Thursday, May 28, 2009

THOSE KINGS OF THE HRCA CHURCH

You think Papa Benedicts not such a good 'un
with his comments about contraception
but his predecessors of the 16th century take the cake
a book titled "Secrets of the Papal table"
surely sounds like a fantastic fable
medieval and renaissance Popes loved their steak

Men with raging, gluttonous 'La Grande Bouffe-type' appetites
they'd devour anything from truffles to even epiphytes
cried Leo the 10th "It's our papacy, so let's enjoy it"
from 1521 to 1531 his love of luxury and entertainment
art , letters, style and substance knew no containment
and to satisfy the Lord, he said "Lent? Let us observe it"

To celebrate his familiy's elevation to the Roman patriciate
he threw a feast at which 300 guests did participate
from their unfolded napkins little birds hopped out of
while their attired pages in threads of gold brought silver ewers
of rosewater for guests to wash their hands, face (an ears)
afore tucking into 25 lucullan courses of epcurean foodstuff 

Dishes of sugared capons baked in a casing of gold leaf preceded
by vessels of hoops and gilded balls from which birds ascended
(a much grander scale that 'four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie')
then eight dish dishes of mature baked peocock
dressed in skin and feathers and standing up at 12 o'clock
(you'd think they were alive without a word of a lie)

Rodrigo Borgia reigned disgracefully as Alexander the 6th
around 1494 he designed the Torre Borgia, a torture pit
that was decorated by the famed Pinturicchio
his numerous illegitimate offspring lived and died there
deployed his assassins and stored his poisons where ....
they got rid of his enemies with brioche and brio

But during Lent he'd observe seasonal fasts strictly
eating sparsely in public on salads, fish soups and chickpeas
alone, he'd gorge himself on desserts and panpepato's
fond of parties with his appalling children and their off-spring
his table groaning with capons, eels, sauces and exotic things
even pheasants in human skulls,  saying 'eat up, let other's be martyrs'

Another libertine was Alessandro Farnese of renaissance times
Paul the 3rd whose behaviour was egregious even for the times
who was nick-named 'della gonella' (the skirt chaser)
he practiced nepotism on a Theucydian scale most wild
bestowed on his every vile, grasping child
yet scrupulously observed his duties liturgical as a pastor

He's remembered for masquerades and licentious plays
extravagant feast, spectacles and other bacchnalian displays
his estates supplying him with oranges, cherries, wild boar and hare
deer, pigeon, pheasant, eels in feast prepared by chefs
a sommerlier provided wine that left the guests senses bereft
when he died of indigestion he hiccuped "I don't care"

An earlier Pope, Simon de Brion reigned as Martin the 4th
from 1281 to 1285, very briefly and was known as 'Martin Uncouth'
he had a passion for Bolzano eels in astringent white wine
so depraved in his gluttny, he kept a tank of them in his room
while drowning them in venaccia wine he would swoon
very little is recorded whether he like other meats, the swine

Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it it's said
Henry the 1st of England ate too many lampreys and soon was dead
about 150 years before Martin Uncouth (and following Popes)
yet these licentious, obsessive, gluttonous, gourmandising men
a disaster for the Church and the State ... now and then
ironically died by their own mouths, thank God, the dopes 

 

ADIOS MUCHACHO, DON'T CALL US .....

It wasn't so long ago that the man with the unpronounceable name
Zigismund Zwitkowski was giving Telstra a bad name 
its second and third traches sank without a trace but ...
to 'Dr" Ziggy and the oink-boys that was just another game
But behold and lo, the Yank who took over from ZZZZZZZZ
arrived in our village with two bandidos to make 'the gang of three' 
there was no 'Magnificent Seven'  to hold them back
uttering wank business words, they set about robbing the money-tree
10,000 employees needed a rest so they made it an enforced one
'Broadband? Sure we'll build you one but only the juicy parts'
they wanted their competitors bobbled, hobbled and nobbled
so, about regulation they whinged and threw corporate darts
For five years they plundered pillaged and (g)raped
(they were a group, the gang of three, weren' they?)
then they flew away in first-class like the first-class thieves they were
to Noo Yoik or where-ever-the-hell they came from in Amerikay
This hubristic hombre was heard on the Beeb the other day
lamenting our naivety, our hedonism, our (gasp) racism
its a pity he didn't remove the mote from his own eye
this paragon, this barbarian, this champion of greedism
Let's turn the page on this obnoxious person
and heed history in appointing foreigners to jobs
there's plenty of Aussies who're just as good hatchet-men
among all our peters, pauls, jims, johns or bobs 

