ANTIPODEAN ODDMENTS

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ANTIPODEAN ODDMENTS

Original Poems written in the Traditional Style of Australian Narrative Verse by

Gerry Forster

QUINCY AND THE OVERDUE

(With a mild apology to A.B.Paterson)

There was moaning at the station, for the word had passed around
That the seven fifty-three would be delayed
And the stationmaster Quincy stood and bit his nails and frowned
At the indignation everyone displayed.

All the true and trusting travellers from the suburbs near and far
Had been gathering almost since the break of day,
For commuters like to travel on the train, and leave the car
At home, and get to work the easy way.

There was Harrison, who’d always read the paper front to back
By the time the train pulled into Central Station,
And the young bloke who just sat there, gazing down upon the track
In a state of transcendental meditation.

There was Wilson from the Income Tax, who had to be on time
Or he’d never catch his quota for the week.
There was D’Arcy the detective, whose job was solving crime –
Each of them a proper blooming sticky-beak.

There were straight-laced secretaries pacing madly up and down
And clerks who hoped the train would never come.
There were blue-rinsed wealthy housewives going shopping up in Town,
And youths that lounged around just chewing gum.

Then the stationmaster heard the phone within his office ring
And he nipped inside, a smile upon his face.
But what the caller told him was a horrifying thing
And he felt the pang of utter, deep disgrace.

He would have to go and face them, and impart the dreadful truth
That the train would be delayed another hour.
But he couldn’t screw his courage up; his feet refused to move –
To tell them – he just didn’t have the power!

So the travellers stood and waited with the patience of despair
For that welcome rumble coming down the track.
Whilst the stationmaster wept and ran his fingers through his hair,
For his iron will had now begun to crack.

Then at last there came a thunder midst delighted cheers and squeals
Followed by a screech of metal, screams and fuss
As the maddened stationmaster threw himself beneath the wheels.
So they had to take them up to Town by BUS!

THE PARLIAMENT OF THE BUSH FOLK

(To the tune of "The Drover’s Dream")

All the creatures of the Bush sat around amid a hush
As they listened to the old koala bear
Whilst he told at great length how they should unite their strength
In a democratic system, fair and square.

"Let us form a Parliament where each group can represent
Every species of its own particular kind,
In which members can debate all our bushland problems great
And then see what solutions we can find."

And he stirred up quite storm when he told them they should form
Into Parties like the human creatures do.
"Let’s split up the way most fair – into feathers, scales and hair,
So that each of us knows who belongs to who!"

Well, at length they all agreed that there was a pressing need
For what the old koala bear suggested
And they gathered there next day from both near and far away
For all the animals were interested.

In the gum tree Speaker’s Chair sat the old koala bear,
All around him there perched many feathered flocks,
Whilst below him, on the grass, sat the whole marsupial class
And the lizards and the snakes lay on the rocks.

Kookaburra waved his wing and invited them to sing
In unison "Advance all Fauna Fair",
Then, the Natural Anthem sung, the bellbird next was wrung
And Proceedings opened by the Speaker Bear.

"First we’ll need a Government, and it’s therefore my intent
To select its members from our orders three.
Wedgetailed Eagle, you shall care for the Ministry of Air,
And Kangaroo, the Transport Ministry."

"Now then, from the reptile clan, I believe that Black Snake can
Cope quite well as minister for Home Defence,
And from the fur-clad lines, as our Minister for Mines
I would say the wily Wombat has most sense!"

"And out of our feathered nation, for the care of Education
I choose the Owl, whose knowledge is complete.
And no one is superior to Minister the Interior,
Than Frilled Lizard, who can stand the desert heat!"

Kookaburra felt his mission was to lead The Opposition,
And from the branches of the old gum tree
He cackled his derision at Koala Bear’s decision,
And appointed his own Shadow Ministry.

Then they opened the Debate, and the argument was great
As to who should be the first to take the floor,
And the fur and feathers flew, and the scales and snakeskin, too,
Till the Meeting broke up in a wild uproar!

Then the snakes away did creep and the wise owl fell asleep,
While the wombat dug a hole and went to ground.
Then the lizard and the skink underneath the rocks did slink.
And the kangaroos departed with a bound.

