Poem for the weak 21.1.11

I've been going to do this one for weeks, but....................

PROCRASTINATION POLITICS

I don’t care what my wife says, I’m in rebellion mode.
‘New year resolutions’ is a line that won’t be toed.
Not this year, at any rate. I’ve decided my vocation.
In the year two thousand and eleven, I’ll promote ‘PROCRASTINATION’.

‘PROCRASTINATION’ is an art, a trade, a goal, a calling.
Not a pit of failure into which the world is falling.
This year, we should declare, a year of celebration,
For that once decried achievement, and that’s ‘PROCRASTINATION’.

Everyone has practised it from childhood to old age,
Some have done it quietly. Some reached centre stage.
It’s been written into history as a reputation earned --
You remember Nero? He fiddled, while Rome burned.

It that’s not ‘PROCRASTINATION’, then I don’t know what is.
Nero’s ‘fiddling’ made him a ‘PROCRASTINATION’ whiz.
He should have been revered for this. Was this true? I doubt it.
He committed suicide, but he took his time about it.

Modern politicians, in every major city,
Are procrastinating daily, by forming some committee.
Not to gain a benefit for the State or Nation.
No! Committee’s serve the purpose to achieve ‘PROCRASTINATION’.
Kevin, Tony, Julia, they are masters of the art.
They should glory in their mastery, rejoice it in their heart.

If the major parties won’t recognise the fact
That ‘PROCRASTINATION’ is an honourable act,
Then enlightened, budding politicians, will see the gap to fill,
And form the ‘PROCRASTINATION’ Party. if they won’t, I will.

You may dismiss this premise, as a cynical piece of verse,
But the ‘PROCRASTINATION’ Party couldn’t do much worse
Than what’s been happening through the years, which ever side was in.
It’s at least an honest policy. That’s a good place to begin.

No more non-core promises. “WHEN ELECTED, I WILL DO IT”.
Now, we’ll hear: “When I’m in, one day I’ll get round to it”.
That is far more credible. Which would you prefer?
I asked that question of my wife. You remember her.

The trouble is that her response, was not what I expected.
I got the clear impression, that the idea, she rejected.
“With your record of procrastination”, here she shook her head in sorrow,
“You’ll be the new Prime Minister of PUT IT OFF UNTIL TOMORROW”.
She reckons it’s a ‘husband’ thing. More for Dads than Mums.
I’m not going to tell her that ‘tomorrow never comes’.

BLUE -- the shearer (copyright col wilson)

Poem of the week 14/1/11

A bit early this week. I'll be away for a few days.
Once again, I've donned the mantle of champion of lost causes.

BATTLING BILLIONAIRES
I weep for those big businessmen. I knew nought of their plight.
I have always been in awe of their merchandising might.
Now I read they’re victims of heartless, thoughtless shoppers.
It’s criminal behaviour. Someone, call crime stoppers.

Shopping on line is a sin, and it should be reported.
We should protect our battling billionaires from being rorted.
They’re just doing what comes naturally -- protecting what is theirs.
Let’s show a bit of sympathy to those battling billionaires.

There’s the saintly, Gerry Harvey, with kindness his intent,
Selling those computers to consumers. What he meant
Was that those computers should be put to honest use,
Not used on the internet for Harvey type abuse.

Even the wisdom of Solomon has not been enough,
To cushion fiscal damage. These blokes are doing it tough.
Their fight back’s costing millions, just to run the ad
To counteract the shoppers. Things are looking bad.

Is it wrong to lobby Government about the GST?
A level playing field’s a MUST. I’m sure you’d all agree.
That’s all these merchandisers want. Is that too much to ask?
And yet, they’re being pilloried. Taken brutishly to task.

The verbiage is abusive, the anger so white hot,
That you’d think these blokes were bankers, but in this case, they’re not.
They’re just ordinary billionaires, trying to ply their trade,
Whilst jumping those huge hurdles that those errant shoppers made.

Ban the on line shopping. That’s the only way I know
To keep a level playing field. Give our retailers a go.
Someone has to mount a sensible defence.
Let’s make on line shopping a criminal offence.

How can shoppers sleep at night, knowing, as they do,
That their antics are upsetting Gerry Harvey and Solomon Lew.
Even Myers are suffering from this unprovoked attack.
All they’re trying to do is to claw some profits back.

Can’t you shoppers understand, that shopping overseas,
(even though it’s cheaper), is an exercise in sleaze?
It’s quite unpatriotic, and completely un Australian.
Why would you embrace a custom so completely alien?
Let’s get back to basics. Buy local, and enjoy
That warm and cuddly feeling. AUSSIE, AUSSIE, AUSSIE, OY, OY, OY.

