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I was asleep but only just
dreamed of a local poet's bust.
Upon awakening it seemed
that poet Hogg, himself esteemed,
had answered in poetic ways
his style appropriate for plays.
I rubbed my still reluctant eyes
and could, in time indeed surmise
that words of beauty, even ballads
had been presented like a salad
and filled so many forum pages
(perhaps they'd opened all the cages?)
that I decided on a log
to wade, barefooted through the bog,
keep track of who did say which words,
of friendly fire from the nerds
alas, the effort was in vain
I had to find a blind man's cane!
There was the usual jealous hissing,
behind the paragraphs were kissing
(those with a debt outstanding still)
glutei maximi at will.
My fellow peacocks, I regret
I was not conscious, don't forget
we Aussies need more rest than Yanks
but to Elysabeth my thanks.
She mentioned me, which is quite fair
next to a fellow named Homer.*
I had distinctly heard a rumour
that he possessed MY sense of humour
which occupies both hemispheres
and catches people unawares.
However, lest you miss the point
when humour to the truth is joined
it ought to trigger happy laughter,
internal dialogue thereafter.
Perhaps next week I will be funny
relay some humour from the Dunny.
For those who don't know Aussie slang
it's shitty, shitty, bang bang bang.**
* My HS Greek teacher insisted that Homer be pronounced Homaire
** Idea borrowed without permission from (I believe) TDF
Herbert Nehrlich
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