The birds from out the trees flapped away upon the breeze
And the emus padded off across the plain,
Whilst the poor koala bear sat in sorrow and despair
And the kookaburra chortled like a drain.

"Ah, well!" koala thought, "It’s a lesson I’ve been taught,
And I’ll never make the same mistake again!
It’s now obvious to me - for a life that’s trouble-free -
Avoid the way that Life is lived by Men!"

THE POLITICAL ANIMAL

The tongue of a serpent. The spite of a cat. The guile of a fox, and the craft of a rat.

The hide of a rhino to save him from hurt, the claws of a wombat for digging up dirt.

The stripes of the tiger, his form to conceal. The slippery skin of a hard-to-catch eel.

The eye of a buzzard to seek out his prey. The tongue of a parrot for talking all day.

That stubbornness one only finds in a donkey. The nimble agility, too, of a monkey.

The wings of an eagle to fly overseas. For politics, one needs attributes like these.

So if the political life interests you, you’ll learn all the ropes from a trip to the Zoo!

For it’s there you’ll discover, in fang and in claw, the traits you’ll find useful on the

Parliament’s Floor!

THE SAGA OF BATTLING BILL

(Everybody loves a battler!)

This is the tale of Bill McShane, whose life was filled with strife,
Yet never once did Bill complain or curse his luckless life
And though luck never came his way but always ran adverse,
He’d give a little smile and say: "things could have been much worse!"

He worked first as a rouseabout somewhere out back of Bourke,
Until the stock died in a drought and Bill was out of work.
But he just took it on the chin. He didn’t whinge or curse.
"I reckon," said he with a grin, "Things could have been much worse!"

For years with swag humped on his back he wandered far and near,
Until one night, a cut-throat pack robbed him of all his gear.
But Bill said: "Even though them coots have stole me bloomin’ purse –
They didn’t pinch me boots! Things could have been much worse!"

He dug for gold at Ballarat among the stony dregs
Until a boulder knocked him flat and fractured both his legs.
But Bill just took it in his stride and grinned despite his hurts,
"At least I came an’ had a go! Things could have been much worse!"

A timber-getter next was he and quickly learned the knack,
Until a badly fallen tree poor Billy’s skull did crack.
But when in hospital he woke, he murmured to his nurse:
"Ah, well, it’s just me head that’s broke. Things could have been much worse!"

At cutting cane he tried his luck in Queensland’s sunny land,
Until a vicious taipan snake struck Bill upon his hand.
But as they tourniqueted his arm, the venom to reverse,
He said: "Now lads, let’s all stay calm. Things could have been much worse!"

But sad to say, although they tried to stop the poison’s spread,
That evening Bill just upped and died, and Home his Spirit sped.
For Battling Bill there is a nice conclusion to this verse –
At least, he went to Paradise! Things could have been much worse!"

"SLANGUAGE"

A brief Glossary of Australian Slang that can be extended indefinitely!

Have you ever paused and pondered on the origins of "Slang",
And why we all employ it as we do?
Does it give our conversation just that extra spicy tang?
Or does it show our range of words is limited and few?

Why call a bloke a "Wowser" when we mean that he’s a prig?
And why say "Galah" for ‘fool’, when it’s a bird?
The same applies to "Drongo", so let’s take a closer "Gig"
And you’ll quickly see the use of slang is pointless and absurd!

Let’s take "A Flamin’ Ratbag". Now, what does it really mean?
Does it mean a sack of rodents burning bright?
No, it means a bloke’s a rotter and he doesn’t fit the scene –
He’s a "Proper Blooming Bastard" and he doesn’t do what’s right!

When a thing is "A Fair Cow", it is not a pretty Jersey.
It isn’t any bovine female rare.
No, it’s something we don’t like, or when we receive no mercy
In a rotten situation – it’s just "Isn’t Bloody Fair"!

If a bloke "Comes the Raw Prawn", he’s not fresh out of the ocean,
It really means he’s practicing deceit.
And "Fighting like a Threshing Machine" conjures up a notion
Of a boxer flailing wildly at a waving field of wheat!

