Short Wattles Poems

I won a poetry prize to go visit the lake isle of Innisfree.
But I didn't wanna go, cuz there's nothing there I particularly wanted to see.
I hear there's just a clay-and-wattles cabin
with a bunch a bees a-blabbin'
and nine rows of beans, and that doesn't really interest me.
...

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August down under is winter torn asunder.
Under leaden skies, lightning clouds make thunder.
Gardens revive, buds pop, the yellow wattles bloom.
Unfolding butterfly wings, like feathers arrayed, plume.
Sunny days with showers, mist the air with scent.
Titillated taste buds arise, foretelling spring's ascent....

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I do ponder on Aristotle,
In these groves of golden wattles,
Was Aristotle on the bottle?
"What is beautiful?" he asked,
He set us such a puzzling task,
How to define beautiful?
Maybe, things inspirational,
Or, indeed, something admirable,
A pretty verse, so lyrical,
Or scenery beautiful,
Or a woman, lovable,
Maybe it is a life of harmony,
Are these beautiful, prithee?
Excellent question, Sir Aristotle,
Maybe I should hit the bottle!...

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