He's had enough of idea-illogical drivel
Too right mate.' I think their brains have
Shrivelled, she'll be right..I say g'day
It allows more time for ( deep contemplation ) in the Aussie way.' We're
Pretty low key.' But don't let it fool ya.'
Cause in linguistics..We can stick it to ya.'
We exell at sports, and here you can still
Find; real men, lean as whalebone up to
Six feet ten , and lissome sheilas who can
Surf the swells, and care for kids..'
So very well, we don't go for souks here.'
We breed'em strong, love the footy fishing
And Slim Dusty songs' Also Stan Coster
well who could forget.? And air supply
( easy listening you bet') Livvy and the seekers
Redfern too' marcia hines, all good through
And through.'
Autism is always a hard pill to swallow,
Like planting a bullet on the skull
Drifted from life's wonders
As if I've slipped away.
Stigmatized like a cockroach
And knocked back from footy.
With my body soiled and discoloured
Embarrassed and humiliated on the face.
Mama asked me about school
Hoping it was okay,
Yet its darkness doesn't fade away
Like living in the bull pit of Sam Hill.
Then I get angry and fond of the bottle
Having nothing but doubt and shame,
As if suicide is a way out of the pain
And lifting the pressure off my chest.
In the heart of Melbourne's bustling streets,
Lies a club where every footy fan meets.
Black and white, their colors fly,
A magpie's pride, soaring high.
Collingwood, oh Collingwood,
Where dreams are chased, and understood.
With every kick, mark, and handball,
The Magpies stand, united and tall.
From Victoria Park to the MCG,
Their history rich, for all to see.
Legends have graced the hallowed ground,
With roaring fans, their cheers resound.
They fight, they strive, with all their might,
Under the floodlights, every Friday night.
With every goal, the crowd's roar swells,
Echoing through the city, a story it tells.
So here's to the Magpies, black and white,
In their quest for glory, they take flight.
Collingwood, oh Collingwood,
Forever strong, forever good.
Our queen rules another realm, I believe,
From here to Eternity, we grieve,
Melbourne, Victoria, has its priorities,
We'll have a four-day weekend, you see,
Pomp of royalty, footy final at the MCG,
Massacre by Geelong, possibility,
Pies might be in it to win it, tee hee,
Showtime next week as well, I say,
Yes, we commemorate the lot this way,
One long public holiday,'
Would we have Melbourne any other way?
The ball is bounced high
Both ruckmen prepare their flight
Now all are watching
My body tenses.
The soft padding of footy pajamas
approach
tiny fingers grip my eyelid
lift it....
Bright eyes gaze into
the freshly opened eye.
A voice shouts....DA!!!
The other eye opens.
Yes I'm in here.
......And he knows it.
His PJ's had that
"potato in a pocket" hang.
I close my eyes...
reopen them...
he's still there...
he shouts again....DA!
Milk dribbles from his chin
as he struggles
to master the spoon
Cheerios dot his forehead
as he throttles a banana.
The "eye" sips coffee
tries not to laugh.
The dog laps up
his portion of sharing.
It was a good morning.. until
he pried my eye open
then....it became
.......A GREAT MORNING
John G. Lawless
2/15/2021
It seems so quiet here since you went.
The dog's more settled, the cat's more content.
My friends seem to visit much more than before
and I can visit the pub without starting a war
Now the dust has settled the house is just fine.
I order my groceries and things online
and the fit widow woman down the road
does my washing and ironing by the load.
Darts league on Wednesdays and the odd game of pool,
footy on Saturday with some old mates from school
all keep me active and stop me feeling bereft
which could so easily happen to me since you left.
I'm managing to cope, with the odd glass of wine,
when I'm feeling depressed, but then I'm just fine.
When you walked out the door I didn't think I could
but now I'm much happier than I ever thought I would.
My ongoing rehab means I have to endure
a fortnight away on the French Cote d'Azure.
But if it will help fill the ache in my heart
I'll just grin and bear it, I suppose it's a start.
So there's no need to worry that I'm not sleeping at night,
you're the last person I think of when I turn out the light.
So I'm holding my end up with great fortitude
and thinking of having my tea in the nude.