BLUE - the shearer (copyright col wilson)

Poem of the week 7/1/11

In cricketing and rhyming parlance, things are going from bad to verse.

BOXING DAY TEST 2010

It’s only a game. A pastime, called cricket.
It’s played on a ground on a thing called a wicket.
There’s a bat, and a ball, and a group standing round,
On a cricket enclosure they call ‘cricket ground’.

There are bowlers and batsmen, cricketing rules,
And Kipling once labelled them all ‘flannelled fools’.
Including the fieldsmen, all searching for fame,
But, it must be remembered -- it’s only a game.

But critics of cricket, quite lacking in tact,
As of today, have lost sight of that fact.
They are grieving the death of Cricket Australia,
Declaring both batsmen, and bowlers, a failure.

The dominant Poms have our team on the ropes,
Dashing ambitions, destroying their hopes.
The Aussies did win one in Perth. Alas, then
Came the Boxing Day Test in two thousand and ten.

The media is full of those statements of blame,
They choose to forget that it’s only a game.
Some blame the selectors. Some blame the players,
Some blame the effect of all those one dayers.
Some blame the third umpire. Technology trend,
Snickometer, hotspot. Where will it end?

Some blame the Captain. That seems unfair,
In the matter of ‘blame’, it could lay anywhere.
All those experts in armchairs have failed to report,
That it’s only a game, a spectator sport.

So don’t get upset, with this series of losses,
We just need a captain who’s winning the tosses.
And we might need some batsmen who keep scoring runs,
And a couple of bowlers, who stick to their guns.

Lift up those spirits. Mop up those tears,
Just a matter of time ere a new star appears.
That Boxing Day Test in two thousand and ten,
Forget it, one day we might win one again.

They’re rejoicing in England, they make no pretence,
That they’re very pleased with this turn of events.
They have humbled Australia, as they proudly proclaim,
But let’s not forget, that it’s only a game.

BLUE - the shearer (copyright col wilson)

Poem of the week 24/12/10

This is 'absolutely' the last pome for the weak in two thousand and ten.
From The Resident Censor and me, all the best for the Festive Season

ABSOLUTELY – SLIGHTLY UPDATED
I’ve done a bit of research, to try to find the word,
That is, in these modern times, the word most often heard.
Actually I thought ‘actually’ was the ‘in’ word for today,
But I’ve discovered something that makes ‘actually’ passe.

What’s the ‘in’ word for today? I have studied quite minutely
Modern English usage, and my finding? ‘absolutely’.
Yes ‘absolutely’ is the in word. It is ‘absolutely’ cool
To be ‘absolutely’ sure that ‘absolutely’ is the tool
For every modern linguist. Be honest, have you heard
Anything so ‘absolutely’ perfect as this word?

‘Absolutely’ -- perfect to portray enthusiasm.
‘Yeah sure ‘absolutely’ with just a smidgin of sarcasm.
‘Absolutely’ can be ‘yes’, but ‘absolutely not’
As the ultimate in negatives, must surely hit the spot.

There was one serious attempt to bugger up this rhyme,
Bob Katter tried to introduce a new word ‘paradigm’
In a parliamentary context in the year two thousand and ten,
But it proved a ‘cream-puff’ challenge, and shall not be heard again.

Will ‘absolutely’ persevere, like ‘see ya’ and ‘g’day’?
Some aren’t ‘absolutely’ sure, and others think it may.
If you want my opinion, then I’m ‘absolutely’ certain,
‘Absolutely’ will be playing, when they close that final curtain.

Whatever did we do before this treasure was discovered?
Has there ever been a word that is more beloved?
To make it more enjoyable, whack a ‘bloody’ in.
‘Abso-bloody-lutely’, and say it with a grin.

‘Abso-bloody-lutely’. There, that’s much more satisfying
Than simply ‘absolutely’. There is no denying
That I’m ‘absolutely’ ‘abso-bloody-lutely’ quite elated.
Whoever came up with this word should be congratulated.

Now I’ve been told some critics have reacted quite acutely,
To what they claim, is over-use of this word ‘absolutely’.
Small minded pedants, all of them. How dare they convolutely
Criticise perfection, when perfection’s ‘absolutely’.
Adverb, noun, or adjective. Does anybody care?
For me it’s quite enough to know it’s ‘absolutely’ there.
And the word is not ‘read only’. It can’t be uttered mutely.
Do I think it’s time I wrapped this up? ‘Abso-bloody-lutely’.

BLUE -- the shearer (copyright col wilson)

Poem of the week 17/12/10

Not so easy this year. I hope Santa recovers after this effort
XMAS LIST 2010

G’day Santa, it’s me again, have you had a real good year?
I’m afraid I need your help in spreading happiness and cheer.
The politicians’ present list. I’m facing dire stagnation,
And to come up with a good one, I need your imagination.