Thursday, May 21, 2009

PIXIE'S PASSING

Pixie passed away on a Monday in May
soon after I'd arrived at Taabinga
I saw her briefly when I dropped Harry off
then had a quick look around Kinga
back at Windchimes I did a quick trip to the tip
with a full load of stuff behind me
went back into town about 4 pm
to bring Harry home for evening tea
as we walked down the aisle to say goodnight
we were met by the hospital nursing staff
who said 'Harry, we're sorry to tell you ...
Pixie's gone, from this life's she's passed
Harry staggered and leaned against the wall
I hung on to his arm as we went to where she lay
I left him alone in his grief, overwhelmed
while I pondered about this unhappy day
Colin and Libby turned up as soon as they could
and stated the whole sad process of interment
we took Harry home and we all had a drink
at the extinguishment of a star in our firmament

Saturday, May 16, 2009

THE MAN WHO LOVED POETRY

"I came out through the same door as in I went"
was the line of a favourite poem he would recite
during those early years at Capalaba as we three were ...
renewing relationships, starting life with no kids in sight
He'd talk about 'his footprints in the sands of time'
I'd respond with 'Horatius at the bridge' or Annabelle Lee'
he took me back to the time I was a kid
listening to my father who, like Don, had a love of poetry
Don brought it all back ... that love for poetry
his life mirrored by the wisdom of the prose
whether by accident of design it doesn't matter
he gave much more than he got from those ......
of us, who loved and admired the man
a 'live and let live' bloke who never rushed to judge
he'd rather give people the benefit of the doubt
kept his own counsel, from that he would not budge
not a paragon of virtue he'd be the first to concede
he's laugh, and indication he never took himself seriously
if things were grim he'd come up with another line
a throwaway, laced with levity but apt poetically
I'll miss him greatly, the man who loved poetry
these last years would have been so much easier
if we'd been able to exchange poetical repartee
of Lawson, Byron, Paterson or Shakespeare

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

IT'S THE LIBIDO, STUPID

When you're in financial distress, your house in a mess
your relationship under duress, you'll confess I guess
that the sharemarket isn't the only thing to go ... down

Psychologists and counsellors say, in a caring sort of a way
although your foundations blown away and you don't care to lay
with the person with whom you stay and play
that libidinous surge, that emotional urge to merge
needing the pure drug-like effects of lust that scourge ...
your body can sometimes grate on you like a  dirge

So you use the 'Not tonight, Josephine' line
and it's not that you've had too much wine
you roll off or away and you present your back , that rigid spine
treading a fine line, knowing things aren't fine
aware that you just can't 'up the ante' ..... too far behind

It's not your dick, you dill, it's in your head
you dread being with her in bed
but your tadger's withered and she's bewildered and bothered
what should be her passionate moans are just groans
and she sighs and rubs her thighs
knowing another night's just full of lows instead of highs
your anxiety builds for your corpora cavernosa isn't filled
your brain's disconnected.. under the circumstances only to be expected
leaving her ejected, rejected and dejected

It's well to remember (in the Chrissy month of December)
that everything goes up and comes down
so play the clown, don't despair or frown
your defective libido's not permanent
it will soon be your firmament
for in the New Year, never fear, it will be like that spear
that flies straight and true, soon you'll apply the screw
in a rampant rising sharemarket ... and your lover who's true-blue 

FRED

He's a great bloke our friend Fred
a man of many a colour
an artist, a writer, a raconteur, a participant
an optimist, not a dolour

He's had the odd struggle or ten
life's googlies he's played with a straight bat
loves a yak or yarn or a discourse about anything
from global cooling to Cocos Island to dogs or cats

We've known him and Fleur since Banks St days
our boys linking us to friendship firm and fine
spent many a day in their colourful company since
cards or board-games ... tea and sympathy anytime

He's a relaxed man in tune with his circumstance
unafraid to express an opinion, he won't be led
always worth a visit just for the entertainment
a ripper of a bloke that's our Fred

Sixty today ... strewth! He's like a long-distance runner
I bet he never thought he'd live to see the day
tempus sure fugits Fred, we're glad to be with you
what more can we say but ... Happy Birthday