumage!


Introducing my two clowns. Harry came to practise a speech for tomorrow, and Max behaved perfectly while he was doing it, so both of them got a false nose as a prize! They're really quite good-looking boys!

On the subject of Public Speaking something great came my way last week. My son's school, which is a Performing Arts High School, asked me to teach Public Speaking in a lunch hour. The children (12 year-olds) were so lively, enthusiastic and involved that it was an absolute pleasure. They're drama students so they have a head start. I can't wait to go back again!

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Let Us Spray.

supplied the illustration


Dammit all! Another splash!
Now I'm going to do something rash!
I'm sick of all this constant spraying!
Rainy days are so delaying!
I'm veering over to the right!
Hold on! Hold on! Hold on tight!
Fasten your seat-belt! Say your prayers!
I'm going to drive straight up those stairs!


I visited a perfectionist four or five years ago!
His home was picture-perfect, with everything white as snow!
This shot is of the bedroom, but every room was the same,
With every sort of statuary that anyone could name!
There were angels, there were fairies, there were cupids by the score
And he even had a snow-white carpet lying on the floor!
It wasn't his wife who asked for it, though femininity ruled,
But visitors like us, 'Les Girls', positively drooled!
He'd plastered over the ceiling to resemble waves at sea;
White waves, of course, billowing across in neat virginity.
It was only an urban dwelling, fairly plain on the outside,
But that magic interior was ideal for a bride.
I couldn't have lived in that household, not being a perfect being,
And 'things' to dust and keep pristine were all that I kept seeing!
And I thought to myself what moving-house would ultimately entail!
It wasn't the sort of family home that would ever make a sale!
But just for a pleasant afternoon, with cream-cakes to the fore,
It was an experience.
Then I scuttled out the door!

Stolen Kiss

supplied the first line of this limerick


A fellow was playing with fire
In the back row of Saint Matthew's choir.
As he drew Maisie closer
She said 'No no no sir!
I can't cope with too much desire!'



I'm on the beach and hunting for crabs!
They're very hard to see!
But look at the sand
On which I stand!
It's wavy, like the sea!

The Stumble Dance

asks us to write about a terrible dancer!


Life is a stumble-dance;
We sort of lurch through life.
Toes stepped on are everywhere
And jerky timing's rife.
Others seem to pirouette
And jitterbug with ease
But I must say, dear reader,
I am not one of these.
On the dance-floor I'm disaster,
My left thinks it's my right;
My balance is ridiculous
And I look a perfect sight.
That's why the cartoon up above
Makes me feel all warm inside.
It tells us how to face the world
When we want to run and hide.



Sorry to disappoint you, dearie,
But this one's going to be quite dreary!
Summer foliage, dead and brown
Seen on a roof-top in Sydney Town!
Think of Australia.... think of sun!
But Winter comes when Autumn's done!
Dark clouds gather, the cold wind blows!
This isn't the sunshine that we chose!
While other nations are gamboling,
Singing merry songs of Spring,
Making garlands of pretty flowers,
This is the outlook that is ours!
And does anybody give a toss
That while you win we cope with loss?
We float down here in the Southern seas!
Who cares  if we darned well freeze?
Will you give us a single thought
As you get a tan on the tennis court?
No! We're discarded and alone
As you lick the umpteenth ice-cream cone!
But there's one thing you should remember!
We'll be laughing come September!

Blue Simplicity


And a special thought for Sally, who normally organises this Blog. She is in Intensive Care and her two grandaughters are looking after her blog for her.

The art of Kobyashi Kaichi

What is it about these pictures
That proves so satisfying?
How can they make an impact
Without ever really trying?
So few colours, so few lines,
And devoid of facial features,
So few shadows, so few shapes,
And no other living creatures,
And yet I feel such sadness,
Such overwhelming pain,
When I view these little pictures,
Once and then again.
The terrible sense of waiting
For someone who never arrives.
A glimpse of something personal,
A glimpse of another's lives.

