June 30: Half way home ...

Yep, I’ve made it half-way, good for me I do say

Should I continue this task, or just quit

There are days I compose just like Mozart my prose

But others when it gives me the shits

There are days when the timing of all of my rhyming

Is clever, and cool and so witty

But when I do coast, I’m sure the stuff that I post

Makes my grammatical skills look unpretty

How many poems have I written to date

Let me count them all up, it wasn’t that hard

Should I cut with a knife and get along with my life

Undecided I scribe "unsure" on my card

For a title I wonder, what to call all this stuff

"Six months in the life of" sounds so bad

"A year" sounds much better, but if I stop now I’ll fetter

Half a year of fine words that I’ve had

I think I’ll go on, I’ve done one eighty one

And I’m just not the type to give up

With this rhyming and timing the numbers keep climbing

There’s room for more wine in my cup

So you have it my friends, this is not where it ends

I undertake that I'll write many more

But my mandate still stands, my fate's in my hands

If they’re crappy I'll walk out the door

June 29: There once was a fella named Todd ...

There once was a fella name Todd

Who on a good day could play footy like God

Just had one character failure

Drank like well seasoned sailor

That foolish young fella named Todd

June 28: Sell me a house ...

Did he do it or did he not, what is the evidence they've got

That frames him up for murdering his wife

He told us that he loves her, that he puts no-one above her

But we all know that’s the worst story of his life

He was cheating on his mistress; it seemed to cause her distress

Does the man not have a conscience in his heart

At least he hopped the box, and by the Crown he will be crossed

Anyone who does gives the prosecutor a head start

I could wax lyrical all day, but in the end I’d have to say

What more evidence would cause you to equate

You heard a lot of supposition, about his true position

But all you kneed to know is that he’s in real estate

Need I say more …

June 27: Yep, one more conviction ...

Yep, one more conviction, though against my prediction

I thought on this one we might very well fail

A robbery no less, but I must here confess

What druggies do paints a very strange tale

Congregated at home, in a group they got stoned

Till one joker pulled out some ice

A pipe and a flame, they began a new game

But what happened soon after was not nice

After smoking their crap, they all took a nap

Until one bloke woke up in a rage

"Where are my drugs, I will call in my thugs"

And he made threats like a dog in a cage

Then he pulled out a knife, threatened two with their life

Said "strip off and I’ll search you right proper"

He stabbed one in the leg, while the other one fled

And dialed triple “0” for the coppers

The old bill they arrived, heard a story contrived

And the bad guys took off like scared rabbits

One made a complaint, low blood pressure, looked faint

A symptom of his lifelong drug habit

A great hole in his knee was there for all there to see

There was blood on his clothing and face

An ambulance called, the cops were appalled

So to the hospital it was a race

An alibi was invented, his lawyers contented

Til the coppers they checked out his crap

On bail he reported, his alibi it was thwarted

Not in Orange but in Redfern he napped

Well I’ll just change my mind, I am so inclined

Not to rely on that alibi any more

Not a chance said the Crown, mate you’re goin’ down

Whey they work out you’re a liar for sure

But the judge with a frown, he said to the Crown

I cannot let this in, it reveals

That the man was on bail, his character's frail

He done time for break, enter, steals

So we didn’t get that bit in, but I closed with a grin

Identification it was second to none

And the jury they returned, his version they spurned

He came second, and the Crown, yes we won

June 26: World Cup fever ...

The World Cup is approaching the ultimate fight

When two teams will play for the prize

The answer we’ll get to determine the bets

Just who is the best team and why

England is gone, but Costa Rica go on

While the host team they head up Group A

Italy floundered while the Netherlands pounded

Twelve goals tells the strength of their play

Australia tried hard, but could not make the card

They just don’t have the flair that’s required

Tim belted two but no more could he do

And at his age you’ll forgive if he’s tired

Germany’s there, the US has a share

Of Group G where by Portugal they snuck

On for and against, their backline content

To rely on a bit of pure luck

Mexico and Chile continue their march

Near the top of their Groups they both sit

Their fans so adoring, screaming joy at each scoring

And holding up signs, “This is it”

Argentina’s still there, though they did have a scare

Winning each game by just one

One might have thought that some teams they might rort

But they’ll have their day in the sun

As we face up to the semi’s some teams they will fail

And they’ll look forward another four years

Let’s hope skill wins the day, and not a dishonest display

That draws a spot kick and brings unwanted tears

June 25: My window is fake ...

