Where the wattle tree are blooming.

PONDERIN’

Well I’ve never got a penny can’t seem to save a cent
The odd times that I get a quid it’s very quickly spent
But that’s the way I like it, no possessions means no stress
The few things that I’m forced to own, if I loose them then I guess
I’ve lived without them once before, I can do it once again
Then only things I really needs, is me solitude, pad and pen

Don’t get me wrong I’m not some mug who thinks that he can write
But any time I calls me own, doesn't matter, day or night
You’ll find me at me table sitting here with pen in hand
Scribbling out some flamin’ rubbish, and trying to understand
How a man can sit here writing words and even without trying
Jot down me thoughts then read ‘em and find all the lines are rhyming

For instance just an hour ago I was sitting here and pondering
When from the north then the south there came this distant rumbling
And then me mind goes sort of blank, and something moves me arm
And I don’t try to stop it, cos it never does no harm
Then words appear as I sit and write, not taking no great notice
But then I reads what written here below, when me mind comes back in focus.

To the north of us and to the south the thunders pealed and lightning's flashed
While up above the sky was clear, not a single cloud hung in the air
The night was clear, not a breath of breeze
And starlight flickered through the trees
While all around the wild storm surged
And what did you do? You got the urge
To sit and write this stupid poem
When you should prepare for the coming storm
So when you see the damage done by your apathy and stupor
You might just learn a thing or two that’ll help you in the future.”

Well, it gets me mind to thinking, I’m not one to turn me back
On a lesson from me teacher, nah! me past has taught me that
And I thinks, well yeah, there’s many folks what live in many lands
Where conflicts rage around em and it’s gettin’ outta hand
And they builds themselves an island. You know? A little dome of peace
Where they think the storm won’t hit ‘em, like fools they think they're safe

But the storm clouds gather closer then the lightning and the fire
Invade their dome of safety, and they’ve nowhere else to hide.
So I makes myself a mental note and thanks the spirit deep within
For his insight and his knowledge, and for sharing his wisdom
And I now make preparation for the great storm soon to come
I know we can’t avoid it, but we’ll come through it me and mum

Yeah, you can keep your gold and silver and all the diamonds in this land
Cos there comes a time in every life, and I don’t give a damn
How much gold or wealth you’ve got, or what position you have gained
They’ll be useless in that time of stress, better if you’d filled your brain
With the wisdom of the ages the most precious thing all
Cos he’s the one what saves you mate, while all around you thousands fall....By S-word.

I don’t like people telling me that either, I remember;

Me dear old mum, she loved the church
She’d be there each day of the week
Working around in its garden
And keeping the church and altar all neat

She’d put vases of flowers everywhere
Yea, she was a bloody gem
But the priest who run the show down there
I weren’t real keen on him

Flamin parasites if you ask me.
But that’s the opinion of only one man
Yet once they know that you’re devoted,
They’ll use you for all they can.

Well…. somehow he must have discovered
That paintin was me trade
And that little church was shockin mate
Needed a paint job really bad.

So he got into me mother’s ear
And she put the pressure on
That slimy little mongrel
Knew I couldn’t refuse me mum

Had me by the short and curlies
Knew I had to do the job,
And do the flaming job for nothing
I wouldn’t get a bob

So I turns up with me paint pot
Me compressor and all me gear
And I asks him if he has the paint
And he says…”Yea, over here.”

Two gallons was all he flaming had
He’s gettin nothin outta me.
So I took that little bit of paint
And thined it down to buggery.

A gallon of thinners to a gallon of paint
And that’s how I sprayed it on
The job looked nice and shiny, hey,
But it weren’t gonna last too long.

Well, a couple of months down the track,
One morning I’m layin here
When I hears this commotion outside of me house
Ever hear them priests when they swear?

Well, he’s standin outside abusing me
You could tell he weren’t no saint
And his words still echo in me ear
“REPAINT, you thinner, REPAINT.”…..By S-word

THE INK IN HIS PEN DRIED UP

His glasses are there on the table
The ink in his pen, it’s all dried up
And there's some horrible slimy fungus
Growing there in his cup
And the message he scrawled on this cardboard box
Well, it’s hard to understand
I’d better bury the old bloke first of all
Then try to read it, if I can.

Pause while I bury the old fellow.

Well she weren’t much of a funeral
Just me and his mangy dog
The poor old mongrel was skin and bone
He’d be dead if I hadn’t got bogged
That’s the only reason I found his mate
Laying out there in the yard
With the shotgun still beside him
His toe hooked in the trigger guard

Half his head was missing
It weren’t no pretty sight
Now I’m stuck until this rain lets up
So I’ll have to camp here for the night.
Geez I wished I could read his writing
It might just shed some light
On the reason why he shot himself
Bloody hell, she’s dark tonight

The winds howling like the Banshees
Like the spirits of the dead
Don’t think I’ll get much sleep round here
I’ll try to read his note instead.

Another pause while I try to decipher what he wrote.

Well I worked out most of what he wrote
Now it’s gonna drive me nuts
Cos he never did finish his message
The ink his pen musta all dried up

But from what I read, I’m not sleepin’ here
Not in this bloody hut
I’d rather walk the five-mile or so
Through the rain and the mud to me truck.
There’s something weird in this flamin’ shed
The dog, he sensed it too
I saw him cringe and heard him whinge
Just before the mongrel shot thru

Oh HELL! There’s a face out there at the window
Something’s standing outside of the shed
And it’s covered in blood and slimy mud
And it’s missing half its head
That’s it, I’m gettin out of here
I’m shootin’ back to me truck
And if you still want to know what that old bloke wrote
Then mate you’re out of luck.........By S-word.