A woman sitting on the stairs.

By a lamp-post see her wait.

She passes by a flight of steps.

She stands within a gate.
This must be what is called empathy;
I really feel as though it were me.



I admire the sort of person who takes a stand and dares,
Dares to state an opinion about her world's affairs.
She looks an ordinary girl, not an exhibitionist,
But one so moved by the way things are that she dares to shake a fist!
Her placard's the green of the Irish, and the green of Iranians, too;
It stands for personal freedom, whatever the powerful do.
She dared to face a camera to get the result she craved.
But what has happened to her since? I hope she has been saved.

Saturday, June 25, 2011



asks us to use the words
'Is That All There Is?', the title of a famous song by Peggy Lee.


I'd love to say something pithy
When the time comes for me to die.
I'm frequently rehearsing
How  I want to say goodbye!
I've  always loved the last word
But will things get back-to-front?
Will I shuffle off this mortal coil
With nothing but a grunt?
I'd like to say something meaningful,
Preferably in rhyme,
But will I be shy and speechless
When it comes to the last time?
I want my words to be recorded
In some book of famous quotes
So I hope somebody's standing by
All ready to take notes.
I'd like my words to be funny,
But there wont be too much scope;
It must be hard to crack a joke
When one's abandoned hope!
But I don't think I could better
(How much pithier could I be?)
Than to wheeze and say 'Is That All There Is?'
Courtesey of Peggy Lee.


My Mother at my Daughter's wedding.


My Mother was ninety-seven and very far from strong,
But Rebecca was getting married and Mum wanted to come along.
Two nurses from the Nursing Home pushed her in a chair,
And we were so delighted to have her company there.
I bought a dress in lavender; her hair looked soft and neat,
But she couldn't see in a mirror that she looked very sweet.
Her eyes have an expression that twinkles though, by then,
She was completely blind and she would never see again.
But she looked into the camera and wished the couple well,
And though she couldn't see them no-one was able to tell.
She died only one month later, quietly, in her sleep.
And this is a portrait of her that I'm always going to keep.
Hers was a sort of courage that kept going stoically.
And I only hope that some of her has been passed down the line to me.


gave us the prompt 'Give'.


My motives have always bedevilled me;
Introspection has made me aware
That at all times I give out of self-love,
Not because I, unselfishly, care.
A little black toad is in residence
Up there in my self-conscious brain;
It says 'Wow! You are great being generous!'
And I try to damp-down that refrain.
I want to be noble and selfless;
I want to put other folk first;
I want to be loving and giving
But it seems that desiring is cursed.
For in wanting I'm still saying 'Me first!;
I need to feel good for my sake;
I want to feel all warm and fuzzy!'
In other words, I am a fake.



Though iron bars may hold me
My spirit still flies free.
I shall grow ever upward
Like the branches of a tree.

Presidential Pink!



See the President's Palace, Taipai,
On some great ceremonious day!
The ladies in pink 
Are making me think
That a festival's now underway.
Their pinkness just can't be denied!
Each one like a bright rosy bride!
'Does good luck?' I muse
'Favour these blushing hues?
Is that why they're full of Pink Pride?
Is the President's favourite shade
The colour of pink lemonade?
Or is it by chance
That the ladies who dance
Are so prettily, pinkly displayed?
Like roses they bloom in the sun
And it looks like a great deal of fun!
Whatever the cause
I like them because
They look happy, when all's said and done.