Oops, I made a mistake, my window is fake

A frosted pane sits between me and the aisle

That view that I yearned, it is yet to be earned

It seems I must wait at least a short while

I jumped at the chance, for a window to glance

Out while contemplating my theory

But it seems at least for a while; I’ll just stare at the aisle

As my cross-examination questions I query

My day it will come, when as I work I’ll feel sun

As it streams through the glass to my face

Who knows how long it will be, till those rays shine on me

But for now it’s back to the rat race

June 24: Gee lawyers say some stupid things ...

Now I’ve heard some beauties in my time at the Bar

I’ve heard witnesses make statements absurd

And I’ve heard lawyers say things you could not believe

Whether viva voce or written in words

I’ve heard counsel ask coppers of things they’ve not done

And things they've not spied at the scene

“That blood on the ground, that you saw with your eyes”

“Was there more blood that could not be seen”

“After the crash, how fast was he driving”

“How did he look before you saw his face first”

Some of the questions defy even the most stupid

I have trouble knowing which one is worst

“Your dead friend, did you meet him before he had died”

“Well I must have, it could not have been after”

There are so many lines where just a word out of place

Has your jury howling with laughter

“When the caller he called you, who else was there”

“The man in the dock, was it him you arrested”

“And that radar gun you were using, how’d you know it would work”

“Cause every damn morning I test it”

Be very careful of all the questions you ask

Cross-examination is a task taken with care

Ill thought out questions invite answers that hurt

Don’t be dropping your head in despair

No-one is perfect, but some are quite close

Preparation is the key to your task

And if you don’t know, there's just one thing to do

Find somebody smarter and ask

June 23: Not looking good ...

The one’s gonna walk, he’s been talkin’ the talk

Although he didn’t affirm or declare

Said it all though his brief, and we got no relief

When he suggested, “I just was not there”

We called one in our case, who while in that place

Got stabbed in the leg with a knife

Then got bashed in he head, and told he’d be dead

He was scared to an inch of his life

A room full of thugs, fighting over drugs

What’s a jury to make of his pain

In a Redfern drug den, there once were five men

But just one had the balls to complain

My confidence low, which way will they go

Will they discard what he says as untrue

Lie with dogs you get fleas, and get not guilty pleas

If he walks there’s nout we can do

It’s a smack on the chin, every one I can’t win

But I give it my best at the very least

A new case next week, this time ill I will speak

Of a defrocked old Catholic priest

June 22: I've got a new job ...

I’ve got a new job, which pays a few bob

I’m now working just for the Crown

Got a room with a view, now there’s something new

In a new high-rise building down town

And with every new case, I can get in their face

As I elicit the facts of their crimes

And I’m loving this job, which pays a few bob

And could do it for quite a long time

June 21: If I had to write a poem ...

If I had to write a poem, about how my life was going

I’d be writing something informative and concise

But while my life is just divine, I should tell you in this rhyme

That everything in life it has it's price

I spend my days in court, applying what I have been taught

Not just a law school but by my mum and dad

As I stand at the bar table, doing the best that I am able

With words I work to show the jury that man is bad

Then when my work in court is done, I head home to number one

To the woman who brings joy to daily life

She’s been with me for thirty years, through our hopes and dreams and fears

But there’s no one who I’d rather was my wife

On our Goldwing we both ride, our excitement not kept inside

As we journey round this country every year

To the north and to the west, the trip around we liked the best

Why we do it is so very crystal clear

But when the sun goes down, and we roll into a town

Take a room in the oldest pub we find

Have a beer and have a steak, so much more of this we’ll take

Because age is just something in your mind

June 20: Oh how the mighty fall ...

