The father smiled to see his child
Come running to his side.
"Please tell me, Daddy, what is meant
By that word 'sex'", she cried.

He looked aghast at this sweet girl -
She was but 8 years old;
"Too young," he thought, "and innocent
To break this childhood mould.

"She should be playing with her dolls
Or other toys she had
Instead of asking questions such
As this one of her Dad."

With openness and honesty
An inborn family trait,
This Dad explained the facts of life
Quite candidly and straight.

His discourse finished, thankfully,
He kissed her on the cheek;
No word she'd uttered all the while,
But now began to speak:

"I didn't think my question was
A matter so complex,
For Mum just said to tell you lunch
Is ready in two secs."














CAN CAN STOMPING

Each day she walks suburban trails, her small dog on a lead;
Its body long, its legs too short, sure hints of doubtful breed.

They set a brisk pace round the streets, the creek banks and the parks;
From time to time they stop, she stoops, while doggie leaves his mark.

Discarded aluminium cans she gathers here and there,
Performs a stomping dance routine to flatten them with flair.

The empty Rum and Cola cans, the Tooheys, Bourbon, Gin,
The Fosters, Fourex Gold and Light, are stomped and then within

A Woolworth's plastic bag which dangles loosely from her waist
These compressed cans play tinny tunes from whence they have been placed.

She talks to doggie frequently, exhorting him to heel,
With words of praise when he complies – the good behaviour seal.

Oblivious to those folk who are prone to stand and stare,
Her fingers strum a rhythmic beat, a cadence, in the air.

Next thing a pen and paper she extracts from out the blue,
With face alight, ecstatic, she records a line or two.

Her friends reject her overtures to join these daily jaunts,
Pretend they do not see her if within their space she haunts.

Her husband, though long suffering, indulgent, patient, kind,
Declines her invitation, says, "I'm busy; do you mind?"

She gives the cans to neighbour, Dave, a Lions member keen,
Whose Club helps needy causes to survive when times are lean.

But when it comes to company, e'en Dave she cannot bribe;
In can-can stomping spectacles he'd rather not imbibe.

So if some day while on your rounds this duo you should see,
Don't treat them with disdain because….this funny lady's Me!











CHANGE OF PACE

Poor Tony was a hen-pecked soul
Whose wife would scream and shout;
Of nature quiet, he'd suffered till
One day he wanted out.

He went to see a counsellor
Who bolstered his esteem,
Engendered confidence and his
Belief in the extreme.

He stopped by at the local where
A pot or two he laid,
Arrived at home in manner bold
To silence wife's tirade.

"From hereon in the rules have changed,
And you'll do as I say;
You'll cook my meals, you'll wash, you'll iron,
You'll clear my mess away.

"You'll have to change your habits some
And learn to be content;
If you need cash, you must explain
How you intend it spent.

"Now, run my bath and on my bed
Lay out my clean attire;
I'll call you when I've finished,"
He said with eyes afire.

"Then guess on whom befalls the task
To dress me, comb my hair?"
The answer came: "I think you'll need
The funeral parlor's flair!"











FOUND WANTING

The parson preached a sermon to his flock each Sunday morn,
Extolling facets of the faith, God's love for folk forlorn.

He spoke about Christ's miracles performed at Galilee:
The feeding of five thousand; of tormented minds set free;

The water which was turned to wine; the healing of the maimed -
With passion urging folk repent, the Devil's work be shamed.

One morning in his study with the mail before him spread,
A letter caught the parson's eye: just one word, "FOOL", it read.

Next Sunday from the pulpit he spoke words germane and few:
"My friends", he said, "today a strange event I share with you.

"No doubt you've heard of folk forgetting when a note they write
To sign their names, such imperfection but an oversight.

"Last week a letter I received, quite baffling I admit:
The sender, yes, had signed his name but not the letter writ!"











PROTESTATIONS

The Sister asked her senior class on graduation day,
"What future plans have you in mind? Confide in me, I pray."

First Mary said, "I'll be a nurse, help ease another's bind,
Compassionate and sensitive, of manner soft and kind."

