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Poem for week 3rd Sept.
COOKING THEN AND NOW
Bugger politics. Let’s discuss something really important.
With all these cooking programs in absolute profusion,
I’d have to say, that I am left in cuisinic confusion.
Which recipes should I adopt? Which chef should I follow?
Whose advice should I accept on which food I should swallow?
A plethora of cooking shows, and they are multiplying,
Some of those strange recipes are almost death-defying.
The viewing public loves its chefs and cooks on television,
And follow every recipe with blind faith, and precision.
With steak and kidney, eggs and bacon, you knew where you were
at.
And no one seemed to mind if there was just a bit of fat.
I know that’s going back in time, but that simple food was
good,
Recipe books were simpler, and could be understood.
A shake of salt and pepper, and a little splash of relish,
Was enough for meals in the past. Now you must embellish
Everything that you prepare with every kind of sauce,
And then subject yourself to a herbal tour-de-force.
Meat and veg and gravy. That was good enough for us,
We didn’t need to worry about all this kitchen fuss.
There is nothing better than scrambled eggs on toast,
And as for a Sunday dinner, you just can’t beat a roast.
That was then. These are modern times that I must contend
with,
And I would like to find a message I can end with.
With all that is on offering, I must seem a dismal voice,
It’s just that it’s so difficult to make a bloody choice.
First you have to choose between a woman and a fella.
Do I watch Jamie Oliver, or should I prefer Nigella?
Huey’s always down to earth. Is he the way to go?
Would the Cook and the Chef be better, or should I stick with
Poh?
All those exotic recipes, from every different culture ,
Native foods from kangaroo, to mountain goat and vulture.
Cooked in every different way, with all those herbs and spices,
In all the old utensils, and all the new devices.
There’s a far more pressing problem, what’s for tea
tonight?
What recipe should we choose to spark taste bud delight?
We’ve racked our brains to find one, and what we’d like the
most,
(It makes us sound like philistines), but --- it’s that
scrambled egg on toast.
BLUE -- the shearer
(copyright
col wilson)
3/9/10
Poem for week 27th. August
Just when you think it would be so nice to write about something
else than politics, along comes a hung parliament.
HUNG PARLIAMENT
Election day is over, and the polling song’s been sung,
Voters have decided that the Parliament should be hung.
No, not in the literal sense, that’s too much to hope for,
But since they can’t form Government, now there is the scope
for
A different kind of Government. The electorate has passed
sentence,
The major parties find themselves at the mercy of independents.
Cross benches, once were ridiculed, the subject of lampoon.
Now, the cross bench is important, they sing a different tune.
Julia and Tony, if one is to succeed,
They are well aware that it’s the cross bench that they need,
Tony Windsor’s vote for Government is already being wooed.
He’s being treated with respect. Only Barnaby’s been rude.
He’s for stable Government, and will not be stampeded
By the major parties. His support is needed.
Bob Katter seems to relish his new found spotlight status,
Hasn’t said who he’ll support. But it’s clear he caters
For Northern Australia, and reckons that it’s time,
For more attention to be paid to his new word ‘paradigm’.
Rob Oakeshott, he’s a new face in this brand new alliance.
He sees some advantages in electoral defiance.
Stability of Government, Broadband and things like that.
Wont’ be bullied by the majors as to where to hang his hat.
Tony Crook from WA. He has a firm position.
Tony Crook. That’s not a bad name for a politician.
He’s not supporting Julia, after studying all the facts,
And reckons that he’ll oppose the great big mining tax.
Adam Bandt, new man in Parliament. He’s made up his mind
That he’s supporting Julia. He said he cannot find
It in his heart, (because he’s Green) to alter his position,
And does not have the slightest wish to back the Coalition.
Meanwhile, in Tasmania, Labor’s lost another one,
And the career of Andrew Wilkie, has only just begun.
So, at the time of writing, this is how thing’s stand.
The parties are divided, in this divided land.
The election has been stormy, but there is a bright light
shining.
Every storm cloud, so they say, has a silver lining.
Let’s look on the bright side, and consider ourselves lucky,
Whoever turns out winning, there’ll be no more Wilson Tuckey.