Whilst "Home on a Pig’s Back" doesn’t mean one rides a porker.
No, it means a task was easy to get done,
And "Don’t Get Off Yer Bike!" doesn’t mean ‘don’t be a walker’,
It means that what "Got Up Your Nose" was only meant in fun!

When a fellow’s a "Dead Ringer" he is not a deceased bell-man.
It merely means that he’s somebody’s ‘double’.
But if you’re told to "Pull Your Head In" then it’s time to run like hell, man!
‘Cause you made somebody "Ropeable" and you are in for trouble!

If you’re called a "Bloody Pom", and England’s where you’re from,
Just ignore it, for it’s only said in jest.
But if you’re called a "Sticky Beak", then you’re nosey and a sneak –
Like a "Bludger" or an "Urger" – you’re a "Pest"!

I could "Mag Away" for hours, but I’m dying for a drink,
And my writing-hand is cramped and full of anguish.
But, "Fair Dinkum", "Doncher Reckon" that it makes you stop and think
How the hell we’d ever manage without "Slanguage"?

THE BARCOO BLAST

It started in a tiny pub out near the old Barcoo,
A corrugated shed called "Windy Bill’s",
Where a bunch of sweaty stockmen and a dusty droving crew
Had gathered for a booze-up, from the suns-scorched plains and hills.

The beer was flowing quickly and the language flying free,
When through the door a little swagman reeled.
He dumped his ragged swag down and looked round beseechingly,
His dusty lips all dry and cracked, his nose all burnt and peeled.

"I’ve walked this day near forty miles along the old Barcoo
And to buy a drink I haven’t got the means.
I’m thirsty an’ I’m weary, an’ I’m flamin’ famished too,
‘Cos for weeks I’ve eaten nothin’ but a can of flamin’ beans!"

A kindly stockman took his arm and led him to the bar,
Where each in turn, they shouted him a beer,
And soon the poor old swagman, who had walked that day so far,
Was filled with joviality and rollicking good cheer.

But as the beer into his empty stomach swirled and tumbled
From below a gurgling began to come,
As round his bowels a mighty head of gas built up and rumbled
Then from his rear exploded in a cataclysmic "BOOM"!

This gaseous emission (or Anglo-Saxon "fart")
Ignited with an atom-splitting "CRUMP!"
As it met a lighted match, then Windy Bill’s was blown apart.
And for the swaggie and his mates, ‘twas truly the "Last Trump"!

Well, the tiny tavern vanished, and the sheets of flying iron
Fell as far apart as Bourke and Tennant Creek,
Whilst the blokes who’d been inside it – they too apart went flyin’
And rained down in bits on Brisbane for the best part of a week!

As far away as Melbourne, people heard the clap of thunder
And a tidal wave swept down the Tasman Sea.
Whilst right out past the Alice, old Ayers Rock was split asunder
And reports of about a shower of beer came in from Albany!

In Canberra this wind of change blew through the Parliament,
Whilst Sydney shuddered from the after-shocks.
The Harbour Bridge had all its mighty iron girders bent,
And at Gundagai, The Dog was blown right off its Tucker Box!

From Lightning ridge to Birdsville, it was like a sheet of glass,
The blast had blown the sand and dust away.
There was not a tree left standing – not a single blade of grass,
And the Nullarbor was buried under thirty feet of hay!

The sea was pushed back eastward from Cape York to Byron Bay.
The swaggie’s hat was found in Wollongong,
And when the earth stopped quaking and the wind had died away
The whole continent was stifled with a nauseating pong!

A ‘State of Dire Emergency’ was everywhere declared.
The wreckage made insurance companies blench,
And newspapers around the world told how Australia’d fared,
And how it was pervaded by a horrifying stench!

For many years, the Lucky Country suffered great privations.
The land was bare, the people gaunt and raggy,
And they had to live on handouts from their kindly neighbour nations,
Just like the bloke who caused it all –the farting little swaggie!

WAKE UP, AUSTRALIA,
YOU’RE GOIN’ DOWN THE TUBES!

(Inspired by the period of constant industrial strife during the 70s and 80s. Sadly, this poem turned out to be only too prophetic!)

