Long Sheila Poems
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Once there was dingo, rabidly mad as he could be
who thought he was a Bruce of a man by how he spoke
But no man would call him their 'mate,' for you see...
he was a mongrel dog who pretended to be a bloke
The dingo who called himself 'Keefer,' was all talk-no bite
got caught chasing a galah (chicken) for want of a feast.
But ol' Keef got clawed by the rooster night after night
He was a drongo (fool) who thought he was a beast.
"Crikey!" I heard real men screaming from inside a bar
when they laughed at Keef wearing daks (male trousers)
He tucked his tail and ran from feathering with hot tar
"Get out, ya Hoon (hooligan)! We scorn rabble-rousers!
Keef was a loud mouth when he was blotto (inebriated)
Downing snag (sausages) and guzzling frothy (beer).
Tried to mate with a sheila (girl) but he'd been castrated.
Fair dinkum (that's true). He was neutered last year.
Some say he likes wearing female clothes, they swear.
He's such a hostile dingo, telling them to 'Rack OFF!'
But there's pictures of him in knickers (ladie's underwear).
and some of him before his little stub was sawed off.
I guess sometimes he gets to feeling clucky (maternal)
cuz he uses phrases like 'mother this and mother that.'
Looks like he'll end up some place heated and infernal
Dingo Keef's punishment for hurling all those brickbats.
A rabid dingo, that fool proved to be a fizzer (fizzled out)
His rants and threats to beat guys up were just a joke,
who was well-known as a bogan (hick) and a social lout
who accepted the truth. Ol' Keefer is now socially 'woke.'
Last I heard of him, he'd taken up with a mate called, Roo.
Another misfit creature roaming around in the outback
He played for hours each night, blowing into his digeridoo
because he couldn't stand Keef's braggin' and talkin' smack.
Roo felt relieved when the dingo, kinky Keefer disappeared
The one who'd been called 'the blunder from down under.
He'd mumbled for days about Milton Creek and Roo feared
that dingbat dingo would try to tear that town asunder.
We went shopping
The misses and me
And afterwards we went
To our favourite café for a tea
The misses decided
She wanted to visit her brother Jim
She said “Since we in town,
“I have somefink to give to him”
So off we go to the bank
That’s where he works
His a no body
Just one of many clerks
We approach the counter
Me misses says “I wanna see Jim”
“Tell him it’s his sister”
“And I have somefink for ‘im”
“By the way, she says
“He should have a parcel for me”
The manager behind the counter said
“Jim is out to lunch you see”
“Well said me misses give him this
She pulled out a potato peeler
The manager’s eyes open
He seemed a bit of a Sheila
He quickly turned around
And gave me misses a parcel
But wouldn’t take the potato peeler
The stupid **** hole
Off we went back home
I slumped in the chair and watched some TV
Later the misses brought the parcel
And sat next to me
She open the bag
And all of a sudden a loud exploding sound
I thought me misses was killed
From the wet splatters all around
I looked at her
What a sight
Her face and arms were evenly coated orange
Which, boy, gave me an even bigger fright
I looked down in the bag
It was filled with money
Covered in a bright orange dye
My throat dried, this was not funny
Moments later a knock on the door
Me misses answers and voices say we arresting you for theft
You have orange dye on you
So we need to search the house, step to the left
I peep out, there,
A bloody police van
Me misses says you will do no such thing
This is fake tan
She reaches in her bag
Out come a bottle of orange fake tan
The police apologies
And off they go in their van
The CCTV tapes they probe
Blank
And arrest the manager
For an inside job
For a whole month
I stayed at home washing me orange spots
I managed to fade them
And got a sick note for chicken pox.
BEAUTIES BY THE BABBLING BROOK
They sat on the boulders
by the babbling brook
basking in God's brightness,
their bronze curly locks
bouncing as they giggled.
Their beauty was perfect
in every way, including
the big beautiful bold eye
that graced each of them
centered in their foreheads.
They were giggling at me
because I balked at each
questioning my own sight;
could it be, I asked myself,
God made them one-eyed?
Their laughter mingled
with the songs of the brook
as I marveled at their beauty,
even though embarrassed
for having gawked at them so.
What could I say as I walked away?