BLUE - the shearer
(copyright
col wilson)
Poem for week 20th. August
No prizes for guessing what the pome for the weak is this time.
MARK LATHAM - JOURNALIST EXTRAORDINAIRE
Sometimes I really wonder at the ways some TV stations
Come to choose their journalists. Do they fear the implications
Of some ill-judged selection of a member of their staff,
Or is it open slather? Do they do it for a laugh?
I’ve been a bit bewildered at Nine’s recent choice of Mark.
Mark Latham, retired MP. Did they do it for a lark?
I watched his confrontation with Kevin Rudd’s successor,
Julia Gillard. He did not appear to bless her.
Asked some funny questions, which caused no surprise,
And caused Channel Nine’s Supremo to apologise.
Laurie Oakes was scathing. Even critical of Nine.
Suggesting that Mark Latham, did not know where the line
That he so patently had crossed, was even situated.
It looked as if his new career was to be terminated.
But ‘No’. Mark Latham soldiered on. Sixty Minutes said he ought
to
Be a great success as a Channel Nine reporter.
He had a go at Tony Abbott in his TV headline hunting,
But from reports that I have read, he was not as confronting
As he had been some days before, when he accosted Julia.
He might not like the ALP. I find that peculiar.
Did you watch Sixty Minutes? Was he a bit past normal?
He capped it off by saying he was going to vote informal.
He thought a bit outside the square. Poured scorn upon the
press.
Bile-ducted both main parties. Declared them both a mess.
Patted Bob Brown on the head (verbally, of course)
And finished with a final Pauline Hanson tour-de-force.
What a lovely couple. What a perfect double.
They might form a party. That could cause some trouble.
I don’t know what they’d call it, and we’d have to wait and
see,
Their vision for the future; what their policies might be.
And if they formed a party, I ask you, dear reader,
With such egos on the go, who would be the leader?
Well, whoever got the job, with that decision made,
I would warn the voters. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Does Mark Latham have a future in the journalistic game?
Will Sixty Minutes launch him on another path to fame?
The general press consensus seems to paint his future dark.
It could well be that Channel Nine’s selection missed its Mark.
BLUE -- the shearer
(copyright
col wilson)
Poem for week 13th. August
I don't know about you, but I needed a break from politics this
week.
Just watch yourself today.
TRISKAIDEKAPHOBIA
If you're triskaidekaphobic, then this is your big day,
A day designed for triskaidekaphobics, so they say,
Is BLACK FRIDAY. The thirteenth. So watch out what you do,
Or triskaidekaphobia could be the death of you.
Be very, very careful of what you undertake,
The consequences could be dire. The decision that you make
Should have no element of risk. For surely you're aware,
That this if Friday, the thirteenth. Take very special care.
Not that I'm susceptible to silly superstition,
But some folk are. So my advice: "Consider your position.
It may be just some oldwives' tale, but you just watch your
back.
Don't cross your knives upon your plate. Don't step upon a
crack.
Don't go too close to mirrors. Those shiny sheets of glass
May crack, and cause misfortune. So shun them when you pass.
Of course, this means no mirror when you go to shave your chin,
So keep a basin near at hand to do your bleeding in.
Don't walk beneath a ladder, you may get splashed with
paint.
For on Black Friday, the thirteenth, fortunate you ain't.
And be alert, and look around for black cats on this day.
For bad results are forecast, if one should cross your way.
If salt is spilled, then take a pinch, and toss it down your
back,
Some say it will protect you from Black Friday type attack.
All your friends will laugh and jeer. But you'll say: "That's
alright,
I only have to keep it up 'til twelve o'clock, to‑night."
And just consider what you say. The person that you're rude
to,
May be a special kind of witch. The kind that I allude to
Can turn you into cabbages, or make you very poor.
Remember. This is Friday, the thirteenth. I said before,
That triskaidekaphobia, (the terror of thirteen)
Is very rife, this day of days. A pretty dreadful scene.
So watch yourself in traffic, in the kitchen, everywhere.
For triskaidekaphobics, there is danger in the air.
Ah! Triskaidekaphobia I just learned the word today.
And from here on in, I'll try to find excuses, just to say
Triskaidekaphobia. It just rolls off the tongue.
I'll say it daily, and enjoy the pleasure that it brung.
I'll buy a lottery ticket, and I'll call it: Triskaidek.
And when it wins, I'll take it all in cash, and not by cheque.
And really, I don't believe in luck, when all is done and said,
But just the same. Black Friday. I think I'll stay in bed.
BLUE - the shearer
(copyright
col wilson)
Poem for the week 6th August
I was going to hold my first workshop next week, but I don't
think I will now. I worry about whether it would be a success.
Welcome Lynne to the 'elite' list.
These last few weeks have not been good. I’ve been quite
depressed
By this electioneering. This country, once so blessed,
Seems to be all doom and gloom. Am I the only one
To think that all the optimists are dead, and buried, gone?
Which ever side of politics you would tend to favour,
Seems to have turned pear-shaped. Completely lost their
flavour.
I would not presume, to try to tell you all,
How to fix the problem. Like Kevin, (pause) I don’t have the
gall.
The only positive I see, since we’re all depressed, let’s face
it.
Pessimism rules today, so, let us all embrace it.
Let us all be Doomsday Sayers. Honour gloom and doom.
With messages of failure, let’s decorate the room.
My vision of an industry that’s celebrating failure,
And the death of optimism, would seem to fit Australia.
I’ll be a doomsday guru. That should work a treat.
And run workshops with the acolytes sitting at my feet.
I know there have been others, pretenders to the throne,
Like bankers, miners, politicians, all of who’ve been prone
To paint the blackest pictures, but I want this done right.
Nationalise the industry. Gird up the loins, and fight.
Adopt this new direction. Deport all who resist,
We will be the Nation of the modern pessimist.
Forecast the next financial crash. The flood, the coming
drought.
Future wars and pestilence. There isn’t any doubt
That pessimistic future is just going from strength to
strength,
Optimism’s had it, we’ll go to any length
To make your life a misery. Our future is assured.
Reputation’s guaranteed, at home here, and abroad.
When Telstra shares go plummeting to an all time low,
We will look concerned, and say: “Well. We told you so.”
And when Armageddon comes, we’ll try to look contrite,
And wear that smug, contented look, and say that: “We were
right.”
A new force in our politics, the Pessimistic Party,
With so much doom and gloom about, our future’s looking hearty.
I’ll declare myself the leader, albeit self- anointed,
And the best thing is, that pessimists are never disappointed.
(Unless things go right)
BLUE -- the shearer (copyright col
wilson) 6/8/10
Poem for the week 30/7/10
I think I've left it to late for this season's New Invention
program. Ah well, there's always next year.
SELECTIVE HIBERNATION
You can learn a lot from animals, if you take time to observe,
How they cope with crisis, their lifestyle to preserve.
Take polar bears, for instance. When they get in a state,
They don’t throw a tantrum. They just hibernate.
Other creatures do it too. They cope with agitation,
And threatening behaviour by using hibernation.
Bats and squirrels, rodents, hedgehogs, monotremes,
Even rattlesnakes, I’m told, take refuge in their dreams.
If animals can do it, is it too much too expect
That humans should be able, with superior intellect,
To come up with a system, individually subjective,
Of a type of hibernation, events based, and selective?
A hibernation system, but of a different kind.
Not as a bodily function. Hibernation of the mind.
Switched on and off, as needed. To be triggered when required,
With freedom of the spirit, and tranquillity desired.
‘Selective Hibernation’, or SH for short,
Could be utilised for those not too keen on sport.
Boring conservationists, banished from the psyche,
Along with any subject manner, you happen to no likee.
I’d like to file a patent for ‘Selective Hibernation’,
And sell it as a way of life, ensuring separation
From unwelcome distractions, such as TV advertising,
Or political debates, which you wont find surprising.
The scheme would need some ‘trigger’ words to activate the
process,
Like ‘Gillard’, ‘Abbott’, ‘politics’. Now I must confess
That I have found some glitches in this SH system.
When doing early research, I don’t know how I missed ‘em.
The biggest drawback I can see, which could cause folk to
scoff,
Is once you’ve turned SH on, how do you turn it off?
‘Selective Hibernation’ is still a proposition,
To counter boring promises, and boring politicians.
But I’ve gone back to the drawing board. Put some faults
on the shelf,
I think the only way to go, is to try it on my self.
So if you see my face go blank, my eyes begin to spin,
When you mention ‘politics’, it’s just SH cutting in.
And should I chance to stay like that, when all the spin’s been
spun,
I should be back to normal after August twenty-one.
BLUE -- the shearer
(copyright
col wilson)
Poem for the week 21 July
Welcome Paul to the 'elite' list.
No politics this week for a change. I want one of these for a
pet.
PAUL, THE PSYCHIC OCTOPUS
Well, the World Cup’s finally over, and the crowds have all gone
home,
Perhaps it’s time to summarise the action in a pome,
Australia and New Zealand did not get too far.
Paul, the psychic octopus became the shining star.
By picking every winner, defying all the odds,
Paul became the hero of all cephalopods.
He’s not a boastful octopus. He made no claim to fame,
And he humbly picked the winner of every World Cup Game.
Paul the psychic octopus, lived in a tank,
Looked at all the nations’ flags, and pulled them out by rank.
Never chose a loser, made headlines every day,
That’s how you pick the world cup in an octopussy way.
Sceptics never really believed that Paul the Octopus,
Had forecast abilities. They kicked up quite a fuss.
But now the Spanish Nation has the World Cup in its clutch,
Everybody believes in Paul, except perhaps, the Dutch.
I would not be the least surprised, if people tried to get,
A Paul type octopussy, for a punting pet.
Bookmakers would panic, and I would understand
If they formed a union and tried to have them banned.
The start of a new industry. Octopussy clubs.
A buying rush at Bunnings for Octopussy tubs.
What do octopuses eat? I’m sure that someone knows,
And will make a motza when demand for dinner grows.
Has Paul reached his zenith? Don’t you think it rather odd,
That the World Cup headline grabber is this cephalopod?
The players may be fitter, more skilful, even faster,
But they don’t hold a candle to this tank based forecaster.
What will be Paul’s future? I don’t know what to think.
Paul could be a journalist. He comes equipped with ink.
Maybe a consultant, with his proven intellect, or
A financial wizard, sought by the banking sector.
TV specials, movies, all of them are keen,
To sign up Paul the Octopus, and show him on the screen.
The media is fighting to publish his life story,
Of his struggle, and the road to his forecasting glory.
Whatever he may choose to do, I see no cause for worry,
Paul could always find a job as instant calamari.
BLUE -- the shearer
(copyright
col wilson)
Poem for the week 16/7/10
A wee bit of introspection may have crept in to this pome. I
don't think I'd like to be Prime Minister, but then again, I don't
think you'd like me to be.
POLITICALLY CORRECT
I’m about to take a trip in verse. I may be deemed
courageous,
For taking on a subject that could prove disadvantageous.
Political Correctness. It’s a term that has me puzzled.
And by daring to discuss it, some say I should be muzzled.
Our new Prime Minister, Julia, she is one who raised it.
Was it taken out of context? Had she damned it? Had she praised
it?
What is Political Correctness? Does it have a definition?
I’m trying to be careful in defining my position.
John Howard, ex Prime Minister, honed it to perfection.
Used it as a weapon, and demanded its rejection.
Those supporting refugees, not viewing them as alien,
Were seen as Politically Correct, and therefore, un-Australian.
With the argument now raging about border protection,
It seems that Julia Gillard may seek a new direction.
Toughen up the process, our Nation to protect,
Is that what our PM means as Politically Correct?
I don’t THINK that I’m elitist, but occasionally I may,
Take issue with some racist, or sip some chardonnay.
So that is my dilemma. What IS the prescription
For Political Correctness? I’d like a clear description.
Is it wrong to show some sympathy for asylum seekers?
Is it wrong to show support for opposition speakers?
Is it just a grab for votes, to show who is the tougher,
A cynical disregard for those who have to suffer?
Is there room, in policy, for genuine compassion?
Or is such a sentiment completely out of fashion?
Is the term ‘open discussion’ some kind of invitation,
For hate and fear to surface? Are we that kind of Nation?
Are we seeking, honestly, a real contribution,
To come up with a sensible, humanitarian solution?
Will East Timor do the trick? Will the Indian Ocean,
Rather than Pacific, be a more attractive notion?
Politics is politics. A simple fact of life.
Let’s be realistic, and embrace unending strife
As for ‘Political Correctness’, I’m not sure where I stand.
Probably, along with you, in Cloud Cuckoo Land.
BLUE -- the shearer
(copyright
col wilson)
Poem for The Week July 9th
Well, the current way's not working too well.
VISION FOR AUSTRALIA
A new vision for Australia. Think outside the square.
First, think about State Governments. What if they weren’t
there?
Just one central Government. Republic, if you like.
Tell all the Premiers, and their mob, to go and take a hike.
Jettison the old ways. The Westminster Traditions.
Have a benevolent dictator, making all decisions.
The States might not support this new change in directions,
But wouldn’t it be great to do away with those elections.
I can hear the howls of outrage now, but this is not
derisory.
The States could serve a purpose, and that purpose is
‘advisory’.
Advising Panels could be formed, as a background guide’
To the new Supremo, to help him (or her) decide
On Australia’s future, with each and every State,
Having that warm inner glow, to seal the Nation’s fate.
You reckon that it wouldn’t work? That is sheer defeatism.
My new vision for Australia, is ‘Practical Elitism’.
Who would the Supremo be? I’ve already worked that out.
A great decision maker -- Steve Fielding, without a
doubt.
Fearless, and determined, thoughtful and decisive.
He’d reunite a Country, now combative, and divisive.
Let’s see, each State would be given a special multi task,
To advise El Supremo on. That’s not too much to ask.
Tasmania is a natural, with a bit of memory jogging,
To advise, and then administer, the job of national logging.
Infrastructure, Transport, Health; down to New South Wales,
Their management in this regard, never, ever fails.
Who should have responsibility to look after the police?
Victoria and Queensland, with their special expertise.
Minerals, and all that stuff, I’d leave to WA.
They’re good at all that profit stuff, and I would have to say,
That they’re environmentally sound, and very, very caring.
Their expertise would help us all -- they’re so good at
sharing.
South Australia? Let me think. They’re such a special crew,
I’m sure there must be something we could find for them to do.
Look, I know that there’ll be glitches. There needs to be some
tweaking,
To find the best solution for the vision that we’re seeking.
‘Practical Elitism’ to go with ‘Vision Splendid’
Think about it for a bit. It’s what commonsense intended.
No more worries. No more cares, and if we really believe,
Our future will be rosy. We can leave it all to Steve.
BLUE -- the shearer
(copyright col
wilson)
9/7/10
Poem for The Week July 2nd
No prizes for guessing what the subject of this week's pome
is.
POLITICAL ASSASSINATION
There’d been murmurings of challenge for the Labor
leadership,
Increasing in intensity, as the polls began to slip.
The faceless men, the factions, began to get uneasy
About election chances, even colleagues feeling queasy.
The mining tax, and climate change, began to take their
toll,
Labor power brokers squirmed, with Abbott on a roll.
“We can win the next election!” said Abbott to Chris Pine.
That might have sparked the scheming, and the meetings
clandestine.
Imagine all the whispering, number counting, the intrigue.
Even worse, as it turned out, than Melbourne Rugby League.
On the twenty-third of June, the deadly plot was drafted,
And on the twenty-fourth of June, Kevin Rudd was shafted.
The comings and goings, the to-ings and fro-ings,
The knives in the back from the factions.
The squelching of blood from the corpse of the Rudd,
The whispers, and clandestine actions.
The sheer fascination of assassination,
The scheming. The wheeling and dealing.
The glimpses of reason, outweighed by the treason,
The hope of a subsequent healing.
The discontent stokers, shadowy brokers,
Deciding the incumbent’s fate.
What kind of reward, if he falls on his sword.
The demise of the head of the State.
Victoria’s Bill Shorten, he had a thought on,
Just what the outcome should be.
And I’ll tell you no fib, a bloke name Abib,
Wanted the PM a she, not a he.
Well, it’s over, done and dusted. Julia Gillard’s in the
chair.
Tony Abbott says that nothing’s changed. Says he doesn’t care.
But the polls have bounced back Labor’s way. A new PM on trial.
Is there something slightly strained about the Abbott smile?
The plotters, executioners; what’s become of them?
Are they girding loins for a poll threatened PM?
Or are they on back burner, simmering away,
Until their service is required on some future judgment day?
Kevin must be suffering. I can feel his anguish,
Sitting on the back bench, where he’ll have to languish
Until the next election, whenever that may be,
Decided by the new PM. Australia’s first. A ‘she’.
BLUE -- the shearer
(copyright
col wilson)
Poem for The Week June 25th
What a week, but Julia does not feature this week. I had already
decided what the pome for the weak should be. I am quite incensed
at the ranking of mental health, and because of the many
discussions, excuses, I thought it was time that Mental Elf got
another run.
This time I included a preamble which I hope has been widely
broadcast.
Preamble:
The Poem, ‘Mental Elf’ was written in 1992 in response to a request
from Dr John Hoskin, close personal friend, and Psychiatrist at
Bloomfield Psychiatric Hospital in Orange, to promote Mental Health
Week in that year.
He liked the poem, and sent it to the late Andrew Olle, who
interviewed me about the poem, and played it on his ABC Breakfast
program. The response was quite staggering.
I feel very strongly about Mental Health apparently being the poor
relation in the Health system, particularly as regards funding.
MENTAL ELF
When things are at their blackest, and nothing's going right,
And the goblins come to haunt you in the wee hours of the
night.
When someone who is dear to you has suffered some dire fate,
Maybe even passed away. That's when you need a mate.
When you've suffered setback, in your home life or career,
And you've thought of seeking solace in the whisky, or the
beer.
When your job's been made redundant, and there's no end to your
strife,
And there's nothing left to live for. No purpose in your life.
That's the time you need one, but a mate's not always there,
When you're at your lowest ebb, and needing tender care.
You have no faith in anyone, least of all yourself --
BUT there is someone to help you. His name is Mental Elf.
He's a funny little fellow, and never far away,
Just waiting for a chance to help to brighten up your day.
I've met this little Mental Elf, time and time again,
And he's taken up his domicile in portion of my brain.
He's my tactical adviser on how to handle strife,
And I'll admit quite freely: He's important in my life.
When something's praying on my mind, I'm tending to despair,
He comes up with some good advice that helps to clear the air.
My Mental Elf insists that: "It is dangerous to brood,
Not only is it dangerous, but people think you're rude."
He says you should: "Go talk to friends and seek a new
perspective
On matters that concern you. Don't be so reflective."
He counsels: "You should be aware. When under heavy stress,
You're likely to neglect yourself, and land in deeper mess.
Food and rest and exercise are vital things you should
Get to get quick better." (His English ain't that good).
"And don't feel so damn guilty, for feeling like you do.
Anger, grief, and jealousy. They're really nothing new.
Use a bit of commonsense. Take some time to think,
You might not need your Valium, and recourse to strong drink."
My Mental Elf advises me that I am not unique.
Everybody has a Mental Elf with whom to speak.
"No one on this earth today, is free from grief and care,
Now or in the future," says my Mental Elf. "So there."
He says: “Don’t be a hermit. Seek friends with whom to talk.
Eat healthy food. Get some sleep. Go and take a walk.
Find out about some good techniques to help you to relax.
Seek help when you need it, like you do with income tax.”
He's a twinkling little fellow, with a great outlook on
life,
And he says a sense of humour is an antidote to strife.
He's right. When I look back on life, and things were pretty
sad,
A bit of timely humour made them not so bad.
So, don't let things get desperate. Recognise the signs,
That life's becoming murky. Read between the lines,
And get your life in order. Don't leave it 'til too late,
And say "G'Day" to Mental Elf. Remember. He's your mate.