There are firms who’ve cut their staffs down ‘cause their employees demand
Bigger wages, shorter hours, less energy.
There’s recession, unemployment, runnin’ rife across the land
An’ it’s all been brought about by workin’ blokes like you an’ me!

There’s a silent bunch of workers standin’ listenin’ in the works
While a red-faced bloke harangues ’em through a mike
Askin’ why the fat-cat bosses should enjoy their lurks an’ perks,
Knowin’ well there’s always urgers on the lookout for a strike!

There’s a fair few idle bludgers in the Unemployment queue
Who regard the Dole as money for old rope.
Though there’s honest blokes among ’em who are workers tried an’ true,
Who trudge the streets in search of jobs without much bloody hope!

There’s the well-paid Public Servants who have Government limousines
(And have well-dressed wives, each with a well-lined purse!)
Who enjoy "extended lunch-hours" an’ have independent means,
And don’t really give a stuff that unemployment’s gettin’ worse.

But there’s still some willin’ workers who will burn the midnight oil,
An’ strive their best to earn their daily bread,
Who go homeward worn and buggered from their daily sweat an’ toil.
But they’re a breed from yesteryear - that’s bloody nearly dead!

I just can’t understand it – don’t I suppose I never will -
Though I know the problem’s bloomin’ hard to crack.
But it’s hardest on us battlers, who must foot the flamin’ bill,
An’ carry these bone-idle, skivin’ bludgers on our back!

For a country that’s so richly been endowed with Nature’s wealth
Should be OUT IN FRONT – not fightin’ for its life!
It should be self-sufficient - standin’ proudly by itself,
Not undermined by corporate greed and senseless bloody strife!

No! There’s only one solution that I know will not appeal
To the loafers, but I’ll say it without fear.
Put your noses to the grindstone, an’ your shoulders to the wheel,
And get your big fat, lazy bloody arses into gear!

‘Cause if we don’t get goin’ - if we hang around an’ wait –
Then our country WILL go down, without a doubt!
So let’s get Australia movin’, mates, before it’s all too late,
An’ some bloody FOREIGN companies step in an’ sort us out!

THE WISDOM OF THE OLD KOALA

Written after a day spent sketching koalas in the bush

One day as I meandered through the silent bushland fair
Escaping from the tumult of the world
I spied, up in a big gum tree, an old koala bear
His limbs around the ancient treetrunk curled.

I sat down on a nearby rock, beside a little creek,
And watched him as he gently swayed aloft,
Then, to my great astonishment, I heard the creature speak
In a voice that, like the wind, was warm and soft.

"O, Man, I greet you and I bid you welcome to the wild,
For I sense in you a soul that means no hurt
To the creatures of the Bushland, who gentle meek and mild,
Or the humble ant that scurries through the dirt."

"I see you bring no stick that bangs out smoke and scatters blood,
And I see you bear no instruments of fire.
Nor do you carry iron teeth to rend the living wood,
And neither do you care any snares of wire."

"You do not fill our forest with that cacophonous sound
That others of your kind so often do,
Nor do you shatter shards of cutting glass upon the ground,
Or cruelly crush our plants beneath your shoe."

"Yes, I have often watched you in your visits to the bush
And observed your skills with painting brush and pen,
Wherewith you have recorded well the silent woodland’s hush
And conveyed its beauty to the world of Men."

"That world of Man! I know it well, for I have lived there too.
For when I was an infant I was found
Beside my slaughtered mother, and was taken to a zoo,
Locked in a cage that humans clustered round!"

"Yes. I saw their thronging faces and I heard their noisy chatter,
And I longed for night to fall and bring us peace,
And I prayed each day to hear the welcome raindrops pitter-patter
Which might cause the tide of tormentors to cease."

"For in their faces I saw passions that made me fear all Men,
The cruelty, the jealousy, the greed,
And I thought that I would never see my forest home again –
That only by my death, would I be freed!"

"But one glorious night a keeper left our prison door agape
And out we crept into the evening breeze.
Through softly waving branches we made good our swift escape’
Till morning found us far away amidst our native trees!"

"So here I rest in tranquil peace, alone, and gladly so,
And watch you ply your painting-brush and pen,
For I am in my Heaven, whilst you, alas, must go
Back to noisy, fearful world of Men!"

