Sonnet to the Telephone

Ringing up has changed, the phone no longer rings.
But redundant telephonist’s can take some solace,
Where once it only rung, it now clangs and sings,
Or vibrates and can even send a very happy face.

No longer do we dial, today we coldly tap to connect.
Don’t slam down a phone, for it has a fearful outcome.
Details, phones in physical contact, now beam and collect,
Tis an unnatural violation of the private space for some.

But if you think today is too scary and well beyond the pall,
Tomorrow will be much worse when technologies intersect.
For now we’ve engineered a way, to embed in the brain, for all,
Microchips with which we will all easily to the internet connect.

Damn you politicians and your bloody NBN for now I’ll forever live in fear
Of a beaming fluro clad techno, bearing a cable, wanting access to my rear.

Louisa’s Laughter

Woman’s eyes light as manliness goes by.
Invites an invitation, oft by look shyly given,
Ignored by higher intent, not missed by eye
With manly focus, a normal too narrow vision.

In worlds of two, where the future beckons four,
New choice no option, past option an only choice.
Others needs alone, dictate the need for no more,
True to choice, sanity condones no meddling voice.

Pleasures abound, in example an encouragement,
Mean pleasures forgone, do carry no sad regretting.
Lasting satisfy is found in heavenly achievement,
Belies base instant gratifying fleeting begetting.

When men need retire from earth’s allure, from love or wanton women rude,
Into a man’s world, where women seldom figure, women do only intrude.

The So Brave Digger from Tarin Kowt

The official mourning crowds have passed
To the turn of sorrowful friends and family
Times when mums, dads and widows grasped
The treasures, hurts and pleasures in homily.

In city and town small private funerals abound
In all, more sad than all the past ever knew,
And one from all the rest in sadness crowned
A digger buried by largely an unknown few.

The parson’s words in death wholly encrypted.
The words of the eight mourners more telling,
Of soulless worlds where hope’s oft unscripted,
By searching lost souls in a battle unrelenting.

I spoke first, ‘It’s appropriate’, I uttered to the few,
‘I’m here because the smallness seemed to call me’.
In half truth the big man said, ‘I’m a stranger too’.
But with the Digger, he shared a similar silent key.

‘We’re pall-bearers’, said the spokesman for the four
Who’d lowered our digger to his final lonely rest.
The woman, who had seen worse of life before,
Whispered, ‘I was the closest to a girlfriend, at best.’

The young soldier, a polished and hardy veteran too,
Looking sad, verging on weeping, his face like a map
‘I promised my mate a massive funeral, true blue.
He’d merely smiled and coughed and whispered, “Crap”.

He was so brave, never complained nor groaned nor cried.
He smiled at me, muttered, “Rest at last” and quietly sighed.
His eyes closed, his breath rattled and he peacefully died.
I promised at his funeral I’d make a speech, I never lied.

I know I was the nearest he ever had to a true friend.
His mum died at birth, a dad known but unrecognised.
He had known the streets, a comfy home he’d pretend.
He met the army, he excelled and his home revised.

He had no i-pod, computer, photo or phone.
He had kept to himself as much as he could.
When with our patrol, no-one was ever alone,
He was trusted and reliable in our mate hood.

He would borrow my phone before his return,
To contact a woman at home. He’d book a date.
I’d ask of her importance, with feigned concern?
He’d wink and grin and say, “she’s only my mate”.

He said he never gave or was given anything.
Death gave him peace and me understanding.
He gave me hope, friendship and love of living.
But it’s true:
to no-one he gave nothing
but to everyone … his life. ‘

An epitaph earned, though in need of a rewrite,
Licence allowed our young veteran’s error stand.
I simply wished recognition of our terrible blight,
Of youthful life wasted, in another faraway land.

Now Don’t You Cry Freedom.

Oh where oh where has freedom gone?
Out the door in search of an alien foe,
Slain on an altar of the politically correct,
Banished by a funded money grub elite,
Damned at all costs by a Be Safe Brigade,
Duped by the demands of Keynes.

Oh where, oh where has freedom gone?
Bloody on Parliament’s cold uncaring floor.
Abandoned by a senate’s slamming door.
Cheered on by the totalitarian inclined.
Silenced by Human Rights’ human lefts.
Dumbed down by treacherous academics.

Oh where oh where has freedom gone?
Absent from the chatter of teaching clichés.
Lost amid volumes screeching a daily cycle.
Soiled in the lies and errors of the intranet.
Banished from the lines of prose and verse.
Confused by conflicted leftie prose poets.

Oh where, oh where is freedom found?
In the vanguard, with seeds of regret.
With those who recall a truthful past,
Adopting true mean of a life well lived.
Amid those others of no social import,
Cashed up Bogans, mates all unheeded.
Stranded in traditions of Hume thru’ Mill
Amid the supply of Smith, Mises and Hayek

Oh what should I do, I shudder to think,
Oh buggar this will have to do.
There, there Freedom will this soothe you?

Banning Budgies

Oh Elle Macpherson, Elle Macpherson
It’s with you we genuinely celebrate,
The shape and acumen of your person,
Our delight; this perfectly godly mate.

Oh Mohamed’s women in darkness clad,
Aimless and shapeless as your men dictate.
To confront my basic view, you seem glad,
Being assigned to your sadly shuttered fate.

Marjorie to Sally in deed we loved you all,
Taut, supple bodies, treasure you employed.
Cathy’s shapely bodysuit really did enthral,
Our delight; a perfect godly flash enjoyed.

Oh you hidden women of Mohamed,
All showing more than you can know.
Denied repression with words unsaid,
Your men have you in a foreign tow.

Stage and screen, play our dream,
In Cate, Delta, Kylie and Nicole,
On show in life, all part of a team.
Our delight; to perform a godly role.

Oh Mohamed’s women full fear of hate,
My maleness confronts you in every way.
Arrogantly you think rape I’ll contemplate;
You confront me, with never word to say.

Kay and Jessie solo sailors genuine,
Guts and courage in an Aussie way.
Carried unhidden in a style feminine,
Our delight; their fearless godly fray.

Oh silent robed women blessed of Mohamed
Don’t you swim at our beach or pool or dam.
If you’re drowning you’re more likely be met,
By a red one piece suited powerful woman.

Edith and Vida, Enid and Dorothy,
Susan, Carmen and even Julia too.
All speak clear in an accent free.
Our delight; here is a godly view.

Oh faceless women of Mohamed,
A secret life in choices unbidden,
In opposite to our way selected.
Our loathing; open and unhidden.

This our life and limb we celebrate,
With open and forthright accord.
In daily life with lust we integrate,
Absorbing all with little discord,
Attempts foiled by a foreign dictate.