(From a dream: Mar. 1, 2008)
[It should be noted that on the front page of The Komsomolskaya Pravda, the
Russian Newspaper, it was reported on 2/22/2005, that a baby girl was born with
one blue eye centered in her forehead. She died right after birth, only having
taken one breath. I researched this, because I could not believe what I saw in
this dream; also I worried that it would discredit my vision of Heaven. I hope to
see these beauties again in Heaven when I get there. I'll want to be their friend
and get to know them better.]
“...there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no
more pain, for the former things have passed away.”
REV 21:4
GOD'S ANGELS HAIKU
They are all over
fluttering up, down, here, there,
bringing messages.
“'He who overcomes shall be clothed in white garments, and I will not blot out his
name from the Book of Life; but I will confess his name before My Father and
before His angels.'”
REV 3:5
These poems are the last 2 poems in my IN HEAVEN book, which is 165 pages
long, and for which I'm seeking a publisher.
(C) Sheila Kathryn Barrera Feb. 12, 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.myspace.com/sheila_kathryn_barrera
I love a sunburnt Aussie bloke, with great big, muscled arms,
His rugged well-built shoulders, and face with all its charms.
I love his thongs and singlet too, and stubby shorts you see,
His beer gut proudly hanging out, he is the one for me,
I love his Aussie greeting way “‘G’day mate” when we meet
His laugh so loud, make no mistake, you’ll know him in the street.
I love the Aussie Sheila too, she’s really trim and taught.
Long legs, tight skirt, big bust, great smile, a real good-looking sort.
I love her when she’s on the beach, bikini clad real brown,
Or when she meets her friends for lunch, all dressed up for the town.
I love her friendly way she says “G’day mate” when we meet
Her laugh so loud, make now mistake you’ll know her in the street.
I love an Aussie BBQ, with lamb chops, snags, and steak
And ‘Big Red’ sauce, a loaf of bread, some salads we do make.
I love the Aussie breakfast time with Vegemite on toast
Or Sunday lunch no better that an Aussie dinkum roast.
I love our wine and spirits too, but best is Aussie beer
It’s Fosters, Gold or Tooheys Blue, you won’t find soft drink here.
I love our sport, we watch a lot, of course we are the best,
We’re always fair, we understand, just better than the rest.
I love the Aussie rules we play, that’s football, not ping pong
And how the crowds call out real loud if the umpie gets it wrong.
I love the summer tennis too; it’s watched by young and old
Or a cricket match the Aussie way, dressed in the green and gold.
I love our patriotic style, the anthem that is sung
‘Advance Australia Fair’ I think, don’t know the words just hum.
I love our multi-cultural race, from lands quite near and far,
As a nation proud we do stand because that is who we are.
I love the freedom that we have, our wide brown land to roam
This place we call Australia; this place we call our home.
Bloody race horses! Flamin’ ‘Hilly’. He said he had the inside news
‘Put everything you own on it, the horse just cannot lose’.
To think I listened to him; he’s left me right up the creek,
‘cause now I’m ‘stony’ broke. Payday’s not ‘til Friday week.
Well ‘Hilly’ he just gave a grin. Said “Don’t worry she’ll be right.
Here, take a quid and pay me back when you get paid next Friday night”.
“Hang on” I said, “You’ve got money left, I’d like to know how come!”
“Oh!” grinned ‘Hilly’ “I got late news; the jockey said the horse won’t run”.
‘That’s great!’ I thought, at least his quid has put me in the black.
But Andy, who loaned me last time, now wants his money back.
So here I am quid-less; a sad and sorry looking sight
with not a ‘cracker’ to me name and the dance is on tonight.
“Well ain’t you going?” Andy asked. I answered, “Don’t think so,
I don’t feel like walking to the door when I ain’t got any ‘dough”.
“Money! You don’t need money; ain’t you got a rabbit skin,
they’re worth more than a ‘bob’ you know, two will get you in”.
I thought about what Andy said … about what gets me through the door,
but hang on! Here’s another thought. A fox skin’s worth much more.
A rabbit only brings a ‘bob’, but a fox, well he’s worth five.
Surely they will give me change. Three ‘bob’ will help me to survive.
I don’t normally have this cunning nature but times are really hard.