Next Bernadette rose to her feet, informed the class that she
Would be a teaching specialist in arts and history.

Accountants, architects and vets – ideals upright and bold;
Theresa cited mission work: bring heathens to the fold.

The Sister praised such noble aims, her face aglow with pride
To think her teachings had prevailed in lives she'd sought to guide.

"Now Monica, we haven't heard what you intend to do?
I'm sure through prayer God will reveal what plan he has for you."

Said Monica, "I've pondered long, and my considered plan
Is to become a prostitute, to serve my fellow man."

"You what…you what…" the Sister gasped her face of colour drained,
She stumbled to a chair, collapsed in manner quite constrained.

When consciousness returned, said Sister, "I implore
Of your impending plans you tell me, Monica, once more."

"To nurse, to teach, to spread God's word are not careers for me;
As said before a prostitute is what I want to be."

"Oh, praise the Lord and bless you dear, my fears I can allay
I thought you said a protestant was where your future lay."











BEGINNERS BAND

"Beginners Band" the advert read, "no limit as to age;
Just choose an instrument to play and we will set the stage."

We all have dreams of grandeur in whatever fields they lie:
Maybe to work for ASIO – track down a Russian spy.

To win Olympic gold in sport, the fame and glory share
With fellow Aussies, proud to sing "Advance Australia Fair".

To be a scientist of note in medical research,
To eloquently preach and guide as pastor of a church.

My dream has been to play with flair, accomplished with such skill
First trumpet in a band of brass, to entertain and thrill.

I joined this band forthwith, although of music not a clue:
The quavers, crochets, treble clefs a foreign language new.

Within two weeks of lesson 1 three houses in my street
Had "For Sale" signs erected, but my will they'll not defeat.

I practice faithfully each day, play up and down the scale,
The cat takes umbrage at the noise, runs off with fluffed-up tail.

"You're doing well," my dear one says - encouragement divine!
Then pours himself another glass to dull his mind with wine.

A message came from brother Rex in manner quite aghast:
"Sounds like a distressed elephant who's trumpeting its last."

But I'll not be deterred by such reproachful comments rude,
And though twelve months have now elapsed and still high notes elude

My breathless efforts and my range is limited indeed,
My aspirations will not fade though friends and neighbours plead

That I transfer activities to pastimes which become
My age moreso – "You're sixty now!" - but I will not succumb.

At sixty I've no need to feel I must go with the flow:
I'll do what I enjoy and my own trumpet I will blow!











THE NAME OF THE GAME

Two ladies in their golden years were playing golf one day;
While waiting at the second tee, all ready for the fray,
One old dear to the other turned, her face criss-crossed and lined,
"Excuse me dear for asking, but your name escapes my mind.
I know we've played our weekly game together here for years,
The fact I can't recall your name reduces me to tears."

The second woman eyed her friend from out a hazy blue;
"You want to know my name?" she said, "Well here's what I will do:
"While we are on the course today I'll let my memory flow,
And if my name comes thus to mind….you'll be the first to know!"











MABEL'S MUDDLE

Old Mabel was an aging soul approaching 90 years;
She hadn't been too well of late, was haunted by life's fears.

"I'll not become a burden to my family and friends;
I'd rather say, 'Farewell, cruel world', despite if this offends.

"The loaded gun I've hidden well inside that old gum boot,
A legacy from Harry dear who taught me how to shoot.

"A bullet through the heart, that's quick, and I should feel no pain,
Besides, it isn't messy, like if blasted through my brain."

But Mabel wasn't sure exactly where her heart pumped true,
That it was on her left-hand side was really all she knew.

She phoned her doctor on pretext of asking for a script,
Then, "Tell me how I ascertain where my heart beats," she quipped.

Indulging this old lady's whim, he humoured her behest:
"It's on your left-hand side, my dear, it's just below your breast."

So Mabel wrote a note to say why this way out she chose
To end her life, escape the fears which in her mind arose:

"I'm getting old, I'm bailing out, I'd rather pay the cost
Before I burden others with a life whose mind is lost."