Julia Gillard’s happy, Kerry O’Brien’s retired.
Although I think that she’d have liked the above named fired.
Santa, have you thought about what present she would like?
A Tony Abbott voodoo doll, and more punctures with his bike?
That’s wicked of you Santa. Where’s your Christmas cheer?
I thought you’d be more giving in this season you hold dear.

Wayne Swan. Well, I’ve no doubt that he’d accept with thanks
A briefcase full of dynamite to blow up all the banks.
And while you’re at it Santa, give Joe Hockey some,
I’m sure he’d like to blow Wayne Swan to kingdom come.

Foreign Minister, Kevin Rudd who’s scaled political peaks,
Give him the complete collection of all those WikiLeaks.
And Santa, you might suggest to Kevin that he sends
Selected excerpts of those leaks to all his American friends.

Opposition Leader, Tony Abbott, a fearsome politician,
To have a kind and gentle parliament, is his stated ambition.
But up ‘til now, he comes across as a vitriol exhibitor,
So Santa, to achieve his aim, a vitriol inhibitor?

Malcolm Turnbull, well he’s difficult. What’s your take on him?
Yeah, I agree. His current chance of leadership is slim.
He’s terribly ambitious. Santa, what’s his gift?
A self enhancement booster course? His ego needs a lift?

Julie Bishop, Deputy Leader. No, she’s not Bronwyn’s sister,
There’s no doubt that she’s formidable. It’s quite hard to resist her.
I hear she’s fond of mayhem, and doesn’t mind some blood.
Her Christmas gift is obvious. The scalp of Kevin Rudd.

This year, four independents create a new dimension,
A recipe, some would say, for political dissension.
It’s hard to think up gifts for them, as no doubt, you would know,
But I know you love a challenge. Come on. Give it a go.

Bob Katter, for a starter. You have the very thing?
You say the idea started when you heard him sing.
A course of singing lessons? Are you sure of that?
Only Country Western music, to go with his big hat.

Andrew Wilkie and Nick Xenathon. They’re blokes who like reform.
Limit pokie income. That set off quite a storm.
I have the solution as to what your elves might bring --
Just ask Tony Abbott. He’d give them anything.

Yes Santa, I agree with you. In the past we have been lucky,
To have had a bit of colour with the likes of Wilson Tuckey,
Keating, Ruddock, Bronwyn, just to name a few,
But this is the year, two thousand and ten, we just have to make do.

Well, that’s about it, Santa. I’m running out of time.
We’ll have to wait another year for another Christmas rhyme.
You just take it easy. Gird your loins up for next year.
From me, and the Resident Censor, the best of Christmas cheer.

BLUE -- the shearer (copyright col wilson)

Poem of the week 10/12/10

It's only a game
WORLD CUP TWENTY-TWENTY-TWO

F.I.F.A. FO FUM. I smell the blood of an Englishman.
Be he alive, or be he dead, I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.
Who’d have thought that nursery rhyme, would stand the current test of time.
Include the Aussies and the Yanks, who have no cause to give their thanks
To F.I.F.A. they missed out, on all this largesse spread about.
For F.I.F.A. must have failed to note, our forty five million for just one vote.

Our Governor General spruiked our cause, but perhaps there is no Santa Claus.
Paul Hogan sprouted lots of facts, (when not busy with his income tax)
To support our bid for twenty-two, we spawned a cartoon kangaroo.
Even had a famous person -- we trotted out our Elle McPherson.
With all that, what’s NOT to like? But F.I.F.A. just said: “On yer bike.”
A place called Qatar got the word. A place of which I’d never heard.

Just one solitary vote. I think that really got our goat.
I read that promises were made, (brittle assets in that trade).
Apparently, some do suppose, World Cup officials on the nose,
And talk of bribes, even corruption, did cause a discontent eruption.
And we missed out. What of it? Tough. Was our bid not good enough?
In the end, what does it matter, if the World Cup goes to Qatar.

Perhaps they need it more than us. My wife asks me: “What’s the fuss?
Someone claims there was a rort, but after all, it’s only sport.”
So I patiently explain, the World Cup bid was not for gain.
It’s a case of National pride, a fact that cannot be denied,
Why else would Paul and Elle take part, if not for honour in the heart.
What more could our country do, than have a cartoon kangaroo?

Did WikiLeaks get wind of this? I rather doubt that they would miss
Catching up with such a story, a coup in the world of leaking glory.
Maybe there are leaks to come, starting off with F.I.F.A. FO FUM.
Let’s admit it. In Australia, at World Cup bidding, we’re a failure.
Let us stay with what we know. Give another sport a go.
With soccer, it’s a sticky wicket. Perhaps we should just stick to cricket.

