HAUNTED HOUSE
Introduce you to Monty the mouse
Dwells in a haunted old house
many nights lies awake
thinks his life is at stake
These fears he's unable to douse
WARTY AND GNARLY
An old fellow who's warty and gnarly
Sings and sounds like Bob Marley
he's into reggae
a guitar he does play
Long ago he was baptised as Charlie
ROCK AND ROLLER
Betty's an old rock and roller
She walks with babe in a stroller
sometimes she will run
babes thinks it's much fun
Takes the dog with a lead on a collar
HOLD UP
Simon's a really fart smeller
But he once held up a bank teller
many years on the run
always armed with a gun
Ten years in a prison life's below stellar
Hanging 'round down Trenchtown
Bob and me we had a yearning
he only had to signify 'Rastafari'
soon Bob and me we were a'burning
jamming the live-long day
reggae music was a'fire
wasting the night away
as the moon looked on
playing on the waves
Bob and me we were free
he and me we were a'flying
while the world was turning
no woman no time for crying
no disturb Bob and me
it's only the midnight 'erb we're burning
Thin scars
now appear so faded.
They mirror iron bars
old yet decorated.
I connect scattered stars.
Branded,
these marks give me away.
If I’m being candid,
lines hold what I can’t say.
Brute force was demanded.
Upon
a wish the light dances,
here and then it is gone.
The roughness romances,
giving strength to build on.
My skin,
delicate mosaic
painted by where I’ve been.
Whichever one you pick?
It’s story leaves a grin.
He has trained all his life for a job
parents paid for lots of training for bozo Bob
He used to brag about what he could do
But he has never had a job, I knew
His employable skills are actually few
He has tried many things, but not followed through
In a restaurant he jumped our booth
landed on the lap of a girl named Ruth
I heard him say “You’re a fireman, I am too.”
Retired though, back in ’82.
A lie of course, he never finished the training at all.
Dropped out of it less than two weeks, in the fall.
Everything he said was a lie and absurd.
He did not let Ruth get in a word.
When I finally dragged him away
I heard Ruth give a tiny hooray
Freely admit am more than a bit of a Test cricket junkie
VIP pass doff for punky class of Bazball’s start so spunky
Revel in rocking devil may care peacocking flair so funky
But when stuttered became rather cluttered and clunky
Then Ben not with his men again is still a cheeky monkey
Iffy getting squiffy forgot curfew & in a jiffy all got gunky
Palaver in a lather farce of toff ECB job & gob of slob Key
Smelt wrong the pong not dope has felt old school skunky
Hunky stallion did quaff the trough now rapscallion donkey
Scoff not bob on plunky fob off dob em in for being a flunky
Got a cob on Baz a show off ar*e & Rob chubby and chunky
Sob should burn on the hob as each other’s jail bit*h bunkie
Turn the door k*ob in lob Baz & Bob then Ben lose the key
I was sitting on the corner, stoned
When out of the blue, my dead aunt phoned
How could this be, she rests in peace
Right beside my loving niece
I answered the phone, and my auntie said
"I know you think that I am dead"
"I'm alive"- my auntie moaned
Or- could it be that you're just- "Stoned"
“Sorry Aunt, I made a mistake,
It wasn’t you it was uncle Jake.
I must admit I’m a little high,
I cannot walk but I can fly.
I’m with my ganja friends, we’re all blotto.
Here’s Bob Marley, he says “Hello”.
They’re in a rush coz they are late
Any time now they’ll close the Pearly Gate.”
Collaboration poem: last two stanzas are mine.
(2nd Place in Charles Messina's The Stoner Collaboration Poetry Contest)
He used to race 100 miles
And tell us all about it.
We always saw him running,
So we had no cause to doubt it.
The races that I entered then
Were 6.2 in miles
And mostly run in Central Park;
We differed in our styles.
I still get out and walk each day,
My racing days behind me,
And early morning, by the river,
That is where you’ll find me.
Yet he sits mostly on a bench,
His walker at the ready,
The river feeling far away;
His gait is too unsteady.
I used to marvel at the thought
Of hundred mile races,
But seeing where we’re both at now,
I’d not be trading places.
BAGHDAD, BOB, AND PETE
HISTORY DOES NOW REPEAT
THE TRUTH THEY BOTH CHEAT
Winds of Consciousness,
waves of ponderousness.
Particles always whispering,
transparent and yet listening.
Bob Dylan lyricized the wind.
Others have been equally determined.
Through karmic rebirth and purification,
one can transcend in the eightfold revelation.
Always returning to the mortal taste of sentience,
always ascending in awakening self-observance.
Realize we are the cause of our suffering.
Realize how we can be free through our discovery.
Cultivate an attitude of love and kindness,
cultivate awareness of momentary mindfulness.
Envisage wholesomeness, altruism, and selflessness.
envisage empathy, compassion, and fairness.
Speak truthfully with the harmony of rivers.
Speak never with cruelty, hatred, or anger.
Acting with the fragrant, mellifluous breeze.
Acting with loving and unconditional ease.
Awaken to the absorption of the heart.
Awaken to life’s intricate work of art.
Winds of consciousness bring resilience.
Winds of consciousness are the habits
for turning Dharma wheels into enlightenment.
Certainly no coward was Bob Cratchit
scrapping together fifteen shillings, a measly bit
a dear family man, meek but not bleak
putting Scrooge to shame, driving miser to seek !
~~~~~~~~
2nd Placing : Standard Contest
Dec.2025
Cowboy Bob loved taking the kids to the campfire
He told them stories about roping cattle, cleaning manure out of barns,
riding broncos, driving tractors, eating from a chuckwagon
They were fascinated by his stories
There was a lot of laughter
We grown-ups had our own circle and our own bonfire
Grateful that Cowboy Bob loved entertaining our children
It made our campout experience so much nicer
Reporter advised do not go.'
On whats already known.'
Known to rile; big Bob Katter
Yet he pushed it hell for leather.'
Pushed it right back to Cloncurry
Seventy years blurred..To Bob in school
It was not funny.' I'd say here i'm on the
Money.)
Meet Bob:
Bob just lost his job!
Toiled twenty years.
Poor pitiful slob.
Meet Neal:
He cut a better deal!
Foiled his pension,
When he ratted out Bob.
Back to Bob:
Heard about Neal!
Heard about the deal,
Neal got robbed by Bob.
Neal shot Bob!
Bob bled on Neal!
Aah, who cares?
Anybody got time for Neal and Bob?
Bob once worked for J. Edgar Hoover
Some thought was a shaker and mover
I don't care what they said
Bob swore to get ahead
And mastered the hind-lick maneuver
Thank the Lord..' Katters on the job.' Father of the house..
And solar housing systems..This legend is worth every bob'
A straight talking hero.' Who has his country at heart.'
Who will stand; with with his no-nonsense manner.'
It's time; and well past..Get to the line, be ready to start.!
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