Saturday, 31 May 2014

May 31: GST me ...

I added up the figures and divided by eleven
When I saw the bottom line, I thought I was in heaven
The tax man he won’t get me, at least not this time
The other ten elevenths, that my friend, is mine

I’m wondering how he works it, I don’t really have a clue
So I hired an accountant, to do what I can’t do
She takes all the figures, then messes them around
And hopefully I pay less, a deduction she has found

We all hate paying taxes, but understand they must be paid
If everybody did their bit, I wouldn't go on this tirade
Far too many bludgers, rich men don't pay their share
They make a million dollars, and then hide it everywhere

There really should be a law, which forces them to pay
It really isn’t equitable, for them to tuck it all away
Apple, Google, Amazon, they are cheating all of us
They ship their profits somewhere else, leaving me to cuss

There’s hundreds of organisations, that are just having a laugh
Minimising taxes, as they drink from their carafe
Making money at a rate of knots, but not paying their fair share
They really need to change the law, so cheaters should beware

Friday, 30 May 2014

May 30: I can hear the sound of thinking ...

I can hear the sound of thinking, or was it just a fading sound
When the rattle of the prattle could be something so profound
I can hear somebody talking, but I can’t hear what they said
My mind it was receptive, and the noise stuck inside my head

Listening isn’t listening if I don’t know what you said
I heard the words you told me, embedded in my head
Listening isn’t listening if I can’t say it to you back
Your words they hide inside me, but my mind it turns to black

I’ve closed my eyes to listening, but my mind is filled with thought
Your voice it infiltrates me, and spellbound I was caught
I can sense your thoughts of anger, I can see them in your mind
But your uncompromising nature was not what I thought I’d find

I tried so hard to listen, but my brain it took a course
And I failed at every hurdle, until your hand I forced
It used to be so simple, life was easier back then
I could hear the sound of ending, and I’m hearing it again

Listening isn’t listening if I don’t know what you said
I heard the words you told me, embedded in my head
Listening isn’t listening if I can’t say it to you back
Your words they hide inside me, but my mind it turns to black

I could hear the sound of leaving, as I watched you walk away
So many things were in my mind, but nothing could I say
I could hear the sound of thinking, but it wasn’t what I thought
And the rattle of the prattle, inside my head forever it was caught

Thursday, 29 May 2014

May 29: David Harold Eastman ...

David Harold Eastman may soon be free from jail
In the nineteen years he’s been there, each appeal has failed
But now a judge from Darwin, thinks that there’s a chance
His latest cry for freedom, might just be his very last

In January 1989, in a street in leafy Deakin
A killer he was on the prowl, through the streets a’creeping
When a senior police Commissioner, arrived at home at last
He shot him at near point blank range, one single deadly blast

For six long years they searched, for a clue to catch the killer
Who had shot and killed a copper, of society a pillar
In 1995 they had their day, they led their case with force
But the defendant had a problem, he just couldn't stay on course

Counsel after counsel, he sacked each one in a rage
His rants and ravings taken down, recorded on every page
In the end there was no doubt, about his fundamental role
And Eastman he was sentenced, to life without parole

After just one more inquiry, one last search to find the truth
So many clever legal minds, so many super sleuths
Just might be a creeping doubt, Justice Martin seemed to see
I do think he’s guilty, but we might just have to set him free

Wednesday, 28 May 2014

May 28: There's a gum tree by a river ...

There’s a gum tree by a river, on the bank it claims its place
Part of our Aussie landscape, it puts a smile upon my face
The river bends and twists, through the land it cuts its path
The outback can be deadly, with no forgiveness from its wrath

While the sun bleaches the sand to white, the waves creep up the beach
Surfers collect the free ride in, the best waves out of reach
Lifeguards laze and watch the view, from their positions way up high
Watching all the bronzed-up girls, as they muse slowly by

Me, I leave my morning train and set forth for some more
Coffee and toast well balanced, I push against the door
Emails, letters, briefs and forms, is this what it has become
How I’d love to be in the outback, or on a beach sat on my bum

Tuesday, 27 May 2014

May 27: Origin One ...