Paddy was in a quiz show that was showing on TV, 
But the final question befuddled him, as you will quickly see.
'What is the name of a well-known bird that doesn't build a nest?'
This was the tricky question that had put him to the test.
Over and over he'd mulled it but finally, in the end,
He had to admit defeat and say 'Please can I ring a friend?'
So he rang up his good friend Shamus, who was waiting by the phone.
Shamus picked up the phone as soon as he heard the dialling tone.
' It's Paddy' the contestant said ' I've a tricky question here.
I'll say it very slowly and speak up loud and clear.
'What is the name of a well-known bird that doesn't build a nest?'
'Begorrah! That's too easy! Surely you could have guessed!
Said Shamus 'The bird's a cuckoo! You should have known the name!'
Paddy gave the answer and went on to win the game!
He won a lot of money and he wined and dined his friend
For he was now a wealthy man with lots of cash to spend.
'Tell me, Shamus' he said to him 'You weren't too bright in school....
And yet you proved at the right time that you are no-one's fool!
How did you know the answer?'  And didn't he get a shock
When Shamus said
'Well, everyone knows a cuckoo nests in a clock!'

Friday, June 24, 2011

The Eye of the Beholder

asks to ponder about the feelings of inanimate objects.


"I've always been proud of my eyes;
Everyone has declared them perfections,
Although even I have to say
That they're pointing in different directions.
A potato with eyes has some class;
It's considered quite charming by others;
Vegetables smooth and un-eyed
Are only adored by their mothers.
But, today, I heard something obscene;
Something almost beyond comprehension.
I've not felt the  same ever since;
I've been living with foul apprehension.
They tell me my eyes will be gouged!
They'll be dug out by cook in a hurry.
They'll be thrown in the sink with my peel!
Don't tell me that isn't a worry!
Now I lie in the tray in the shop
And I hope no-one ever takes to me,
And carries me home for his tea.
The thought of it's going to undo me!
My eyes! Once thought soulful and bright!
To be gouged in a manner quite heedless!
Anyone who attacks me this way
Deserves to go hungry and feedless!"



In a dusty case in a small museum these clothes pegs were on show.
Lit from above with a little lamp so the whole scene seemed to glow.
They were displayed as artifacts over time collected.
Cast aside, no doubt, back then, though now they were resurrected.
And it struck me that this was their stage, with the footlights at their feet.
With the little blue ballerinas looking rather sweet
As they dipped and bowed and circled in time to a melody
With all their little tutus flaring so prettily.
While beside them marched the soldiers, with their military might,
And all their colourful uniforms looking crisp and bright.
Their shadows, too, looked theatrical, as they echoed the dancers' legs!
I found myself almost believing they were more than humdrum pegs!

Winter Weather

                                 Press Photograph


The winter weather's looking grim
Yet still the hardy swimmers swim!
The waves are frothy, wild and high
Under a grey and heavy sky.
The coal-ships labour way off-shore,
Awaiting storms that are in store.
The gulls beat wings against the weather......
And hardy swimmers swim together.



This is supposed to be funny, and I think I can raise a smile,
But it touches on a fact I find so grim.
The child, the man, the empty space, the sameness of it all
Except that it no longer features him.
How dare the world keep spinning, how dare the stars still shine
When he's not in the future's here-and-now!
How can Halley's Comet pay a visit yet again,
When he's not there to turn to it and bow?
Unimaginable, the fact
That we do a disappearing act!

Thursday, June 23, 2011


supplied the theme


A pillow is deceptive;
It looks soft and receptive,
But I've never met a pillow without flaws.
Though each one  looks delicious
I am always quite suspicious
And that, my friends, is not without a cause.
I have tried-out any number
On my way to peaceful slumber,
And each one has been too chilly or too hot.
They have posed all soft and plumpy
But, without fail, they've been lumpy,
And I've simply never found the perfect spot.
I have pummelled and palpated;
I have twisted and gyrated,
I have turned the pillow over several times.
I have had my left ear crumpled
And the bedclothes have been rumpled,
And I've counted many taunting midnight chimes.
A pillow in its wrapping
Makes one think of peaceful napping;
It looks bountiful and virginal and white,
But in use it's far from feathery;
It is often almost leathery
And its downiness is far from a delight.
Yes, pillow advertising
Relies on fantasising;
We think of perfect pillows on our beds.
We think they're white and calming,
But they're really quite alarming!
Wayward pillows just play havoc with our heads.