One there was this Admiral, who’d spent his life at sea

But with rank he saw entitlement, yes, give it all to me

From his Travel Card did he borrow, while commanding the whole fleet

But if a junior rank did such a thing, a court martial they’d meet

When the Admiral’s career it ended, he retired to St Ives

And his good life it continued, with two Beemers in his drive

Got the top job at Sydney Ferries, another fleet for him to lead

With it came a corporate credit card, and a conduit for his greed

                                                                            

That jewelry and the holidays, please put in on the plastic

The groceries and some nice red wine, my life it's so fantastic

I’ve got this bloody mortgage; it is so damn hard to pay

Thank goodness for this credit card, it really paves the way

I took the family to the shaky isles, for a lengthy holiday

But I’m a bit short on the readies, so I’ll get the taxpayers to pay

I wrote and told the Minister the ferries finances they were fine

A few anomalies not mentioned, ‘cause most of them were mine

I got hauled up before ICAC, my good times soon were done

My card’s a million in the red, and my life had lost its fun

What really is the problem, I’m the boss here don’t you know

I have wants that need financing, despite my poor cash flow

I pleaded guilty at the very end, I saw the writing on the wall

What is that old saying, yes, “oh how the mighty fall”

I stood so still before the judge as he sentenced me to jail

My life before it was so good, but it’s now a complete fail

But I still could get an ICO, and my liberty might maintain

I’ll tell him that I’m sorry and contrite, and avoid that further pain

Once I sailed the seven seas, in charge with a fox’s cunning

Now I’m selling nuts and bolts as I sail the aisles in Bunnings

June 19: The taxman ...

I had to pay my tax today, it nearly broke my heart

It was like losing a dear part of me as the funds and I did part

A hole that’s indescribable, a depth of misery I can’t impart

I’m not sure if red wine can fix it, but I reckon it’s a bloody good start

June 18: Game two - it's ours ...

I met a man out on the street, he was dressed in bright maroon

I said to him in my nicest voice, “got something else you can wear home?”

He snickered at me in that way that only a Queenslander could do

But what’s better than beating Queensland? It’s beating them by two

A bloody rugged game it was, a majestic spectacle to behold

The boys were playing for sheep stations, or perhaps the green and gold

But more than that I’m thinking now, they were playing just for pride

And when the eighty minutes ran out, their emotions they could not hide

I could rant and rave of how I feel about Hodges and Smith and Slater

But if I did I might not end this rhyme, until a time much later

Suffice to say I respect their skills, but for spirit they leave me short

When they were playing under tens, fair play was not taught

Some bloke in the paper wrote an article so true

As last we won and broke the streak, we showed we are true blue

Just as dawn it comes again, and as the sun down it does go

No-one ever will beat New South Wales, nine times in a row

June 17: My jury is back ...

So I gave them a closing, it's quality unmatched, and then off to consider their verdict despatched
But juries are so hard to make head or tail, you pump them right up, then they give you a fail

What were they thinking, did they not see, the strongest of inference, but they let him walk free

He made up a story, t'was like a slice of Swiss cheese, but he walked through the holes with the greatest of ease

My girlfriend she framed me, so I bought her a ring, not worth 30 dong, just a cheap little thing

Her niece lives in Melbourne, Toorak I’m guessing, with a story like that, there’ll be no confessing

What were you expecting, his guilt he’d concede, if that’s what we had, you lot we’d not need

Two kilos of pseudo, with sugar and with milk, perhaps he’s had it before, a drink smooth as silk

Me, I’m off to the markets, gonna buy me some smack, get a heat sealed container, and when I get back

I’ll just spin 'em a yarn of a standard not heard, I’ll sure have them guessing, ‘cause my tale is absurd

My English is good, until I get into strife, and then I don't know Engrish word in my life

Please get me an interpreter, I need time to think, when I hear it all twice my story won't stink

Chalk it up to experience, until the next time, right now I’m doing my best to get this thing to rhyme

But I’m tempted to tell you I’ve an island for sale, or a bridge or a statue, would my sale's pitch prevail

I should not be too harsh, you don’t know what we know, but really, oh really, so simply let go

June 16: My jury's out ...