Origin, she’s on again, starts tomorrow night
Will the game be a bloody ripper, will Myles get in a fight
Will Cameron Smith bleat like a lamb, will Billy run amok
Or can the Blues take home the shield, in Queensland it’s been stuck

Will the two halves from the Bulldogs, keep JT and Cronk in check
Can the Hayne plane nullify GI, or will he leave him lying on the deck
Up there in the forwards, can Gallen lead them from the front
Or will Hodges, Tate and Parker annul the heavy brunt

Two former Raiders legends, both with a stable of thoroughbreds
But Mal’s got a team of champions, I could coach them on my head
When the sky turns dark and the lights come on, and theres a cold one in my hand
I’ll be screaming out for New South Wales, from my private lounge room stand

Monday, 26 May 2014

May 26: Roger the Dodger ...

Chopper’s gone to heaven, Roger’s on the run
McNamara’s in custody, what is it that they’ve done
A young man with a backpack, caught on CCTV
Three million bucks in illegal drugs, they found him in the sea

What happened to young Jamie, what happened on that day
The Dodger’s gone to ground again, what is it he might say
On Monday two Detectives, got on a plane and flew up north
To interview old Roger, come on mate, come forth

I’m thinking that these coppers might know more than they are saying
We know that McNamara’s a grass, for a solution they are praying
Not a stone will be left untouched, poor Roger’s in their sights
Looking back over his shoulder, with sleepless, bothered nights

We know from our experience, that the tale will soon be told
I’m betting that two ex-coppers, in jail they will get old
For the young man who lost his future, in the drug trade so it seems
He came to go to University, but his greed cost him his dreams

Sunday, 25 May 2014

May 25: House of sin in Edgecliffe ...

There’s a brothel down in Edgecliffe, that’s just been in the news
The locals would be horrified that such a place is in their views
If they knew it was in their street, a new address they would all choose
There’s cars parked all down the street, but we just don’t know whose

There’s two blokes out there fighting ‘bout the future of the space
One bloke wants to knock it down and build flash units in its place
The other says you owe me, and that your conduct’s a disgrace
I loaned you a bunch of money and your idea I did embrace

There is a list of patrons, so the papers do decry
All kinds of well-known men at their leisure do call by
Lawyers, doctors, football stars drop in for apple pie
No names yet in the tabloids, some discretion they've applied

But I’m betting that it won’t be long ‘til we know their identity
Doctors, lawyers, pollies, and football stars we’ll see
Who call in for a bit of crumpet and perhaps a cup of tea
The world’s oldest trade still goes on, no problem can I see

Saturday, 24 May 2014

May 24: Maccas, wot ...

I read your name on Facebook, so I typed you out a note
A messy mass of words in rhyme; you read what I wrote
You sent me back a missive, I tucked it in my coat
It took me quite by surprise, your request was so remote

Just the way you wrote it, it took me by surprise
I stared into your picture, into you deep brown eyes
I really didn’t understand, as I contemplated your demise
But I called into McDonalds and bought you some French fries

Why would you want a burger, at that time of the day
Seriously, tell me, what are you trying to say
Thick shakes, coffee, apple pies, could you put all that away
I could buy you all those treasures, but it will not be today

Friday, 23 May 2014

May 23: The first bloke speaks ...

To me it sounds so grubby, Mr. Gillard has weighed in
Sorry, I meant Tim Mathieson, but I said it with a grin
He’s shot one at Margie Abbott for not doing enough work
For charity, but give me strength, he sounds like such a jerk

A hairdresser from Shepparton, played his role while she did rule
Got appointed to do charity, a role he thought was cool
Just who the bloody hell does he think he is
A scissor wielding idiot, who’s now taking the piss

He sold real estate in Melbourne, til he got a plum position
Then got his abilities seriously confused with his next ambition
His one-eyed Labor muck throwing, it does him little credit
And his Wikipedia page he should visit, and give it a good edit

Thursday, 22 May 2014

May 22: Bring it on ...

