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‘Tiny’ Bawb Always Wins His Fights -
(in “Phonetically-Edited" Rhyme - for my Brit and Ausie Mites)
Just before the Ausie, ‘Tiny’ Bawb, commenced to swingin’...tryin’ to knock the hooter off o’ Reggie Badger’s fice...
Folks was placin’ bets that ‘Tiny’ Bawb ‘d whoop his arse for chattin’ up his sheila in a way that weren’t real nice!
Now Reggie weren’t the jammiest lad when looks was divvied out...whilst ‘Tiny’ Bawb’s companion was a right fine lookin’ skirt...
And folks was bettin’ perty big that - when their brawl was done - Reggie - bein’ fairly sloshed - ‘d be the one most hurt!
Ezmerelda Poltergeist, ’Tiny’s’ bit o’ floff, felt the tension building and remarked - to warn the sod -
“Bugger off, ya’ smarmy dweeb”...then grabbed him by the belt, slammed him up against the ba’ an’ kneed ‘im really hod!
“‘Tiny’ Bawb’s the toughest bloke in Sydney,” she proclaimed, “and take my word - yer ‘bout to be the victim of a crime
If you don’t feal yer boots right now...before this goes too fa'...an’ I ain’t all that keen on bein’ the one who takes the blime
“For what that man ‘ll do to you! You’re ‘bout to take the biscuit for "dumbest wanker breathin'" - and to lose a buncha teeth!
In fact,” she added, “I just flutt'ed twenty quid myself that ‘Tiny’ Bawb, without a doubt, ‘ll beat you half to deeth!”
“So do yerself a favor,” she continued, “on yer bike, ‘cause rackin’ off’s the only way you’ll live another dye!
All them sca’s’ on Tiny’s fice should give ya' some idea of what that squiffy beast ‘ll do to make his rivals pye.
“It’s not that I’m not flatt'ed, and - if Tiny weren’t aroun' - although yer hod to look at - we’d’a prob’ly wound up mites,
But, as it is, he’ll kick yer arse if you don’t leave right now, ‘cause ‘Tiny’ Bawb - I'll guarantee ya’ - always wins his fights!”
Cheers,
Mark S.
FYI: My latest poetry books and Audio CDs of poetry are available at: writerofbooks.com
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Standing in a field, camera in my hand,
Scanning misty pines, haloed hill so grand.
Many miles I've traversed, now lost all sense of time,
Morning dew underfoot, dappled light is sublime.
The green plants of this earth, rising to warm rays,
I hear no sound, as the camera lens follows my gaze.
My eyes fixed on the backdrop; I feel my legs in pain,
Dependably they have carried me, across this rough terrain.
As I raise a water bottle to my mouth, beard and brow is caressed
The Cool breeze ruffles song birds, safely high in their nest.
I could stay here awhile, no train to catch, this is no trial
Resting on my back, I’m happy to be dispossessed.
Something nudges my slumber, a hear a distant sound
Out of sight I raise my eyes to see, what on earth can it be?
The peace shattered, I hear a roar, over the crest I see a 4x4
Bouncing across the field, advancing straight at me.
Gingerly I stand upright, consciously a friendly smile applied
No worries, I’ve made no impact, no damage to the crops
The machine grinds to a halt, farmer emerges, a shooter by his side.
‘What da f**k you doing ‘ere, tis my turf, trespassing you are!
Take this a warning, you ain’t got no juice, dis here will put you right.
Were you at, dis no playground for you kinda people, you wanker!’
Farmer strides nearer, his hands grasping the gun;
‘I’m only chilling out, no disrespect I meant, resting there the view I hanker.
Arriving here was no plan, I walked through the mist and wanted some sun.’
‘Arrived here my arse, not your fault, so now your excuse is that your lost?’
‘No Sir, I’m not lost, but I am free, and this morning I chose the path less taken.’
‘Dat s**t out your gob, oh my god, so now you wana speak greek ? You're a freek!’
‘Yes Sir, I am a freak, but no Sir, I don't do Greek.
I’m here to roam, explore the land, and hope to find Johnny’s garden.
Look, stardust is golden, and we are billion-year carbon,
The time has come to break free from the devil's bargain.’
Farmer pumps his gun, now I can smell the sweat stains on his shirt.
‘You wana break free, ha, I’ll set you free; you don’t get it - here I rule.
Look around you , aint nada to see, everything is just dirt! ‘
‘Listen farmer, before I leave, I’ll give you the straight skinny, you're such a tool. ‘
With my ears ringing from the sound, my guts and blood sprayed on the ground
I see hedges trimmed, flowers abloom, and then I realise what I have found.
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