As I left my seat this very morn, and gave my last address

Meeting with each juror’s eye, the facts I tried to stress

Circumstances are adequate for a strong case to be built

And a jury can be satisfied, of this man’s final guilt

The exacting criminal standard, of beyond a reasonable doubt

Is what you all must conclude, before you snuff his freedom out

But not every fact I tell you, just the elements of the crime

And I’ve told you why you should find my way, the verdict here is mine

He snuck in through the airport, with some seasoning and tea

Told Customs that it all was his, but through his story they did see

They searched his bags, and did some tests, and drug’s they found for sure

Then opened up the second box, oh dear, they found some more

“Yes ma’am, I did pack it, and I know exactly what is there”

But soon his version shifted, as Customs met his dare

“Actually”, he recanted, “t’was my girlfriend who helped me pack

Oh, now I’ve just remembered, it was all done when I got back"

Why would he bring from overseas, food you can easily buy here

Such objective bloody stupidity, to me it’s quite unclear

Cabramatta has a  thousand shops where you can get this stuff for cheap

But this here man, from Ho Chi Min, will soon have cause to weep

“My girlfriend told me what to do, although I really hate to cook

I’m told it’s good for smokers, and I don’t want to get crook

If I don’t like it I’ll pass it on, but I’m keeping half the tea”

What a shock he would have got, with hot ephedrine at three

Mostly untrue, this tale he’s told, a simple pack of lies

Rely upon your mother tongue, your Aussie accent do disguise

You’ve been here more than thirty years, you know the tricks for sure

You’ve been home about a dozen times, and this time’s just once more

Tomorrow we’ll have the jury back, with a verdict based on fact

Because nothing from his guilty actions, do we want to detract

But sentencing it won’t be harsh, it’s five years in the clink

And that’s the bloody maximum’s, these Tier One laws they stink

June 15: Sunday at home ...

Sunday morning, bright and shiny, bloody heck it’s cold

As I head out to the garden, pretending to be bold

If I was a brass monkey, I’d really be in strife

The outcome I might suffer could not happen to my wife

In earnest hope of sunshine, I wheel the Wing out from the shed

It the water hose is frozen it’ll be doing in my head

She needs a wash, that much is true, there are bugs and dirt all over

A wash, a polish and we’ll be off, like bees buzzing in clover

I grab the hose and turn it on, and the water comes with force

Soon suds and foam develop, and I spray the chooks of course

Well I would spray them if we had some, but it’s too cold to get some more

So I wash and dry and polish, and then close the garage Roll-a-door

Next on my list of chores is some mowing and some edging

But I really am quite bored by now so I think I’ll do some sledging

As I watch the Sunday footy, scream out and grab a beer

As Phil Gould cites his anthem, “They love their Sunday footy here”

A Sunday roast, she’s quite a gal, that woman that I wed

A leg of lamb, a few red wines, clean up then off to bed

The alarm it’s set for half past five, and my head to rest I lay

Then before I’m asleep I’m up again, and to work I’m on my way

June 14: Get rid of them all ...

I’m thinking that at the next election, we should just have a single party

What’s the point of a bunch of liars, telling porkies full and hearty

Let’s scrap the major parties, and the minority runners too

And let's do something to stop our Parliament from looking like a zoo

Every time one mob gets in, they break promise after promise

Is it any surprise that we all group, as one large doubting Thomas

We even have new names for them, are promises non core or are they core

Why bother even promising, if in your pledge you hold no store

I for one have had enough, of funding this group of liars

One mob goes out, one mob comes in, and then complains about the fires

That the other mob has left them, and of the state of pure disruption

If there was just one party, there’d be less waste and less corruption

June 13: Origin, Origin, ORIGIN ...

