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

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

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

THE GLOVE-BOX

Every car's got one, big or small

located in the dash, it's a repository

maps, rego, pens, tissues, cutlery, tablets

and a curious collection of cards funerary

We were looking for a map of Queensland

to check out a campsite at O'Reillys

as Paul trawled through the box she found 

cards about Dad, David Pate and Bobby's ...

Mass or service hymnals going back to 2004

we'd put in the glove-box with the intention

of removing it later (but it's easy to forget)

because of one's poor memory retention

They mount up this collection of people's passing

always in a place close to you sans keys or locks

to occasionally remind you of death or life

and that we'll all end up in someone's glove-box

GEE-KIDDIES .... I LOVE 'EM BOTH

These two young tackers, Ro and Ty

captivate me with their presence

a bit like chalk and cheese they seem

their different stature being that very essence

One's big and shy when he first meets you

(You know who I'm talking about)

the other's lithe and laid-back

doesn't like being wakened or put out

I think Roie likes me... after he's warmed up a bit

occasionally he'll bring me his shoes to go for a walk

we'll set off for the bush at the end of the street

the dog's in tow, he's too busy looking around to talk

Ty doesn't roar like Ro or make loud noises

(I haven't heard him do so .... yet)

I'm told he has his moments like every baby has

just biding his time I'll bet

I look forward to seeing these young fellers

they're the fruit-bowl of my prideful eye

time spent with gee-kids are never dull

I'm hoping they think the same way about me by and by ...

THAT MIND-NUMBING, INSANE, INANE, MIND-GAME

Facebook .. on the face of it another great communication tool. Initially latched onto by the young as all fads inevitably are, osmosis-like it sinks its insidious hooks into the concupiscent not-so-young, there to remain long after it has ceased to be a fad for the young ... who have embraced the next fad that emanated from the febrile, mercantile imagination of another shrewd entrepreneur. Get off your apolaustic appaloosa I hear you say?

Let's face it. Facebook (FB) is a thief of time, up there with the maestro of thieves of time ... TV. Call me a recalcitrant Luddite or a boring old fluff for I've only heard of this latest scourge from others and seen it but once, only to wonder in wonder that one can "friend" somebody, anybody based on a real or perceived affinity. FB's yet another site to share your most intimate or inane thoughts or photos or menus or disorders or bodily functions with other facetoids who have nothing much to do like you. Perhaps to be embarrassed later on by Face-disclosures by disgruntled Face-totalisators?

Face it fair and square for within days of your Facebirth, you will have generated perhaps hundreds of Facefriends with facefaces. Like porn, you get to figuratively take off your identity and abase yourself in public, a public that's increasingly inured to debasement of oneself or others. There's the horrible stories of the bloke instead of cleaving to his wife for life actually cleaving his wife to death for changing her FB status to single or anorexics showing each other new ways to purge themselves or young thugs gate-crashing .... you get the picture? You don't? Just get on FB and it's revealed in all it's horrible vacuity.

To face it mildly, FB brings out the voyeur in us. It's like a reality-show star's unquenchable thirst for revealing every detail of their life in minutia, no matter how unexceptionally boring, excruciating or stultifying. On FB, you are convinced that everything you do in life must be inherently and absorbingly interesting enough to alert every faceghoul to its importance.

Updates are the go ... Symantha is cooking cookies, Jaidon is going to footy practice this arvo, Kylah-Leaeane is glad its the weekend, Braith is going to raid the icebox and Rybekkah ... is gonna do a great doo-do rightaway. You get my drift ..... 

Having been exposed to the wonderful world of FB aka Fu^%$%^ Bull$&*^, I'll get back to the other world of email that's mostly devoid of pretenders or poseurs. I prefer to trade insults or stories on the basis that I (generally) know the recipients and accept their reciprocation in good humour.