Next Wednesday it is on again, the Cane Toads and the Roaches
Up in Brisbane the first came, as the threat of nine approaches
Surely not could they get ten, I couldn't face the pain
I swore I would not watch this time, but yes, I will, again

The hundredth game, a great idea has now become tradition
We’ve really got to smash them, that is my submission
Come on the blues, make them work, then blow them right away
Bugger this, let’s get a win, that’s all that I can say

Wednesday, 21 May 2014

May 21: I'm a wannabe writer, oh yes I am ...

We’re wannabe writers, we meet to discuss
No-one knows we do it, well no-one but us
In Surry Hills we unite, at Pete’s place no less
Where we all have to do it, read our lines, we confess

Whatever we’ve written, just read it out loud
Nobody cares you don’t like it, just read it, be proud
We’re all just beginners, like kids starting out
You’ve got to keep trying, “Keep reading”, we shout

There’s Lily who writes with cartoons to amuse
And Pete who confesses about things he once did use
And Sam who so serious, his characters they disclose
Their innermost secrets, that he includes within his prose

While Paul in his stories attempts to invite
You into his world, his arena, his fight
His world is a cauldron, of criminals and liars
The heat and the fuel, no wonder there’s fires

But Sophie she cried, “I am out of my league”
We said, “That is rubbish, what have you achieved”
She read us a story, direct from her heart
It was just a ripper, her thoughts she’d impart

In a fortnight we’ll discuss, devoid of red faces
Where our literature it takes us, to all different places
It’s good for the heart, the soul and the mind
For when we discuss, who knows what we’ll find

Tuesday, 20 May 2014

May 20: Little Johnny ...

As I sat at my table, contemplating my life, I stared into the eyes of my wonderful wife
But the moment was spoiled by an ear-piercing wail, so give me a moment and I’ll tell you a tale
We'd sat down together, we’d ordered our food, some eggs and some toast, would be good for my mood
T’was a lazy old Sunday in a small country town, and though not much could faze me, what came next brought a frown

Little Johnny was sat with his sister Louise, on a couch in that café, doing just as he pleased
He prodded and poked her til she gave him a smack, seemed Johnny could dish it, but could not take it back
Louise she let go with a full-blooded whack, which little Johnny deserved just for being so slack
But the noise he emitted, I’ve rarely heard worse, and my whole bloody mood took a turn for the worse

See Johnny had parents, yep, he had two, who just sat reading the paper, not a thing did they do
As Louise she defended the last of her cake, as Johnny he screamed like he’d been bit by a snake
Everyone in that place turned to look at the source, of the deafening noise, but there was no recourse
Had it come from an adult, I'd have had plenty to say, but noise from a child, is permitted these days

The parents sat still, all silent and mute, and while Johnny he screamed, Louise looked so cute
Johnny screamed and he wailed and he huffed and he puffed, and I knew for sure my hearing was stuffed
Where is McDonalds, I lamented out loud, they could put up with this rebelious crowd
But alas no relief as I finished my food, I could have objected, but they'd have thought me just rude

Monday, 19 May 2014

May 19: My F6 six cylinder torque machine ...

As I started up her engine, the six pots they came to life
A rumbling sound filled the air, you could cut it with a knife
I let her starter button spring away, and the bike began to sing
After nearly three years in a box, it was a marvelous thing

I let her rumble for a minute, then gave the throttle a quick jerk
The cylinders they thundered, as they attended to their work
As she settled into monotone, those Cobras sounded sweet
As I listened to that wondrous sound, a sound that was replete

I swung my right leg over, put my rear down in her seat
Sat my hands upon the handlebars, felt the ground beneath my feet
Gave the throttle just another tweak, I already loved that sound
The note heard in my garage was the most perfect one around

So I took her for a friendly blat, through the Galston Gorge
Me and my F6 Honda, a friendship we did forge
Though I had to put some baffles on, she was a bit too loud
But when I burn off those Hardleys, I am so very proud

Sunday, 18 May 2014

May 18: One rhyme behind ...