I must have dozed awhile, for when I woke the bear had gone,
And lengthening shadows told me night was close.
But as I plodded homeward bound toward the setting sun’
I envied that koala and his Eden-like repose!

"YOU KNOW?"

How often one meets people wherever one may go
Who always end each sentence with the dreaded "Like, you know…"
And one encounters others with a slightly different ring,
Who round of every comment by adding – "Sort of thing…"

Then, yet again, one meets the type who’ve found a different rut,
And terminate each statement by simply adding –"But…"
So now I tend to go around with mouth clamped tightly shut
In case I catch that same disease – "Like, you know, sort of, but…!"

HOW I MET MY MAKER

A Cautionary Tale for Drink-Drivers

I was driving along full of booze and song feeling footloose and fancy free,
Till I missed a bend and met my end at the base of an old gum tree.
I was killed stone dead and my spirit sped through the stars all burning bright
Until at last, through an archway vast, I came to a place of Light.

As I gaped in awe, ‘twas then I saw a bloke with a big Black Book
At a desk of gold, and I went all cold as he gave me a knowing look.

I knew in a trice, this was Paradise and my Maker I’d soon behold,
For he sat before a huge white door with "GOD" inscribed in gold!
The angel wrote in the book a note, then he said, with a friendly grin:
God’s expecting you, so take a pew. I’ll nod when he wants you in!"

So I sat and shook by the big Black Book as waited my turn to be judged,
And recalled the strife I’d caused in Life; how I’d cursed and lied and bludged.
My finest pals had been animals, more straight and true than men.
I felt sad, despite my present plight, that I’d not see them again.

Then as I mused how I’d cursed and boozed I heard a faint bell chime
And the angel’s nod at the door marked "God" told me this was Judgment Time!
So I crossed the floor to the big white door, and the door swung open wide
And God sat there in a great big chair, and He beckoned me inside.

"Come in, my son, for your life is done and it’s time we had a chat.
Relax a while till I’ve checked your file, then we’ll talk of this and that!"
And, as He spoke the Angel bloke stepped in with a well-thumbed file
That bore my name, and I burned with shame, as I thought of my record vile.

But God flipped quick through the pages thick then He placed my file aside.
He said: "Well, my lad, that’s not too bad – I’ve got worse than you inside!"
"For at least I see you’ve believed in Me, though you’ve took My Name in vain,
And I’ll just ignore how you drank and swore when you lived on the Earthly plane."

"So now you’re here, I must make it clear that you’ll have to mend your ways,
For you’ll be with Me for Eternity and there’ll be no time to laze!"
At that, He rose from His soft repose and He took me by the hand,
And bade me peer through a window clear, out over the Heavenly Land.

And what I saw, made gasp in awe, for the view was a wondrous sight,
A landscape drawn by no artist born and all bathed in a golden light!
And there I viewed a great multitude of all creatures great and small,
Yet in all that place - of the human race, there very few at all!

Then God said: "Son, all the work I’ve done since the time when I first began
Has been near destroyed, and I’m much annoyed by the wicked deeds of Man!"
"For he had free will for good or ill, to do as his conscience decided.
But he’s decimated and desecrated the world that I provided!"

"The flowers and trees, the birds and bees, the beasts and the fish as well,
The land and sea were made by ME – but ‘twas Man created Hell!"
So I’ve refused to take those who used My world for their evil ends,
But I welcome those fine souls who chose to live as Nature’s friends."

Then He turned to me and He said: "D’you see why I’m accepting you?
Though your sins were bad by Man’s laws, lad, by My Laws, they were few!"
"For Man-made Rules are designed by fools, for other fools to follow,
But all My Laws are scorned because Man’s faith in Me is hollow."

"But you have trod in the path you should, you have loved My creatures well.
So now you may in Heaven stay and with My creatures dwell!"
Then He told me where to collect my pair of wings and my golden harp,
But as I turned to leave, God grabbed my sleeve and said in tones quite sharp -

"Before you go, I would like to know what you think your fine should be
For knocking a chunk out of the trunk of my favourite old gum tree!"

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