Among the tones of paler trees
Glow flaring features such as these.
The Flame Trees punctuate the scene,
Proving that nature is more than green.
Becoming one with the summer air,
Preening, with their russet hair.
Adding fuel to the fire
Of temperatures set to climb higher.
Their time will pass; they cannot last.
But oh what a blessed shade they cast!

Sky Message

This startling photograph has just been posted by
to highlight the destruction of the Amazon  forests


So much like a noble tree
But the opposite is what we see.
This picture, taken from the air
Shows a tree that is not really there!
The roads, the trunk; bare earth, the leaves.
Big Business laughs; Mother Nature grieves.
Dear Readers, please sign the petition!
AVAAZ is on a mighty mission!
Soon the World's Lungs will be gone.
Help to save the Amazon!

Eternal Shadows



Always in shadow, under the boards
Down by the river-side,
A place of secrets where waters lisp
And a very rare seagull glides.
The chattering masses gather above,
To drink coffee or sip their wine,
Never seeing that there, there under the boards,
No sun will ever shine.



Said the Little Green Toad to the Little Old Tap
'I hope we don't meet with some mishap!
The world is full of pain and slaughter
But I can manage if I have water.
Water! The very stuff of life!
Without it every other strife
Doesn't really mean a thing.
Water rules! Water is king!
Let's hope those humans keep it flowing!
If not, I don't know where we're going!

Wednesday, June 22, 2011


'gag, maintain, omit'


The Middle East is in the throes
Of toppling all the dominoes.
Some have gone and some are going,
Some reject the overthrowing.
Some potentates maintain their power
Though looking shakier by the hour.
Some put a gag on cyberspace
And subjects call that a disgrace.
Some leaders say that they'll allow
Greater fredom, but don't say how.
They omit the details, leaving out
Important things that are in doubt.
How will it end? In smiles or tears?
Things are changing after a thousand years.


I'm not presenting prizes for the answer to this quiz!
Everybody understands exactly where it is.
But do you know the reason for the kangaroo's creation?
Do you understand why he belongs to just one nation?
Australia was in Gondwanaland, in prehistoric days,
And then the continents drifted, going their separate ways.
India and Africa drifted to different places,
Giving rise to peoples of completely different races.
Australia, as we call it, stayed in splendid isolation,
Giving rise to creatures of a quite unique creation.
Surrounded by the ocean, there was never any mixture;
Marsupials and such became accepted as a fixture.
We share some creatures with others; that is completely true;
In South America you will find that there are quite a few.
But the kangaroo is just unique; that's why he's a special star.
And he's living in a country that is equally bizarre!

The Number

supplied the illustration

Here is number one-nine-nine,
Which I've seen fit to underline.
So much to label and to date;
So much to view and tabulate.
My kind of work can be quite tiring,
Not always enlightening and inspiring.
An archivist is a dusty soul
And sometimes, boredom takes its toll;
In the bowels of the library
I  number things in secrecy,
Allocating items shelves
Where they can gather dust themselves.
But, little lady, one-nine-nine
You've gazed at other eyes than mine.
And he's gazed back, with a little laugh,
Before he's taken the photograph,
Saying ' Photography is clever;
I can capture your face for ever;
Those lovely eyes and that half  smile...............
Enough of that!
I'll close the file.



I set-out just to photograph the sea,
Which was blue and lovely as a sea can be!
But this vision of a trolley
Didn't make me feel too jolly!
No! I didn't dance and leap about with glee!
Someone had paid a visit to the store.
And the trolley had been loaded more and more.
Then they'd pushed it to the car
Which was probably not far
But returning it was really just a bore!
So they simply pushed the trolley in the sea!
Quite a sin against their own community!
And they stood and laughed, I think,
As they saw the trolley sink,
And just went home and had a cup of tea!