Oh to be eighteen again
Just for a week
No more morning pain
No more feeling weak
All the fun I could have
Party into the early hours
Play footy with the lads
Buy a sweetheart flowers
Oh to be sweet eighteen
Feeling fit as a butchers dog
It's ages since I was a teen
Grey hairs, I got a lot
wrinkles on my face
Liver spots on my hands
Struggling to stand straight
To be eighteen would be grand
I have my memories
Although they're faint
From in my teens
I was far from a saint
Sat in my comfy seat
Glasses on my nose
Hearings not so sweet
Face as red as a rose
Oh to be eighteen again
Only for a week
I could feel healthy again
Not mild and meek
Only a couple of months locked in
That feels like an eternal sin
Sat alone staring at four walls
I need some company just to talk
Remember the the things we took for granted
Like day trips to hemel Hempstead
Meeting friends for a quick tea
And an evening in the bar with a double whisky
Mothers meeting at school gates
Sharing gossip of late
Visiting mother for a cwtch and chat
Saturday footy with the chaps
Cinema dates with loved ones
And simply just having fun
Can't go shopping for shoes and clothes
Ooo I could murder a mcflurry orio
Most of all is our life and health
A cough or touch could send you to hell
Never worried about keeping a certain lenth
Not knowing if this is gonna end
Society will never be the same
No need to point and blame
Follow the rules thats layered out
And hopefully we'll ride this out
Not knowing what the future has in store
We cannot take things for granted anymore
Down under in Oz, over here,
There is no football, my dears,
This is a tale so drear,
A footy champion, once held dear,
He died of no football, no cheers,
We buried him at the ground, so austere,
His tumulus amounded each year,
We'd drive by, pouring a libation of beer,
The tumbleweeds blew,
Grass long and shaggy grew,
At the bar, no bevvies or beer,
The bar fridge empty, also austere,
The BBQ so cold and so drear,
His ute rusted away, so near,
We'd pass by, pouring libations of beer,
Sad, to die of no football, my dears,
A tale from Oz, somewhere over here,
F...it, on the other side of Covid, we'll all have a beer........
Good morning Australia!
How are you...? Gday!!!
It's our favourite day of the year
And a national public holiday!
The weather is fantastic
And the days fully packed
Lots of great things to do
And the eskies fully stacked
Important things to remember..
The old slip, slop and slap.
Slip on a shirt, slop on sunscreen..
And slap on a hat!
The barbeques are all fired up..
The crowds are building up fast.
The footy is being kicked around..
And the kids are having a blast!
Turn your radios up real loud..
Sing along in your best voice.
It's the Australian National Anthem..
Come on now.... Let's rejoice!
The night sky is starting to darken..
And the momentum starting to build.
For the best sky-show fireworks..
Everyone watching will be thrilled!
So when the night is over..
Be trueblue and do the right thing.
Please keep Australia beautiful..
And put your rubbish in the bin!
“Grandpa when are you ‘gunna’ turn into a frog?”
Me grandson said as I brushed him away;
‘Turn into a frog! That flamin’ kid’s on the grog!’
“Go on! You get outside and play!”
Then I went to the fridge and brought out two cans.
One for my son-in-law; the other for me.
And we talked as we drank about his future plans,
but me grandson once again made the plea.
“Grandpa when are you ‘gunna’ turn into a frog?”
I hadn't a clue what he’s talking about,
so I waved him away as I gave him a jog
“Keep it up ‘Sonny’ and I'll give you a clout!”
Then I went back to talking with my son-in-law
about the footy and cricket but then,
while we’re conversing me grandson once more
interrupted when he asked me again.
“Grandpa when are you ‘gunna’ turn into a frog?”
I’m heating up now; I said “You little brat!
I’ll show you frog after showing you flog!”
But why does he keep on asking me that?
“Now look here young ‘fella’ what makes you think
that I’ll turn into a frog?” And then me grandkid,
said “I heard Dad telling Mum with a smile and a wink -
when your father croaks we get ten thousand quid”.
She had always risen
hovered over us
lifted our spirits
drew attention away from
our flaws of tree
of character.
A weathered warrior
she bore the burden
of topping a tilted tree
protecting childhood’s dreams
raising our vision.
The gifts overtook the season
bulbs and tinsel mocked
her dimming glow
a faint remembrance
of cold rooms
footy pajamas.
Frail with age
she lingered past her time
clinging to a hope
that failed
the year
the angel fell.
©12/4/2018
Contest - A Sad Christmas
Sponsor – Dear Heart
Daddy. A Father’s Day poem
28/08/2018
I miss you dad,
I miss you real bad.
I miss your voice,
And I miss your face.
Your scratchy beard
When you haven’t shaved.
I miss your humour,
I miss your grin.
I miss the footy,
And a Rooster’s win.
We’ll have a pie,
And a Cornetto or three.
I was always happiest,
When you were next to me.
I miss your laugh,
I miss your smell.
I used to wear
Eau Savage as well.
I wish my boys
Had a Pop around.
You’d spoil them rotten,
Without making a sound.
I only wish
you could see me now.
How far I’ve come
Would make you proud.
I’m free of past burdens,
Love life and my boys.
I’ve found love again,
And a future to enjoy.
The only thing missing,
Is a pie with my Dad.
I miss you Daddy,
I miss you real bad.
He stayed out late one night,
had a few drinks with his mates.
She’s home alone and is uptight,
behind the front door as she waits.
It’s his first night out alone;
time slipped quickly after two.
She had reached the tearful zone,
and rehearsed - ‘we are through.’
At three o’clock he stumbled in,
with a beer smile on his face,
and in the morning with head spin,
once more she put him in his place.
There is nowhere that he can hide,
every question wants replies.
He’s reminded she is his bride,
so there better be no lies.
He gave her all his stories,
She gave him all her facts,
no beer, no footy, no loving -
That’s how one woman reacts.
Respect and trust are on the line,
even though he did no wrong,
she won’t tolerate a single sign -
it’s home with her he does belong.
He gave her all his stories,
She gave him all her facts,
no beer, no footy, no loving -
That’s how one woman reacts.
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