So having written thus, the gun she steadied on her mark
Then pulled the trigger, hit the ground, as mind and sense grew dark.

Some hours later Mabel woke in hospital, confused,
"Why is it that I'm still alive; I should be dead," she mused.

Clipped to the bed-end Mabel's chart was there for all to see;
Her reason for admittance? "Gun shot wound above left knee!"











CROSSING THE CARDS

Since leaving school Joe'd worked and saved, discerned the markets well,
And when sufficient funds amassed he bought the town's hotel.

Pizzazz and pomp accompanied the opening of the pub;
Fine tributes flowed, as did the grog, the handshakes and the grub.

Choice presents from supporters with cards wishing Joe the best:
The townsfolk all were confident he'd ride the Carlton crest.

Bouquets of flowers spread the bar in reds, soft mauves, cerise;
But pinned to one such flower bunch the card read "Rest in Peace".

"There must be some mistake!" Joe cried. "The florist is to blame;
Ineptitudes I'll not endure - such insult to my name!"

So saying, he presented at the florist's shop post haste;
Confronting the attendant said - loud voiced and florid faced -

"How dare you try to hoodoo this fine enterprise of mine;
The years will see it flourish, to demise it won't decline."

He flashed the card with waving arms, he put on quite a show
Until the florist firmly said, "Now listen to me Joe!

"Some human errors do occur from time to time it's true,
Communications go awry in business ventures too.

"No doubt you will acknowledge this as your new project grows -
And on the subject of this card, the object of your woes…

"You know old Ben the butcher died - they buried him today;
Well, I fulfilled an order for a funeral bouquet.

To pride of place upon the coffin's lid it was assigned,
Delivered to the church where poor Ben's body was enshrined;

Now, I've a hunch the card attached, without a stipulation,
Was filled with wishes telling Ben, " Enjoy your new location.!'"

NUN BUT THE BRAVE

A taxi driver once was hailed in a suburban street,
Surprised to see his pick-up fare a Nun in habit neat.

"Good afternoon, my son," she said and crossed herself with care,
Imploring of St Christopher lives on the road to spare.

"Please take me to The Valley where tonight I've work to do,
Persuading lost souls change their ways and make their lives anew."

A few blocks on the cabbie said, "Forgive me, Sister, please,
If I confess a fantasy which plagues like a disease.

"I yearn to kiss a Nun, you see, to press her lips to mine:
Imagination conjures up a feeling so divine."

The Nun's reply was silence which soon caused the cabbie grief:
"I'm sorry, Sister, if my words shocked you beyond belief."

"Not so, my son. I think I can accommodate your whim;
Conditions do apply, of course." And thus she said to him:

"You have to be a Catholic, all Protestants disown,
You must not be a married man with children of your own."

"I qualify on both those counts: a Catholic devout;
I've reasoned wife and kids are things that I can do without."

"God bless you, son", the Nun replied, and three Hail Mary's said,
"Turn right into that alleyway some meters up ahead."

The cabbie did as he was bid – could scarce believe his luck;
The thoughts within his head went wild, quite nearly ran amok.

He kissed her on the lips and when she didn't pose a fight,
He kissed her three times more and to his body held her tight.

Back on the road elation waned, the cabbie felt regret,
And realised that he'd been caught secure in Satan's net.

Remorse welled up within his heart which he could not conceal,
Unable to control the tears and scarce control the wheel.

"My son, what is the matter, pray? Why are you so aggrieved?
That kissing could upset you so I'd never have believed."

"Oh, Sister, Sister, I have sinned, your innocence betrayed,
I've told you lies, deceived you and such treachery displayed.

"I've been a married man for years, had three kids to my wife.
I've never been a Catholic, but Baptist all my life."

"Oh, cast aside your worry, son, for I too must confess:
I live a lie based on deceit, one which you could not guess.

"For such I'll have no jewelled crown or place reserved in Heaven:
I'm here, you see, in fancy dress - and my real name is Kevin!"







OH, WOE IS ME!

I’m happy here with Lionel, together we’re a team,
But when he snores and gulps at night, he makes me want to scream.