I've just had a thought, and my mind it is fraught

With the feelings I might be forced to embrace

When I watch my own team, end Queensland’s dream

Of winning nine Origins in a row in this race

It cannot be allowed and I will say it out loud

That the Cane Toads they must be destroyed

On this Wednesday night we will put up a fight

Or we all will be supremely annoyed

I predict we’ll be victorious, and the crowd will in chorus

Celebrate with one voice as we win the series

And begin the road back, knowing our plan is on track

As Queensland go back to the board and their theories

June 12: Just get that crap off my tv ...

I’m told that Home and Away, we’ve seen its final season

Some people they see joy, others they see treason

I do not really give a toss, or even if there’s a reason

Just get that crap off my tv, extend the ratings season

 

I’ve never seen an episode, so I know not what it’s about

They say that it is crap tv, and of that I have no doubt

When they said that it was soon to end, I jumped up to shout

Just get that crap off my tv, and end the entertainment drought

So it’s off the screen, and I enjoy the beginning of the end

Send the cast to ABC, so their reputations mend

Perhaps they could do real tv, and stop the sad pretend

Just get that crap off my tv, that I truly recommend

I’ve said all that I want to say, so I’ll move onto another show

There is so much rubbish they call tv, half of it must go

Reality shows and who can sing, my anger overflows

Please get that crap off my tv, and end this tale of woe

June 11: Now shake it up baby now ...

On the eleventh of June, on a rainhy afternoon, the Fab Four they visited Australia

In nineteen-sixty-four, when they came to our shore, their first tour here it was not a failure

From city to city, chased by girls very pretty, they put upon show after show

They stages they played, and the fans they all stayed, and went where the Beatles did go

Rock and roll it was young, the songs that they sung came with dancing and the grinding of hips

That brought their parents to swear that their kids won’t be there, and words of love they fell from their lips

Four lads from Liverpool, with Ringo playing the fool, while young George was silent and strong

And with Paul and with John, who were urging them on, they couldn't stay still for too long

I’ve just seen a face, and Strawberry Fields is the place, where I just want to be holding your hand

With your face in a jar, you could be driving my car, when I saw stand there in the sand

Norwegian Wood saw me through, all my loving woudl it do, if I fell in love with you I’d feel fine

How I loved all their songs, they could right all my wrongs, that part of my youth was devine

June 10: RIP Rik Mayall ...

I used to watch the Young Ones, such a bloody funny show

And we marveled at the depths Rik’s trashy humour it could go

With his badly soiled white y-fronts, and his unwashed pimply face

As he flexed before the mirror, his scrawny body a disgrace

Unkempt hair and filthy clothes, once white bedsheets brown and green

Not one washed up pot or pan, and such filth you’d never seen

No cutlery, no crockery, they all had trashed the lot

The furniture it was splintered, so they lived on what they’d got

Also there was Vivian, who you wouldn't like to meet

Silver studs nailed to his head, Romper Stomper’s on his feet

And their house was full of vermin, but they didn’t care a bit

And Vivian was joyous so as long as Rik was there to hit

Not a stick of furniture survived Vivian’s daily violent rage

I laughed so much at what he did, my brain could not engage

He’d bash and crash and beat up Rick, who was just a little gay

But payback was worth waiting for, each and every day

Though Rik he was a ladies man, clad in flannels from New Orleans

But all his best liaisons they took place within his dreams

In that zone he was successful and the girls to him would flock

But Vivian put an end to that, when he woke him with a rock

And Neil the hippy pacifist, who lived on brussel sprouts
I really don’t know how he survived, living with those louts

Once Neil was a copper, and he knocked on his own front door

“Open up it's the pigs", he cried, which brought a fridge from the third floor

We laughed so hard it hurt us as we watched them in their mess

Unadulterated violence, back then we couldn’t have cared less

Now Rik he’s gone to heaven, but as only Vivian could say

“The selfish bloody bloody bastard, I should have killed him yesterday”