Mulga Bill's Bicycle
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen;
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine;
And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride,
The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me, can you ride?"
"See here, young man," said Mulga Bill, "from Walgett to the sea,
From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me.
Oh! To Be Slim
Why do we spend so much time in the gym,
Why is it that we feel we must keep slim,
On cycling, long hours we spend,
But, go nowhere, in the end,
It's really hard work this trying to stay trim!
We watch the calories as they mount up high,
And cannot seem to control our intake - Why?
We always need a snack,
This slimming, we can't crack,
A Bullock Cart From Malacca
Long and winding road
with patches and holes
The holes which sometimes
turned into small ponds,
every time
after a heavy downpour
You can no longer smell the tar
on a hot, burning day
The road was too old
even the town council named it
In The Storm That Is To Come
By our place in the midst of the furthest seas we were fated to stand alone -
When the nations fly at each other's throats let Australia look to her own;
Let her spend her gold on the barren west, let her keep her men at home;
For the South must look to the South for strength in the storm that is to come.
Now who shall gallop from cape to cape, and who shall defend our shores -
The crowd that stand on the kerb agape and glares at the cricket scores?
And who will hold the invader back when the shells tear up the ground -
! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! Are We Misfits- Feel Intrigued! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Grey pigeon flutters on ledge of concrete.
Wonder, how it survives on urban streets.
Seen them flock in city squares as folks throw seeds.
Unlike hawks don’t swoop down and snatch with greed.
Dusk falls gets draped in a pall of thick smog.
A few sparks rise as I add some new logs.
Glance at fireplace, feeling somewhat woeful.
Reminisce about my city beautiful.
- Just Rollin' Along: : Humour
Driving along in her bread truck early one morn
With everything going exactly as norm
Margaret spied a lone wheel on the left trundling ahead
Turned to her brother, the newspaper he read
Hey look at this, someone must've lost a wheel
Jack looked up quickly, it almost didn't seem real
Suddenly her truck swerved sharply to the right
She grabbed hold of the steering with all of her might
Destiny
Drudging my way through narrow pavements of dusty roads,
cycling with all my friends,
I played hide and seek with them
in a joyous mood,
round the tall and bushy trees
and cemented constructions
of a beautiful park,
When all of a sudden,
a man with probing eyes,
plunging into a black woolen blanket,
Liverpool Poems
I
GO TO WORK ON A BRAQUE!
2
Youths disguised as stockbrokers
Sitting on the grass eating the Sacred Mushroom.
3
Ultimating In Zeroing
ULTIMATING IN ZEROING
esspeecee…09.09.95.
~ Waking
[Needing sleeping]
Jogging
For:
Fitnessing and trimming.
~ Brunching
0354 Not Quite War
Too young to know the horrors of a war I've fought,
too young to know war's fear, or yearn for heroism,
but old enough to have lived through;
boys but one year older than myself
lived and fought and died; and younger, some,
who fought in Malaya, Kenya, Korea, to the death...
Slit trenches in Hyde Park were the first photos in 1938,
apart from the official ones to stir our patriotism;
then cycling home from town as radios in every house
(082) So Many Wishes Unfulfilled.
There are so many things
To do which I would like
I would love to go cycling
But that’s after dad buys me a bike
Sometimes feel I would rather be
Not a girl princess but a prince
Or have a twin brother
So that we can be a pair of twins
As I don’t have much interest in girl’s stuff
So I wouldn’t want a silly doll
Hitting The Road
The wobble said 'c'mon,
Take me out
It's a sunny day'!
Deep sigh….
The first exercise is
Pump, pump and
Pump again…..
There was only air in the
The Weakest Link
I was reminded this afternoon of
The anonymous poem 'For the
Want of a Horseshoe Nail', written
Many centuries ago, probably by
A blacksmith, and mentioned by
Benjamin Franklin in 1758 with
The preceding apt words 'A little
Neglect may breed great mischief.'
Additionally, this quote is nearly
Always used in hindsight. It goes:
Love Is A Parallax
'Perspective betrays with its dichotomy:
train tracks always meet, not here, but only
in the impossible mind's eye;
horizons beat a retreat as we embark
on sophist seas to overtake that mark
where wave pretends to drench real sky.'
'Well then, if we agree, it is not odd
that one man's devil is another's god
or that the solar spectrum is
# A Treasure Of Memories
At will, I dig into that treasure of memories
Built at home till my early twenties…
Cycling to school at eight in the dense fog,
Wearing a short skirt and a maroon knitted top.
I guess all the exercise warmed me up,
Wore no stockings, scarf, cap or gloves.
Bare headed, hair flying in the air
We raced with gusto, had no care.
A Date With Mem-Sahib...History With Chemistry
'Konkani Mai Ascends the Throne'
(Hyperlinks are highly recommended to grasp the aura of this poem)
Dedicated to the memory of Fernando da Costa Leal
On the horizon is a winding road.
Bent ol man is lugging his load.
Far out to sea; a billowing sail.
The peacock struts an lends a wail.
(((Going Nowhere)))
Anxiety rides my coatails...
As i push ever onward ahead-
Afraid to live...
Afraid to die-afraid of the dead;
In this kalidescope of cornucopia...
Overwhelmed and overflowing...
Each breath...
Each heartbeat-growing;
In unison...
With the tic and the tock...
The Morning Walk
The winter lake, surrounded by frigid trees
And naked branches whose now ankle deep
Soggy wet leaves carpet the lakeside path,
Has become an inhospitable place.
I now drive to the marina for my morning
Walk. There are no soggy leaves there, only
The sound of the wind off the sea, and the
Wind singing in the rigging of moored yachts.
Dying Wish (Haiku) & Tanka Acrostic
dying wish...
inscribe my plaque:
already re-cycling
& tanka acrostic
terns scattering
along the shore
nibbling waters
keening
Down Memory Lane
The river Baitarani
full to the brim
in the midst of rainy season
ferry-crossing takes me to school
myself, a 10th class student
forty-four years ago
class monitor, duty bound to attend
ignoring the flood warning
downpour started in the afternoon
as the school bell rang at the close of day