One year we made a camping trip to sapphire fields out west,
As usual we hoped we’d find the “big blue” in our quest.

We set up camp at Rubyvale, a sapphire mining town,
Our neighbour in the tent next door a young man named John Brown.

He’d spent some weeks there on the fields, had fossicked in the creek,
He showed us sapphires he had found – prized stones which miners seek.

The camping ground was rather sparse, amenities were few,
But we were there to work the ground, to live as miners do.

Fire place, communal kitchen, a crude shower block, that’s all,
The latter two divided by a non-sound-proof stone wall.

One morning in the shower block I heard John’s voice so clear,
As in the kitchen he held court for all who cared to hear.

Indulging in eavesdropping is a trait which I abhor,
But on that day I must confess I waited to hear more.

I can’t repeat the language used – his adjectives to cuss,
But his oration gripped me for John’s rantings were of us!

It seemed that Lionel’s snorts and snores had robbed John of his sleep:
“The noise was like an ocean’s roar, or blasts from mine shafts deep!”

I smiled to think of Lionel’s face when this tale I retold;
The fact his fame had spread through camp was sure to leave him cold.

But then, oh shame, John changed his tack, of me voiced fury deep,
“Her whining voice upbraids him, ‘Stop snoring, I can’t sleep!

‘Roll over! Hush, you selfish brute! Stop snoring, can’t you hear?
I asked you not to drink so much, but no, just one more beer!’ ”

I fled the shower block in haste, my eyes abrim with tears;
John’s mimics of my whines and moans still ringing in my ears.

I told my tale to Lionel, how he’d gained himself ill-fame,
But my words fazed him not a jot: “My dear, you’re more to blame!”

I now respond to Lionel’s snores with strategies more curt:
An elbow jabbed into his ribs, wild knee jerks where they hurt.

So if my Lionel you should see bent double to the ground,
Or if he holds a walking stick to help him get around…

You’ll know the reason why he’s so, and spare a thought for me
Whose sleepless night has passed amidst unspoken misery!











THE GHOST OF ROOM 12A

In a magazine post we had read of a ghost
Which was haunting with daunting effect
Anyone who would stay in Room Number 12A
At the pub in the scrub where we trecked.

In old Ravenswood town of gold mining renown
The Imperial’s serial scene,
We decided to stay for two nights and a day,
So the ghost we could boast to have seen.

But the Bikie gang came, noisy nightlife their game.
Though for shouting and louting rebuked,
They remained in top gear, partied on, and we fear
At the most ‘twas the ghost who was spooked!











LOVE DRESS

The early days of wedded bliss held passion wild, untamed;
But with the passing of the years this lusty fervour waned.

"We'll have to find a cure to stem this indolence within,"
She thought, and then devised a plan her husband's warmth to win.

When he returned from work next day and opened his front door,
Beheld his wife in naked pose, he baulked at what he saw.

"Good grief!" he cried, "Have you gone mad? are you in some distress?"
"My dear," she said, "look closer here, for this is my Love Dress."

He gazed upon her naked form then took her in his arms,
Transferred her to the bedroom where he yielded to her charms.

Their days took on a renewed glow now love had been revived;
She thought she'd tell her mother how the marriage had survived.

"I wonder," mused her mother's mind, "Would it be such a crime
To try inject excitement in a marriage past its prime?"

Next day her hubby went to golf, came home a trifle sore;
He'd been in bunkers, in the rough: a game one would deplore.

He climbed the stairs, the door flung wide, he stood aghast with shame
To see the body of his wife quite starkers fill the frame.

"You stupid woman! Lost your mind? where is your modesty?"
"My dear, surprise! Look twice; this is my Love Dress, can't you see?"

"Why, yes I can, and I concede you've tried, without a doubt;
But I'd have thought the wrinkles, dear, you would have ironed out!"

FIELD WORK

A Swedish chemist years ago
Provided in his Will
That prizes be conferred on those
Promoting peace and skill.

And so the Nobel Prize was born,
Awarded year by year:
Prize winners’ names applauded in
Each designated sphere.

I heard a line the other day
Which set my mind in gear;
I pictured folk in crowded room:
Prize-giving time was here.

