Back To the Future
Become a
Premium Member
and post notes and photos about your poem like Keith D Trestrail.
I
On the hill betwixt Carlisle and Deep Creek
follows a road to the Firth in the bay.
Where old friends old glory and old times seek
merrily unconcerned by this today
or that tomorrow, and gaze in wonder
islands in the Hauraki Gulf yonder.
II
Drinkin’ in the gaze of Lord Ted and Ma
like two shags on a rock gettin’ blinder,
and satisfied that of the twain you are
the monkey and not the organ grinder!
Still reelin’ from some bad ar-se bad karma
when we in tears watched Big Mama Jama.
III
Bootleg tapes and bottled bootleg thunder
play and flow with each bitter lightning shot -
a potion to make you gag and chunder
but when my Reds run dry that’s all I got!
In Bowden’s elixir of death I knew
I had no choice but drink the devil’s brew.
IV
In the cold war of wits first salvos fire
when hostilities end a sober truce,
yet to score cheap shots is not my desire
but reason and nuance are of no use.
Some say he’s a crazy son-of-a-gun,
I say he’s just a fu-ckin’ loose cannon!
V
Either answer the crossword clue or pass
and hand it over lest you look a fool -
I’ll be the teacher’s pet and kick your ar-se
like I did in Wyn Johnson’s class in school.
Now let’s “time out” from all this to and fro
while I take a slash in your mum’s hedgerow.
VI
We bemoan the pass of time and season
and relive again its lived realism -
we lament the new Age of Unreason
and sad loss of youthful idealism.
We ponder the culture wars, the country,
the cricket, the ponies, and the rugby.
VII
Man of mythology, my cyclops friend,
a drinker and a gambler on the punt -
a street poet and a house preacher when
filled with the holy spirit of Sam Hunt.
When this travellin’ circus is in town
I am the ringmaster and you the clown.
VIII
When a Bowden tall ale tall tale is spun
I’m always the sinner and you a saint -
now let’s do a Liquorland liquor run
but let the history books show you ain’t!
We are bookends of self-contradiction
but sadly, dude, up your end is fiction.
IX
So roll a Drum from your tobacco pouch
and light it in your window soapbox seat,
but remember cut barbs cut both ways…ouch!
so crack a bottle for you and for Skeet!
Now rewind back Masterpieces for me
and play again “One More Cup of Coffee”.
X
Ding! Ding! Two old shadow-boxers in hopes
of a quick clever counterpunch to throw -
I dance and jab and you stagger the ropes
while I duck and weave a cheap shot low blow!
Ding! Ding! And back to our corners we spar
like the two punch-drunk prizefighters we are.
XI
In our ceasefires and satirical wars
these are the chronicles of you and me,
and when you ramble with no ending pause
all I can think of is “Jabberwocky!”.
Alas two time lords with no place to go -
older and wiser and simpatico.
XII
Verily one for the road turns to four
then there’s the billy to boil till we part -
it’s late, I’m weary, I’m stood at the door
sh-itfaced hopin’ my fu-ckin’ car will start!
Off home in my time machine off away
back to the future back to Groundhog Day .
Written: May 1996
Copyright © Keith D Trestrail | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment