(C) A Personal Poem About Procrastination

 

Always, in the depths of my imagination,

Percolates a thought that sometimes achieves realisation.

Even politicians must resort to clarification,

Reliant as I am upon your close examination;

Society often infuriates me with their benign abomination.

Of course… I wouldn’t canvas for outright exploitation,

Neither is I falling prey to abject desperation.

Alright, now that I have your rapt adjudication,

Let me now wax lyrical in grateful appreciation.

Perhaps, I should be clearer in the specification,

Often it’s something trivial needing a little amplification.

Excuse me if I delay arrival at the destination,

My dithering about can create some consternation.

A prime example is: the long period of time that it took to complete my dissertation!

By any standard, I could have lost accreditation.

Oh dear! Am I taxing your powers of concentration?

Under sufferance I suspect is your continuation.

Trust me; I eschew obfuscation and espouse elucidation.

Personal development is the objective of this rumination.

Rehashing old ideas should be subject to conflagration,

Overworked sentences are passé by implication.

Come now, I’m not resorting to crude intimidation!

Relax and maybe, you’ll enjoy this mental masturbation.

Another time, this silly rhyme, would cause you constipation.

Stifle that yawn and let’s keep on with this regurgitation.

There are only eight more lines to go to grasp illumination.

In truth, aloof, I must confess to being full of exhilaration.

Never before did I explore such crass interpretation.

And I do hope that you can cope with elite, alliteration.

Trembling now (I hope you are) with mounting anticipation.

Impressed, I guess are all of you with this proliferation?

Obviously, you now comprende my fixation and pre-occupation.

Naturally, this is a personal poem about procrastination.    Plus...  
 

~~~

(C) Not Really!

Not really procrastination, just mere prevarication.

Ok I lied; I just tried some prosaic prestidigitation.*  

Tis mere wordplay; it’s my forte, my form of relaxation.

Russian Roulette is a safer bet if you have any expectation.

Especially, with a rogue like me, so no interrogation!  

Are you now confused, amused, or in exasperation?

Literally speaking, I’m now weakening my communication.

Let’s leave it there, now that I’ve bared the gap in my vocation.

You see, I’ve merely procrastinated with: procrastination.

~~~

* Sleight of hand, also known as prestidigitation ("quick fingers") or legerdemain,

 is the set of techniques used by a magician (or card sharp) to manipulate objects such

 as cards and coins secretly.

© Budget Night: Sad Show

© Budget Night: Sad Show

S o now it is one thirty nine am; nothing stirs, nothing shows, such a sad show.

H ow did things ever get to be in such a confused state, I’ll never know.

A utumn once more gives way to winter and our displeasure grows.

D espair the world that its bold inclinations are due to cruel folks apropos.  

O ver on the other side, in another dimension, well intentioned intuition flows.

W asted effort tries to stem the tide of avarice; that like Everest ever goes...

S kyward. Who will be the first trillionaire? Who cares who wins the game?

H ow these vast fortunes are accumulated – are but windows in the frame.

A nother element of my intellectual capacity, with alacrity, covets the same!

D ichotomies some say are dim memories, money is neutral, takes no blame.

O ut in the country seasons come and go, winds blow, although...where’s the rain?

W ilful negligence of those things that are fundamental, a sentimental refrain:

S ave us, save us, if you please, from these infernal bourgeoisie; they have no shame.  

© Yo! I, An Odd Kangaroo Boy

                         © Yo! I, An Odd Kangaroo Boy                            

(Good Book On A Rainy Day)

So...we found ourselves in Kiama, in somewhat of a dilemma,                             

 It was a rainy day and accordingly: no views.

And the blowhole wasn’t blowing and the way things were going,

It was clear only we’d have nothing but the blues.   

It had been a stressful drive (we were glad to be alive!),

On a freeway, wrong direction, back towards Sydney.

Where you couldn’t turn around, it was chaos and the traffic sound...

Worried me; I needed to pee, had a pain in the kidney.

We finally made our destination amid much consternation, 

Vowing never to leave our front door again.

But next day with café breakfast on board, we saw scrawled on a blackboard:

‘Don’t wait for the storm to pass; learn to dance in the rain.’

Suddenly, the day seemed bright and cheery, no longer dull and dreary,

Though the blowhole was still obstinate; stubborn, kept down.

Then came a lady in purple exterior with a white three-legged terrier,

Who had been to a ‘purple party’ with her little smarty mate with purple crown.

She was full of joie de vivre, she was happy, she was free...

Of the absurd banalities that surround us on all sides.

Even her little canine tripod with purple hair, which looked quite odd...

Was ridiculously happy, so frisky and snappy; even took the big steps in his stride.

Later...in the Minnamurra Rainforest; Red Cedar Giants and Strangler Figs,

Some had been defaced by human pigs that left their tags.

For although the trees are ancient, they’re fair game...it strains your patience

To the bitter end; don’t they comprehend this is our heritage?

In the river there were boulders of massive size and shape; so older than...

No one has a definitive answer – two hundred million years they conjecture.

Worn smooth by millennia and constant flow of water,

Some of these, like the trees, bear the scars of the white man’s...pleasure?  

Later on we had a try at the Illawarra Fly, above the treetops high

Looking back towards the sea, in humidity, atop the escarpment.

Then I climbed the viewing tower – a mistake; I began to cower,

With a third of the way to go, I succumbed to vertigo – oh the embarrassment! 

But really – who cares? I’d had a look, repaired to the flat with a good book,

Whilst milady toured craft and junque shops to heart’s intent.

I read my book and snoozed, like a lazy kangaroo...

Taking relief from the heat of day in a rainforest light-years away, content...

‘Okay, Any Android Go Boo!’ Startled awake – I came to,

‘Goodness,’ I said miffed – ‘it’s raining; have you been adrift, out shopping again?’

‘Let’s go to the beach’ said she with glee, ‘and we’ll collect a shell or three.’

Remember... ‘Don’t wait for the storm to pass; learn to dance in the rain.’

(C) Lethal Hearts It Is

(C) Lethal Hearts It Is  

I have now passed the point of now return,

So what have I learned that is of any use?

There is nothing in this world that’s of concern,

How to tilt at windmills; another level of abuse?

Another day demands another dollar,

The clichés state all’s fair in love and war.

Ask your former lovers; grab them by the collar,

Lowered standards is all they have in store.

Love your neighbour but please don’t get caught,

To each their own is a monotone some say.

However, juggling multiple partners is fraught,

Every new liaison is dangerous in every way.

Rolling with the paunches can be mortal,

Every careless whisper is torture for someone else.

In any event as we gaze in the garden portal,

Sciamachy in all anxiety, just quietly...melts.

Sciamachy - battle with shadows or imaginary enemies.

© The Puling

©   The Puling:

To whimper; to whine, as a complaining child.

 I pulled one thin leg up and out of the covers, wondering what I would discover today.

Opened the shutters, with a touch of the shudders and found: ‘Uh pelting down rain as always!’

Thankfully it was Sunday, no commitments to keep – maybe more sleep? I then plug in my blanket.

But in came the wife, said ‘Get up Jesse – god you look messy; you have to play today for the banquet.’

Indeed I had forgotten it was Senior’s week; the band was due to squeak during morning brunch.

So begrudgingly I showered and shaved, primmed and powdered. Then I gulp down some toast and munch...

My way to the garage, load the car with drum kit, the sound system, my ego and other bits of gear.

So with a crocodile tear, off I went to spend a dreary hour or two and plunge hit after hit into their ears.

We played a few tunes (one old fat bloke played the spoons), and for a moment I saw myself pull gut in: help!

As if things couldn’t get any meaner, I got an award for being a senior! I s’pose I’ll have to stick it on the shelf.

‘Aw, lighten up!’ said the cheese ‘n’ kisses, ‘It’s not the end my cherub, listen, people love to hear you chirrup.’

‘And be glad that the old tunes were sung,’ and so with all the words hung I pelt upon the skins and usurp...

Their indulgence, I presume as they shuffle ‘round the room; I wonder what became of the young crooner I was.

Now with tinnitus, infinitus, day and night my hearing’s at crisis: I’m not Beethoven, rock ‘n’ roll’s the cause!

Well I never made a million and never had the thrill of being on the telly belting it out with JO’K.

But I played the Capitol Theatre in a witch’s outfit: ‘Hubble bubble and Hoadley’s crumble bars all the way!

But at the Capitol in Washington they have squandered all their capital; Obama has a drama on his hands.

Just lighten up Barack, there’s no turning back, your gun: the lip can’t flip the obsequious rifleman’s demands.

 The gulp in my throat caused me to splutter on my coffee when I read softly about America’s huge debt.

It’s next to impossible to grasp or understand the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan that still continue as yet.

In the decades still to come six trillion dollars will be the outcome; that’s a six followed by twelve noughts.

Just picture an international telephone number; longer than a Lebanese cucumber, so – care to join the dots?

 And now the new Pope divine can now gulp thine wine amidst rejoicing in Argentina that continues still.

But I hear that old Frankie still frowns on hanky-panky and still won’t compromise upon the pill.

But it’s rather commensurate of this Pope Jesuit to settle his newspaper account from the Vatican palace.

And he still stays at the Vatican hotel thus far; maybe George will get him a room gratis at Domus Australis.

So lighten up you silly fools, there really are no rules; thine plug should be removed from your orifice.

Leave the angst to Tony and Julia and don’t let their ‘spinsters’ fool ya, lighten up or letup nigh you come adrift!  

© Bend in the River

          © Bend in the River

               (A Bent Sort of Hymn)

Brethren Divine there’s a Bend in the River,

Revert In Behind and thou shalt be saved.

Taste of the sacred wine ~ Dei Herb Vintner,

Never Thine Bird shall be kept in a cave.

That’s where we should meet ~ Bend Thine River,

Dive In Brethren the waters shall cleanse thee.

Never Bind Their clothes – they shall not shiver,

Words In Thee Verb Rind like the bark of a tree.

It’s time to forgive and Rebind The Riven,

Let’s meet for a drink at The River Bed Inn.

Wine, whiskey, song and Thin Beer, Driven

           Divine Brethren to where the River Be Thinned.

© Change, Ego, Fate, Hell?

© Change, Ego, Fate, Hell?

(The Challenge of Age)

T he Challenge of Age... is to understand modern television commercials – what is the product?

H ence, all pretence of gravitas has been abandoned as everyone scrambles to board the gravy train.

E ven politicians have embraced ‘social media’ as an expedient way of dispensing proper conduct,

C onsider that the demarcation line is sorely in decline; petitions rupture all partitions – so much to gain?

H ealthy debate is now subordinate to personal abuse and the demand for product brand consumes all,

A pplications are now called apps; perhaps I’m taking it all too personally, this denuding of the lingo,

L engthy words are now unfashionable...whoops what I meant was passé – pardon the French; I call...

L ong suffering checkout chicks to task because a tangelo does not turn up in their computer jingo.

 

E xcept, don’t call them ‘chicks’; it sticks in the gullet – sorry...oesophagus. Got any asparagus fresh?

N ow I’ve received another survey, it seems proof reading is a lost art – significantly is spelt ‘signi cantly’.

G o to the bar if you want water and push the knob on the dispenser; but it won’t dispense or synchromesh!  

E very day is a bonus, so I’m told, but don’t take that tone with us elders as we groan exponentially.

O h my hat, would you look at that! Another ‘begging’ letter has arrived via email – send your details at once.

F or goodness sake keep it quiet – it could cause a riot, just give us your credit card number and password,

T he ego fell, a change is in the air; society constantly evolving, some things are still revolting – here’s the crunch.

H owever longer this aging population lasts, some things are now past: technology is relentless, can’t be mastered.

E ven the air machine that supports me and inflates and more often...deflates me is an aberration, an intrusion...

A nd in conclusion; any junk-mail that exhorts me to have a ‘happy EOFYS’ will find itself recycled, no mercy.

G o to your window and assert, I’m as daft as a draughthorse and I won’t take anymore; life’s an illusion.

E ven to get to this stage or the bottom of this page is the challenge of the age; here I bow or curtsy.

© Rajah’s Story – An Indian Idiocy … err Odyssey

© Rajah’s Story – An Indian Idiocy … err Odyssey 

Just listen closely to my story; I’m from the Rajah Sacrum Tribe, the oldest family alive.

All over India, my businesses thrive and I lend money with Rajacash Rub Remit.

My company - Rajah Resubmit Car is the most honest used car dealership by far; it’s legit!

Expect exotic flavours but have no worries with Rajah Amber Citrus curry.

So, like to dance in a hurry? Take a chance at Rajah Rumbas Trice, quicker’n Arthur Murray!

All women will agree with me that Rajah Cream Rubs It out effectively. And for mummies,

Rajahs Erratic Bum is another company I run, supplying medicine for upset tummies.

To ensure people are not sick, I developed Rajah Meats Rubric to show the right way to cook.

How do I do it? Some prefer fish and A Rajahs Brim Cruet is perfect for fish oil, just look.

Undertake my advice, Rajah Rats Bum Rice is really very nice, in fact it’s best of all.

Relax sahibs, keep calm, I have my own farm: Rajah Acres Bit Rum supply food and alcohol

Comparable to the best in the West; and please try a wine from Rajah Muscat Brier: it’s fine...

Rajah Barter Music is very jolly; reproduces the finest that Bollywood has to offer today.

Another interest is music tuition although many find the Rajah Sitar Cumber-some to play.

I am the Rajah Mature Cribs, in my position I tell no lies, falsehoods or fibs; it’s true!

But I’m also Rajah Satire Crumb and I have come from India to thumb my nose at you.

Is Rajah Carter Bum the same man who plays on tabla drums? That is being another clue!

Sometimes in India we ride on elephants and Rajah Bar Rectum Is wearing no underpants?

Regretfully, is true when he takes tourists on safari with no Sari, Rajah Curb Met no resistance.

And when you’re next in India and in dire need too, Barrister Majah Cu will look after you.

Just surrender your passport and rupees, please to Rajah Sacrum Biter – a righter of wrongs.

And he is a singer of songs as Rajah Brace, I Strum to keep pace on the ukulele, wearing thongs.

Here is my favourite, “It’s my japarti and I’ll cry if I want to”... Hah, a Rajah Ruse Act, Brim full,

Customers of silly jokes; but now I will take you good folk to Rajah True Mac Ribs to refuel.

Alleged, by my good self, to be the best takeaway Indian grub, but first you Merit A Rajah Scrub.  

Rub a dub dub in the Rajah Cream Tub Sir, guaranteed it’s the thing you need to really clean up.

Toes especially need attention, did I mention to Scream? Rajah Rub It in hard, sandals barred!

Even during monsoon season, ladies, Rajah Bra Cut Miser ensures that underwear stays dry.

Relatively few realise, who is in charge of the circus: as Rajah Master, I Curb wild animals,

Believing that training manuals can teach you what to do with help from Tamer Sahib Jar Cur...

Understand is another family member of the Rajah Sacrum Tribe, the oldest family alive.

Maybe your trip to India has been grave? *Fir Milenge, I return you now to James Arthur Craib.

*Fir Milenge (see you) – Hindi