BLUE - the shearer
(copyright
col wilson)
Poem for week June 18th.
It's hard to emulate the Bard,
To use his rhymes for modern times,
But here's a sample of his example.
And if it causes too much pain, I promise not to try again.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
In a ‘Hamlet’ named Canberra, (not part of New South Wales)
A tragedy, or comedy, let’s call it ‘Winter’s Tales’
Is being put together. Rehearsals soon to start.
And it’s yet to be decided, who will play the leading part.
Kevin Rudd, incumbent star, is favoured for the role,
But Tony Abbott, ruthless foe, is reaching for that goal.
Between the Rudd and Abbott houses, much blood is soon to flow,
And in the wings, a Julia lurks, who’d like to have a go.
What the play’s about, is yet to find a firm direction,
But I think I’d tend to hazard, that a Federal Election
Could well be the central theme, along with romance, and some
terrors,
Or it could well end up, as a ‘Comedy of Errors’.
Modern times would be portrayed. The super profits tax,
Would need to be included to mirror current facts.
The mining giants, be written in. their role would be a biggy,
And I suspect, when casting, there would be a part for
‘Twiggy’.
One scene I’d like to see portrayed, is ‘The Taming of the
Shrew’
But as to who would fill that role, I wouldn’t have a clue.
And to forecast who would get it, I would not be game,
But in the current climate, she’d achieve a lasting fame.
Not all would be smooth sailing, for there, behind the
scenes,
Lurks the sinister figure of Bob Brown, of the Greens.
He’s been there right from the start, prepared to grab the
light.
He shows no sign of fading, this is his ‘Twelfth Night’.
Wayne Swan would have to get a part. It looks like he is
stuck
With the role of Shylock, when he’d much rather Puck.
There should be a teenage heroine, preferably with a yacht.
They asked young Jessica Watkins, but she said she’d rather
not.
Should there be a scene somewhere, a subplot sort of thing,
With Tony Abbott in his bed, where he begins to sing,
Waking from a nightmare, with a hideous piercing scream,
“Won’t someone deliver me from this ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream”?
will the press unleash a ‘Tempest’, regardless of the cost?
Will the headline be, Tony Abbott ‘Loves that Labor Lost’?
Or will the hero, Kevin Rudd, announce, at the final bell,
That, in his opinion, ‘All’s Well that ends Well’?
Shakespeare is alive and well. Some liberties were taken
In this new scenario. Some will be quite shaken
At my attempts to find a mark, take aim, and try to strike it.
But you can take my efforts, and mark it ‘As you like it’.
The plot could do with editing. Some polishing, some buffing,
But Canberra in the end, is ‘Much ado about Nuffing’.
BLUE -- the shearer
(copyright
col wilson)
18/6/10
Pome for weak
June 11th.
As they say, good news doesn't sell
HEADLINES
Let’s talk about Australia. What really makes a Nation.
Opinion polls? The media fuelling indignation?
I do have a theory and what I’d like to say,
Is, I think it’s down to headlines, that we read every day.
What makes a real good headline? What grabs you by the
throat?
What makes you want to read some more? What headline gets your
goat?
I must admit, I’m jaded by the way headlines report.
It’s pro and anti Government, bankers, miners, sport.
Israel Falau has done a renege. He’s joined AFL, and deserted
the league.
Jared Haynes is free to play. If you’re in New South Wales, Hooray!
Hooray!
Who cares what club they’re going to join? Some football player
sprained his groin.
And they are the headlines up to date. Do these headlines decide
our fate?
What are some headlines that you’d like to see?
Just bear with me, and I’ll give you some, free.
‘HONEST POLITICIAN FOUND IN NEW SOUTH WALES’.
Or ‘TRUTH SERUM TO BE GIVEN TO BANKERS’ that should tip the
scales.
‘STATES AGREE ON WATER POLICY’. That deserves a mention
‘NEW SOUTH WALES REPEAL BAILS ACT. DIVERTS YOUTH FROM
DETENTION’.