I am one rhyme behind, it is all in my mind, I just need to put it on paper
I’m stuck here in court with not a thought, for this marathon poetic caper
But it won’t be long, and I’ll think of a song, and a rhyme will come to my head
And I’ll write it down quick, while the lyrics they stick, and I can recall what I’ve said

From deep in my mind, mythoughts I rewind, the words come from what’s happened to me
And while my daily events are rarely intense, in them there’s some fun I can see
It’s coming back now, as I furrow my brow, and work hard to maintain rhythmic flow
Cause if I cannot get that, my words they fall flat, and into the trash it will go

I have reached the conclusion that life’s an illusion, one that is gone way too soon
We should try to do more, life should not be a chore, have you been up in a hot air balloon
But still here we wait, to learn of my fate, always wondering what is next to arrive
Let’s not spend it waiting, enthusiasm deflating, let’s not the fun in our lives be deprived

Not enough hours in the day, I’ve heard people say, but others hold alternate views
If you can’t hit the spot in the time that you’ve got, then just wind back what it is that you do
Prioritise, do first the tasks you despise, and then you can enjoy the treasure
Of doing those things that makes your heart want to sing, you know life’s not an infinite pleasure

Saturday, 17 May 2014

May 17: The Roundabout Hotel, Gloucester ...

We rode the bike to Gloucester, to sing with Beccy Cole
When the sun dropped o’er the mountain, the day got mighty cold
At the Roundabout’s arena, we mixed it with the locals
While patiently we waited, for Bec to take the vocals

A well stocked bar and a barbeque kept the spirit flowing
But for those who started earlier their stamina was slowing
Some local bands with local talent sang through the afternoon
While we belted out the ones we knew, the sun became the moon

Then soon enough out she came, the teeth and that blonde hair
Her songs filled with compassion, with empathy and care
But balanced with her slapstick, she enthralled us with her humour
Confirming that new life choices were much more than a rumour

We sang along to country, our voices filled with energy and vigor
Bec sang about the Poster Girl, and her support of all our diggers
Then as quickly as she took the stage, her set was over and she’d gone
The bar and barbeque disappeared, and the crowd they had moved on

Friday, 16 May 2014

May 16: My trial is nearly over ...

Tomorrow we begin again, the accused is in the box
Lies fall from lips as he plays the sly young fox
Blame is placed on someone else, the man still on the run
Who’s exercised his silence, if you’ll excuse the pun

“He had a bloody great machete; he was going to slice me through
Then I stabbed him because he hit me, what else could I do
The machete it remained untouched, safe within the car
So I stabbed him more than twenty times, I guess he has a scar”

His story has some problems, he’s not thought about his script
He says he stabbed him in the leg but his jeans they were not ripped
And instead of making haste he hung around to stab some more
The machete safely in the car, behind the driver’s door

Self defence it is an issue, he’s raised it good and proper
But he could not straight in bed; every second answer is a whopper
He could have run, he could have fled, but he stayed to wield the knife
His story uncorroborated, now he is in strife

A verdict early Wednesday, that is my prediction
It shouldn't take them very long, to respond with a conviction
Twenty five long years in jail is the maximum to be imposed
And then we can tick the box, another robbery matter closed

Thursday, 15 May 2014

May 15: Hey Dad ... go to cell 15 ...

Robert Hughes has gone to jail, but not for long enough
Jailed for pedophilia, now his lawyer says it’s tough
He should be bloody grateful; the maximums were increased
From when he did his monstrous deeds; he should never be released

No retribution, no remorse, and he continues to deny
The brave women whom he abused, often they still cry
An open letter to the paper, one woman she did write
Compassionate and caring, not one bad word of spite

In time the entire story, will be told for all to read
How Hughes became a monster, and how he paid no heed
Abused children in his trust, young women in his care
Now they look into his eyes, and see pure evil there

Wednesday, 14 May 2014

May 14: More budget blues ...