AN ILL WIND
I found the place where wild winds go to breed and then to rest
Where women winds all whirl and swirl while tending to their nest
There the bitter biting blizzard wind---- of monkey’s brass balls fame
Bore twenty torrent breezes to the mighty hurricane
And there the mother of all cyclones, mated with the thunder storm
And ten tiny twirling twisters from her stormy womb were born
While, way out there in the distance, where the misfits congregate
The ill wind who blows no one no good, was there with her old mate
The political wind in labour, who let out a plaintive call
Then gave birth to six state premiers, the greatest blowhards of em all....By S-word.

MAKING STATUES
What are you doing there young man
Why are you playing in that slop
On this bright and sunny Sunday after noon
And what’s that pile of cow dung for
Asked the friendly local cop
I see you mixing it with mud with that there spoon

Yea! That’s cos I’m making statues
And it stiffens up me mud
It helps to keep me statues all in shape.
That’s a statue of the butcher
And that one there’s the priest
And now I’m finking of another one to make.

Well now then said the friendly cop
What if I should pose
Would you model one of me, I’ll pay for one
"Well ----I guess so," said young Johnny;
"But you’ll have to wait awhile
Cos I gotta getta bigger pile of dung"…..By S-word.

The fourth last line, was originally meant to read, "Would you model one for me, I'll pay for it."

But I couldn't find a word to use on the last line to rhyme with "IT."

******..you dont say!!! lol!

CHRISTMAS WITH MOTHER

I won’t be home for Christmas mother dear
Cos there aint no chance of getting out of here
The wall.... its ten foot higher
And they’ve topped it with barbed wire
So don’t expect me home at Christmas time this year

Last year it must have been the final straw
Cos there’s no where you can dig a hole no more
Plus they’ve put on extra guards
So I think I’d find it hard
To get back home for Christmas, that’s for sure

And they’ve reinforced the bars around my cell
But they never reinforced them very well
Getting out of here’s a breeze
It’s that outer wall by jees
But the answer’s out there somewhere, I can tell

The more I think about it mother dear
The more I think I’ll come again this year
The plan.... it's brewing in me head
It came from some thing that I read
So you’d better stock the fridge with heaps of beer

Well, a very Merry Christmas mother dear
I bet you didn’t think that I’d get here
But it was easier than pie
Now it’s got me wondering why
That I haven’t done it this way every year

So lets start the celebrations with a song
Not till morning will they realize I’m gone
And they’ll know for sure I’m here
It’s where they catch me every year
Cos they know I spend each Christmas with me mum.

And they’ll acknowledge this, as the best escape I’ve done.....By S-word.

MY CRIME.


The mournful screams of a whistle that pierced the morning air
Awoke in me a memory, from the distant past somewhere
A memory I had tried to hide ...... in the dark recess of my mind
Now that mournful whistle wakes again, the memory of my crime.

How many years have passed me by? How many nights have I sat and cried?
The tears I’ve shed in guilt’s despair, but forgiveness ..... I could find nowhere.
I see her face in all my dreams, and recoil each time I hear those screams
All ye who read this....pray, pity me....who must carry this guilt through eternity....By S-wprd

MY MOTHER MY COUNTRY

This is my country, the land of my birth, where my ancestors spirits roam
Sixty long years I’ve toiled in her soil, this is my land, it’s my home
For six generations.... my fathers, have battled the droughts and the floods
And have won from her soil a living, and some even offered their blood
In defense of this land and her people, and though their bones lay in foreign ground
Their spirits returned to this beloved land, for with her are their destinies bound
And they merge with the land and her creatures, with the forests the lakes and the sea
With her they are one and I am their son, in fact those spirits are me

So I walk through and talk to my mother, to the mountains the rivers and streams
And she speaks of the past and the present and of the future she holds in her dreams
She speaks of the times of destruction, before the advent of man
And reveals all the scars and the pox marks, just some of the terrible wounds
Inflicted by star stones from heaven, and she knows that the day must come
When from out of that dark void above us, will be hurled the killer stone
Rugged, wave torn and wind swept, her old mountains gaze out o’er the sea
And the sigh of the wind through those craggy clefts, sing the songs of old history

They sing of the time when all lands were one, one land in a watery world
And how the life of that time was bought to an end, when a killer stone was hurled
When, from out of that dark and endless pit, a star came crashing down
And from one great land of origin, all the continents were born
She speaks of the giants who ruled that land, and near all of the life that it bore
Which were piled in mounds of rotting flesh, in the valleys and along the shores
Of those shattered lands as they drifted apart, and Lord, how those gulfs have grown
How many millions and millions of years, has she waited here all alone

Waited and longed to become once again, one with the lands of her birth
To bridge the gulf and share with the world, the bountiful fruits of her earth
To walk hand in hand with each sister land as they seek the salvation of man
For though earth is doomed, their children will roam, throughout new heavenly lands
In the wind her voice sighs, my child I must die, so take from me all that you need
When in the heavens you fly, to those worlds way on high, remember.... you are my seed
When, the earth and the sun, have again become one
Will you kneel on those worlds way on high
And remember the womb from which you were born, goodbye my children goodbye....By S-word.