If I’m to deal a winning hand I must hold the trumping card.
When the ‘sheila’ asked for money, I looked sad and dropped me head.
“Well have you got two rabbit skins?” That’s when I brightened up and said.
“Sorry Love I don’t have rabbit, but I have a fox instead”.
“Fine” she beamed, “A fox is great” then she whispered when she said
“Fox skins are worth much more than rabbit”. She checked the fox for mange -
then handed me two hare and a rabbit skin as change.
I am thinking of putting all of my poems in a book. I have around 80-90 of them.
This is what I have come up with so far for an intro. Your comments will be
greatly appreciated. This may take two entries so be sure to check. Thank you.
My life has always been a little different. My parents divorced when I was 4 years
old so that meant every other weekend and for a month in the summer I was with
my dad, other than that I was living with my mom. The atmospheres at each
house were quite different. Now, not o say that both parents didn’t love me
because I know they did, but they were two completely different environments. My
dad liked to drink and there was usually quite a shindig at his house, my mom’s
was always a little more relaxed and “family oriented” so to speak. We went to
church with my mom every Sunday and it wasn’t always so with my dad. My dad
remarried for the first time when I was about 6 or 7. He and this woman had a
baby and shortly after divorced. After the divorce my half-sister and her mom
moved to Michigan, we didn’t get to se a lot of her and eventually my dad let her
step-dad adopt her and that changed a lot of things. My dad remarried again
when I was about 8 or 9. He and this woman, Sheila, had two children. She was
the love of his life and she is an amazing woman. My mom remarried for the first
time when I was 11. The marriage lasted for about 7 years. He was very
controlling and they divorced, it was probably the best thing for all of us. My mom
remarried again when I was 19. He is a wonderful man; I have never seen my
mom as happy as she is now. His name is Don. I now have a total of 9 siblings,
I don’t get to see all of them very often, but it’s always interesting.
When I was 15 is when my world was turned completely upside
down.
Form:
The Ancient Mariner of the parliament square
Like the mariner he was, a scrawny, skin unfair
A loner with a glittering eyes, possibly a bit touched
A Clint Eastwood impersonator look, he seemed to bear
But a powerful speaker than professional speakers.
Urging world to live a more Christian life cleaner
Lived and slept outside the parliament for a decade
In his hand holding, with broad thrust, a loudhailer.
Against Western groups killing thousands Iraqi people
He fought and spoke for 3,600 days like an eagle.
Of traffic, clock bangs and the hordes of visitors.
When Haw at his mouthpiece, all the voices disabled
Haw had a remarkably insistent, irritating voice
And Mr. David Blunkett was irked and annoyed
Reacting to 2005 organized crime And Police Act
It was “using a maul to crack a nut” to destroy.
The More Brian noise caused with his loudhailer
The more MPS demanded to remove the bother
But the word “Bother” sounded too weak
Compared to warmongering by Blaire & B-liars.
With an Antipodean woman Haw shared war choirs
With his trademark cries of “ Tony B-liar, Tony B.I.A.R”
When another woman started up, public was grateful
Sharp as seamstress’s needle was Sheila’ s crisp voice.
Despite his Left-wing favor, he was a Right-wing figure
A man, standing up to the state, never thought to disfigure
Brian Haw had plenty more fuel for all his protests
The war in Afghanistan and the war in Iraq to configure.
When Milosevic was tried at the Hague for war crimes
He said, “why not to try Blair and Bush’s Crimes?”
Like Coleridge’s haunted mariner: long, lank & brown
He had one vice: tobacco, he died of lung cancer prime.
+++
March 12, 2014
Dr. Ram Mehta
Form: Rubaiyat
Contest: One Against Many by Joe Maverick
I’d kissed at least one boy by age fourteen.
Disappointment was the taste it left.
Although it was short, it was far from sweet.
In contrast, my second kiss was lengthy.
Its honey lingered in my mouth all night.
Oh, Alabama summer of my 14th year!
The month was either August or July.
Visiting my best friend Sheila’s state, I met
her 19-year-old cousin Glenn
(a preacher’s son was he!)
Wearing a skort (I still remember it-
(a half skirt, half shorts outfit with patterns red and blue).