Well, when I said it was a promise, I really wasn't fibbing
But a promise is not a promise, if I gave it while ad libbing
I was speaking to you off the cuff, I really didn’t know
That when we followed Labor, how deep the hole would go

No new taxes I did tell you, and I’ve stuck by that intent
This debt tax is not something that my party did invent
There’s been debt taxes in our history, just called a different thing
But I need to find some money so the coffers go “ka-ching”

I’ve been in this job a while now, I’m not ready for a fall
And I know you won’t believe me, but I’m really standing tall
Every week I bank my paycheck, I never spend a cent
All my meals and and all my travel, on your tab those funds are spent

We need tough financial planning, young Joe his budget sings
Not one economic qualification, but that doesn’t mean a thing
He simply crunches numbers, then makes those numbers fit
And if you folk don’t like it, I couldn't give a shit

In two years you'll have forgotten, how we screwed you over good
Like a true blue politician, I did everything I could
To make you think I’m worried, to make you think I care
But when I'm not a politician, care less I won't what’s there

Because I will have my pension, so special it is to me
And all my perks as an ex-PM, each renewed annually
And I shall live in comfort, because money it's not an issue
And the best that I can do for you is to pass another tissue

Tuesday, 13 May 2014

May 13: The pearly whites ...

I’ve just been to the fang bosun, he said I’ve got good teeth
As he pushed and as he prodded, everywhere beneath
A bit of a scrub and polish, and then he let me go
Back again in another year, my ivories they do glow

As I lay prone in his chair, I broke out in a sweat
Does this make you nervous, my answer was “you bet”
But I endured it for an hour, then I got to pay a fee
Some perverted kind of torture, you’d think it might be free

Monday, 12 May 2014

May 12: Stabbed in the back ...

I’ve started a new trial, and this one will bring a smile
If we can keep this nasty fellow behind bars
False friendship and betrayal, is the basis of this tale
And the stab wounds can be counted from the scars

A new car’s what I want, Alex told his mate up front
I’ve got some cash I'll put up for the price
So they took him to a place, and one man punched him in the face
And what the other did was just not very nice

As he tried to take the slack, he felt a blade go in his back
So many times eventually he lost count
By the time the two crooks fled, his body badly bled
As he drove off, his car the kerb did mount

By the time he reached BP, he was a sight to see
The console operator she rang triple O for aid
An ambulance came post haste, for more blood he could not waste
Lights and sirens for the hospital was made

They put him in intensive care, and he spent a week in there
Untill he was safely fit to return home
But the police had lots of leads, which they pursued at speed
And at the crime scene someone found his phone

There were bloodstains on the street, and fingerprints replete
In places that trapped the assailant in a snare
But in the police interview, the words he spoke were few
Denying almost everything without a care

“Off the record I will speak, but no recording can you keep
But I won’t lie to you, I’ll give it to you straight”
So it was off the record that they spoke, but his position he could not revoke
When he nodded to question, “Did you stab your mate”

So we’ve started off our trial, it won’t be a four-minute mile
I’ve got some work to do to win a guilty finding
He’s going to run his self defence, says a gun went over the fence
But I think the jury’s finding will be blinding

Sunday, 11 May 2014

May 11: Mother's Day ...

It’s Mother’s Day, hurrah, hooray, to mother’s everywhere
Who loved us, raised us, fed us, and even combed our hair
It is their day to be spoiled, pampered, loved and adored
To be served champagne and cups of tea, that someone else has poured

I could write a million lines, or I could just say this
Many deathly injuries were cured with mother’s kiss
On the straight and narrow she worked hard to keep us there
This is for you my mother, so you know we all do care

Saturday, 10 May 2014

May 10: Cumberland Street blues ...

When I was so very much younger, I lived in a pub in the shade of the Bridge
For eighty dollars a fortnight, I got a bed, a TV and a fridge
Down the road there was a tall grey building, with fantastic views of our city
Housing for those with no money, but the building was not very pretty

It’s a wonder it’s lasted these decades, before it drew the eye of our Mayor
Who looked at the view of the harbour, and dreamed of a much higher payer
So she put out a media statement, that building will soon be demolished
Let's get the developers in there, and put up a structure more polished

Views of the harbour are costly; it’s a privilege to live by the sea
I won’t be living there ever, so what they decide is nothing to me
But now we see occupant anger, as their sense of entitlement rises
Living so nicely for decades, must have been one of Sydney‘s best prizes

Life is unfair, it’s not equal, as the wealthy would have us believe
The poor they rarely get spoiled, but this view the rich can’t conceive
Their own sense of importance is rising, let’s call in the developers soon
To build some magnificent mansions. The poor? They can live on the moon