BLUE -- the shearer (copyright col wilson)

Poem of the week 3/12/10

It's that time of year again, as I was reminded by Robyn, who lives in Mackay, Queensland.

DOONA COVER

Summer time is coming, and I am filled with dread.
My wife tells me it’s time to change the doona on the bed.
If it were just that simple, I’d know just what to do,
It means we have to change the doona cover too.

It’s like those bloody fitted sheets, there’s no way to fold them,
And when it comes to doona covers, I don’t know how to hold them.
She says that it’s simple: “Just follow my instructions.”
But I have this sinking feeling that I’m heading for destruction.

“I put my right hand in. YOU put YOUR left hand in.
‘til we reach the furthest corner, then we turn it inside out.
That’s right. Turn it inside out. Turn the cover inside out.”
OK. I think I’ve got it, and then she begins to shout:

“No. Don’t let go the corner. Don’t you understand?
We have to put our hands back in. You put your left hand
Back into the doona, to the corner you just had,
And I’ll put my right hand in. Oh! You make me mad.”

“Now, with that hand in the corner, do not let it go.
Take the corner of the doona. Take it nice and slow,
You see what I’m doing? We slide the cover on,
To the summer doona.” But my corner’s gone.

I don’t know what happened. My hands are in reverse,
She’s not a swearing woman, but I’m sure I heard her curse.
I’m a little bit surprised. Her words are never coarse,
But after years of wedded bliss, we’re heading for divorce.

I’m looking in the Yellow Pages, trying to locate
A doona cover putter onner, before it is too late.
There doesn’t seem to be one, and I don’t know where to look,
You’d think somewhere, there’d have to be a doona cover book.

I go back to the bedroom to face the doona strife,
To try to make the peace with my doona expert wife.
Bugger me, she’d done it. The doona cover’s changed,
And without any help from me. We’re still somewhat estranged.

We’ve been through worse than this before, our marriage can withstand,
Such a minor matter as to where I put my hand.
But a look into the future does not bode too well --
Come winter time, I’ll face again, that doona changing hell,
And as I go to sleep at night, I know I’ll dream about,
“You put your left hand in, I put my right hand in, and we turn it inside out.”

BLUE - the shearer (copyright col wilson)

Poem for the week 26/11/2010

My small contribution to a cash strapped monarchy, and a casher strappeder UK
ROYAL ENGAGEMENT - WILLY & KATE

Oh! I’m so excited. Isn’t it romantic?
Another Royal Wedding. The media is frantic.
Prince William and Miss Middleton have yet to name the day,
But another Royal Wedding, at last, is under way.

William’s following father’s footsteps. Let’s hope he’s more successful,
For Daddy’s former marriage, was to say the least, quite stressful.
But that is all behind us. There is now unlimited scope
For a way into the future, along that Royal road called hope.

With the credit crisis what it is, they’ll need to curb expenses.
Things might be a bit subdued for royal watchers’ senses.
The engagement ring cost nothing, so that’s real economy.
Not every engaged couple gets a ring like that for free.

The Government is quite concerned as to where finance is heading,
It might become essential to sponsor the whole wedding.
This could spark a savings trend for royals everywhere.
The accent on austerity, the wedding costs to share.

Advertising agencies would all be salivating,
At the thought of profits stemming from this Royal mating.
Guest List, courtesy of ‘Hallmark’. They’d love to get that gig,
Viewed from any angle, this wedding will be BIG.

There should be no argument as to the invitations,
They’d have to be a shoe-in for Rupert Murdoch Publications.
In fact, it might be politic, he might even waive his fee
In exchange for an invitation. It would be the place to be.

In these parlous fiscal times, the economic call
For sponsor of the wedding dress, should be St Vincent de Paul.
And what of the reception? Catering, and all that stuff,
Do you reckon that MacDonald’s would have somewhere big enough?

I understand the transport is pretty well in hand,
They have their golden carriages. Now what about the band?
Since the Bride will be a commoner, I think it would be silly
If the wedding organisers didn’t go for Wongawilli.
They’d be glad to travel, and they wouldn’t cost too much,
They’re a Colonial Dance Band, with the colonial common touch.

As for the marriage celebrant, I’d like to put my hand up.
I’ve experienced marriage, and I’ve done a bit of stand up.
I’m cheaper than the Arch Bishop. They could do much worse,
And as an added novelty, I’d conduct it all in verse.

I’ve just touched upon the problems Royal weddings pose
In tight financial circumstances, when spending’s on the nose.
I see problems with the guest list, those seeking social glory
By attending such a wedding, but -- that’s another story.

BLUE -- the shearer (copyright col wilson)

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