‘AUSTRALIA WELCOMES BOAT PEOPLE. SAYS ‘G’DAY’ TO REFUGEES’
‘PHILLIP RUDDOCK SAYS “HEAR, HEAR”. TONY ABBOTT AGREES’.
‘NEW SOUTH WALES WINS STATE OF ORIGIN’ Nah! I think you’d
agree,
That there should be a grain of truth. A whiff of reality.
‘GOVERNMENT AND MINERS AGREE ON REFORM’ you’d like to read that
one.
‘RUDD REVIVES THE EST’. wouldn’t that be fun?
‘PRIVATE SCHOOLS SAY NO MORE FUNDING. WE ARE RICH ENOUGH’.
‘TASMANIA OUTLAWS LOGGING’ That’s exciting stuff.
‘PRESS BAN ON PRIVATE SCANDALS’. ‘ONLY PUBLISH TRUTH’
‘KEVIN RUDD KEEPS PROMISE’. Wow! Corblimey! Struth!
‘PEACE DECLARED IN MIDDLE EAST’ I’d like that to be true.
‘BANKS ABOLISH CHARGES ON BALANCES OVERDUE’
‘STATE PARLIAMENTS AGREE ON SCHOOL AND HEALTH REFORM’
and ‘FACTIONS ARE ABOLISHED’ and ‘SO IS THE MELBOURNE STORM’.
Yes, I know. It’s pie in the sky. Castles in the air,
But wouldn’t it be lovely if those headlines were there.
A small glimpse of Utopia, don’t let it go to your head
--
They might be lovely headlines, BUT they’re never going to be
read.
BLUE --
the shearer
(copyright
col wilson)
Poem For week June 4th
I was going to sing the first verse of this pome, but in
deference to the listeners' auditory sensibilities, I decided not
to.
This is an exercise in macro cynicism. Maybe macro is not the right
word. I don't know to what heights cynicism can go yet.
HOLE IN THE GROUND
Nothing could be finer than to be a mineral miner, in
Australia,
But what a market killer, is a deep sea oil driller with a
failure.
If I had to choose between the two, then I'd be bound
To reap enormous profits from a big hole in the ground.
Nothing could be finer than to be a mineral miner, in
Australia.
Yes, I'd choose to be a miner of uranium, or coal,
Copper, zinc, or bauxite, silver, tin, or gold.
Investors would be rushing me, begging for a slice
Of all my mining profits, and they'd pay me any price.
Dig a hole. Make billions. They're the simple facts,
Then along comes bloody Kevin, with his super profits tax.
He reckons we should share the wealth. Create a fiscal flap.
Share our super profits? What a load of crap.
As mining magnates, we have rights. Let me set them out.
To start with, we are very rich. THAT gives us some clout.
WE generate employment. WE influence the press.
WE reckon WE own Governments. Without us, they're a mess.
We might poison a few rivers, pollute some national parks,
Leave some gaping chasms, to reach our profit marks.
Threaten water catchments, deface some tourist spot.
THAT'S just collateral damage. Are we worried? Not a lot.
Well, not about pollution, and all that kind of thing.
But Kevin and his tax idea, that could start to sting.
Just who does he think he is? Threatening our gain.
He's just released a swarm of bees. He's going to feel some
pain.
I think the public's on our side. We'll run a load of ads,
Refuting Kevin and his mob. His Governmental fads.
What? He's starting to retaliate? Running ads as well?
I don't think that's very fair. He can go to hell.
He’s aspersing mining magnates. We're getting a raw deal.
Oil drilling's stinks as well. Imagine how THEY feel.
All because of some bad press, even as we speak.
What a lot of fuss about some minor oil leak.
For our drilling oil mates, we feel REAL sympathy,
With all those oil profits now drifting in the sea.
Just imagine all that angst amongst the oil supporters,
Pouring all that precious oil, into un-troubled waters.
Well, we shall have to wait and see, who wins this epic
battle.
We've got the money, and the clout. It's possible that that'll
Scuttle Kevin and his tax AND his Labor voters. .
Let him blather all he likes, WE’RE concerned with profit
quotas.
BLUE - the shearer
(copyright
col wilson) |