The room was charged, electrified
With an expectant thrill;
The Chairman stood, in solemn tones
Said, “Silence, if you will.

“I’m honoured to confer the prize
On Mr Scarecrow here.”
The room was hushed in disbelief,
No one could raise a cheer.

“But why the scarecrow?” queried they,
Each mind convulsed and reeled.
The answer came, “Because he is
Outstanding in his field!

“Now, Mr Scarecrow, take the stand,
Despite by folk rebuffed.”
The scarecrow stared into the crowd,
And said, “Well, I’ll be stuffed!”

FINE POINTS

"This is a joke; it can't be right! "I heard my dear one say;
"I've lost 3 driving points, as well I've 80 bucks to pay."

I took the paper from his hand; embossed in letters blue
"Transport Department, New South Wales" – now, that gave me a clue

To why he seemed irate and miffed, and why he wore a frown:
the letter said he broke the law – drove too fast through the town

Of Tenterfield one rainy day, and with a camera click
our numberplate was photographed and processed double-quick.

"I've not lost points in 40 years, I watch each roadside sign,
the points will bruise my pride; it's not the 80 dollar fine."

He read the letter through and through, his disbelief on show;
"Don't worry dear," I said. "At times we all slip up, you know."

"That's true," he said, "it matters not this loss of points and face,
thankyou for being kind and understanding of my case.

"You haven't mocked or chided me, you've eased my wounded pride,
forever I am thankful you're a help-meet by my side."

"No problem, dear," I smugly said; and now each day I pray
he'll not reflect and realise I drove the car that day.







TRAUMA ON THE TRAIN

Through widespread Russian countryside, green after summer rain;
This journey of a lifetime on the Trans-Siberian train.

We rattled over rivers wide, through taiga forests dense,
Past villages which bore the seal of communist offence.

At night the gentle swaying and the tuneful click-click-clack
Induced a pleasant slumber over thousand miles of track.

One night I woke to Nature's call – and such must be obeyed;
I slithered from my bunk and down the corridor I swayed.

All shutters had been closed, the corridor was black as jet;
I felt my way along the walls till destination met.

My "penny spent", I then returned in manner as before;
And opened what I thought to be my own compartment door.

But when I flopped down on the bunk I found to my dismay
Between me and the coverings another body lay!

"Oh, shit!" I cried and rushed the door, retreating from this plight,
Before the one on whom I'd lain should thwart my frantic flight.

Too late! He grabbed me by the arm as foreign words he yelled
Which, though I did not comprehend, his tone I well beheld.

The only Russian I could speak was "thank you" and "how much";
But neither phrase could fix this mess or add a calming touch.

His shouts brought forth conductors, fellow travellers en masse,
Of whom most looked bemused to see this silly Aussie lass.

By now in state of crisis, I attempted to explain
What caused me to be in the wrong compartment of the train.

At last a man bi-lingual elbowed through the crowd and told
My story to these people, some of whom still eyed me cold.

When finally the crowd dispersed they ushered me away
To four doors down the corridor where my compartment lay.

No doubt you wonder now this abject story you have learned
Where was my soul mate at this time, and was he not concerned?

Why, he was snoring in his bunk, detached from this parade -
Quite pleased of such when told next morn of his wife's escapade.

EYES AWATER

When your eyes begin to water
And you feel it's time you oughter
Take a towel and blow your snorter -
Then avow

On an earnest line of thinking
Through the blurry mist ablinking
That you'll cease to chop these stinking
Onions NOW!







A DOWNTURN TRIP

Another year so fleet of foot had slipped beyond our reach,
a new year with uncertainties had come to fill the breach.

I, being optimistic that our funds were waterproof,
suggested that we plan a trip and HE went through the roof.

"You do exasperate me so, why can't you understand:
the world's in economic doom, by luckless winds we're fanned.

"Our savings are eroded, we'll just have to change our style;
our mode of living, I'm afraid, must be more versatile.

"And this means no more holidays at home or overseas,
no cruises or exotic treks – be realistic, please!