I got into the back seat of a car with Sheila’s cousin.
She sat in the front with the driver, her boyfriend Jack.
Glenn liked to tease and make me laugh.
I was a cherry red/raspberry blue popsicle
melting in the sweltering humidity,
but melting too with the thrill
of sitting next to handsome, winsome Glenn.
Jack drove us all around and up and down
so many rolling hills.
My stomach too was rolling with excitement
(Glenn’s arm had found its way around my shoulders).
Before sunset arrived we stopped to park.
I don’t remember where. I didn’t care.
Feelings I had never felt before
were now exploding! I only can recall
those soft, smooth, sweet, long kisses
into the night
and a song on the car radio, its lyrics crooning
“Marry me Bill . . . I love you so, I always will. . .”
YES YES YES my young heart swooned!
So innocent was I in my tight blue top
with the well-matched blue/red skort,
reveling in my youth's greatest joy
in that back seat as my friend Sheila
was in her own world making out with Jack.
Glenn must have been at least on his
hundredth or perhaps five-hundreth time around the block,
and there was I with him -
naive and dreamy-eyed
on that perfectly romantic summer evening.
July 21, 2021
For A Lovely Memory Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Years later, in my twenties now.
I got a call,
it was mom she had cancer.
I was scared what if was all I could muster.
All I thought was I couldn't bare,
at least one parent should be there.
I called you and you answered.
I told you not to speak my words you must hear.
You were kind and obliged. You let me talk and just listened.
It was finally my time. You agreed to meet with me,
so plans were made,
at the holiday it would be.
Things were different but the same.
Your mom still lived in the same small frame.
One thing was not as it should be, you brought her.
It was suppose to be just family,
but Sheila came.
Can't you see she doesn't like me?
She looks at me with such distain.
We had our visit,
we said our good-byes.
You promised you'd call that was a lie.
You had no intention at all.
It was I that would continue.
When I would call Sheila answered now,
she accused me wanting money,
but what I was after wasn't at cost.
I just wanted what I had lost.
Although I was first,
Sheila and her girls had you now.
I was a memory they were reality.
I couldn't be more than a passing glance,
it isn't fair but that's how it goes I suppose.
Now I am in crisis and could surely use a daddy's hand to hold.
I'm scared I don't know what to do. My mom doesn't seem to care.
I told her what he did when I was just a kid. She's still there.
Daddy, he hurt me!
The things he did would make you cry I nearly wanted to die.
I suppose a little I did. Her husband abused and misused
and still she takes his side I am so confused.
I'm all grown,
but to my core is that girl of just six crying loud to be rescued.
She needs her dad and he only ignores.
What am I suppose to do?
Form:
It’s what we had all waited for
What we practiced for all year
Not that I am bragging
But I was the one to fear
Now Sheila was a gammer
And MiMi had the charm
Jinx was just my sister
Not one of them an arm
Not that the game took muscle
It was more or less technique
I had loads of talent
The others – well – were weak
With the board up on the table
We all took our places
I turned to look each in the eye
They showed nothing in their faces
We each took up our squidger
Between our thumb and finger
Placed it on the edge of a wink
And for a moment linger
We were aiming for the little cup
There in the table’s middle
For winks that land within the cup
Each scored a single tiddle
Then “pop” we press down on the wink
And “flop” the wink goes flying
Hopefully right in the cup
For we were really trying
But I missed my first wink
Then it’s squopped by another player
And I can’t play that wink again
Because it’s down at least a layer
We go around the table
Each scoring tiddles fine
I’m playing so darn good in fact
I think the trophy’s mine
But Jinx and Sheila had my wink squopped
And I’ve no play to move it
And MiMi has but one wink left
And boy did she sure groove it
Oh, I had the talent, I had the skill
And I know I could beat them still
But those three girls ganged up on me
Squopped my wink so I would be
Covered up without a play
And that’s how it played out that day
I lost my crown in Tiddlewinks
Beat out by Sheila, MiMi, Jinx
Mdailey 3/8/12
Squidger = circular disk used to propel winks
Wink = circular disk counter in game
Pot = cup in center of game board
Tiddle = point scored by landing wink in cup
Squopped = getting your wink covered by one or more other player's wink