"If we can't pay our bills, we'll be in court - perhaps in gaol;
just think it over while I'm gone - I'm off to get the mail."

He left me feeling very down for travel was the key
to knowledge and an open mind, a vital role for me.

But he was right I must concede – a life-style change for me;
I'll be more diligent a wife like my mum used to be.

The take-aways will have to cease, the mower man discharged,
the cleaning lady will be sacked, the second car garaged.

I'd barely finished pondering the changes to be made
when he returned with mail in hand, so we sat down to wade

Through bills and brochures, estate ads - not much of interest there;
one private letter held his gaze some time before he'd share.

"Well, I'll be blowed, you'd never guess, my old mate Artie's son
is getting married and we're both invited to the fun.

"We'd best reply ASAP and say we'd love to go;
you'd never guess: the venue's a resort in Borneo!

"Now that's been on our travel list for years, so here's our chance
to kill two birds with just one stone - why look at me askance?

"We'll visit Brunei while we're there and Sandakan to boot,
Surrender Point at Labuan, museums, mosques en route.

"We'll see the parks with monkeys and orang-utans at play,
we'll spend nights in a longhouse, walk forest trails by day.

While I go get the Atlas, you can Google 'Borneo',
and check if we'll need visas in our passports when we go."

For once I was at loss for words but best to let him be
it seems he has some money saved and hidden secretly.

Of course I'm quite delighted but dare not broach the theme
that worldwide economics is a dissipating stream.







PLANNING AND PREPARING

We planned a ten-week holiday
To places way out back,
To Innaminka, Lightning Ridge,
And up the Birdsville Track

The truck was serviced, trailer checked,
Accounts paid well ahead.
Our inlaws came to stay so that
The cat and dog were fed.

Two nights before departure date -
Now time was getting short -
So many chores had not been done,
The stores had not been bought.

In trepidation I approached
The loungeroom where my man
Was watching Aussie cricketers
At play with Pakistan.

"Excuse me, dear, I beg of you,
Please exit TV mode,
Peruse this list of things to do
Before we hit the road."

Reluctantly he scanned the page,
Said, "It's all up to you:
I'm playing golf tomorrow -
And you've nothing else to do!"

THE HERITAGE LISTED LOO

The oldest pub, the oldest school – there always is a search
for something that's the oldest, such as the oldest church.

But did you know not far from here in one of Queensland's towns
there is the oldest men's pissoir at Toowoomba on the Downs.

Four porcelain urinals and a water closet too -
a public place where gentlemen do what they have to do.

Built early 1900s, it is quite a work of art:
arched doorways, scalloped mouldings really set the place apart.

The brick walls have no rooftop, so 'tis open to the sky
and men can stand or sit, look up, reflect and wonder why.

The pissoir drain was once connected to the nearby creek -
quite unhygienic for today that there men's leaks should leak.

The toilet block's now listed with the heritage bureau,
can never be demolished and will always be on show.

The drainage problems have been fixed and leaks no longer leak;
so when you're in Toowoomba, just pop by and have a peek.

WILD RESOLUTIONS

"Let's make some wild resolutions," I said to my soul mate last year;
"Let's think of something novel, for 2008's almost here."

"No way," he said. "Forget it. I'll not be part of your schemes;
We've been there before with disastrous results; forget all your stupid pipe dreams.

"Remember the frog breeding programme, digging trenches till I thought I'd drop;
The frogs evolved from the tadpoles ok, but were scoffed by the cat at first hop.

The year for communing with nature you resolved for us was the go;
You carted me off to the nudist camp with my little bits dangling on show.

You resolved one year to make millions from fossicking fields in the west;
First, a course in meditation to store energy for our quest.

We followed this on by sleeping with a pyramid over our bed -
OK, until it all collapsed and fair near fractured my head.

These but a few of your wild schemes that I have tolerated –
and what about that emu egg we found and incubated!

'Resolve to save the wildlife' was your slogan for that year:
We nearly were imprisoned for hassling fishermen at the pier.

You really must forego these crazy schemes to which you're prone,
But if you can't, just leave me be, go do them on your own."