Poem Number 181 - A Pre-selection of Preselectors - 29/9/1986

I was one of the first to arrive at ‘ The Hakoah’

Some people I spoke too backstabbed some candidates to stand.

They spoke with a fiery torch in their hands,

The audience was to decide: out of ten a good man.

To myself, the first round of speeches show all the difference,

They all outlined that to win, ‘Phillip’ needs a team of full campaign management and working.

That all discussed why they should win,

Not at all ‘why’ and ‘what’ would happen if they lose!

Not at all had good qualities to be represented,

But at least six should have been given a proud dance.

That was not to happen, everything went haywire,

The results of elimination were quite clear of the numbers.

For one ‘Dickhead’ of a candidate (the youngest of all),

Had brought out a prepared speech of not his own,

And read out in staggered sentences of which he couldn’t understand,

The laughable comments, which slipped out of his mouth.

Then when the question time commenced,

He had answered the few, by a short ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.

That he was ridiculed by himself,

And left us, our entire crowd with laughter.

This young bastard had the audacity to run,

This young hoodlum had the idea he’d win.

For his numbers had grown to ten,

And the day had arrived for him to go around, the bend.

He help eliminate, one by one; the candidates,

His end ambition had been rather surprising, to us all.

One should have 303’d him with no breath alert,

To ensure that the mockery was not made into reality.

Ray Collins was elected our new candidate for ‘Phillip’,

Ray has the suave personality to make us reach him.

To tell the community to rest assured,

That his representation to Canberra will be heard of, for sure!

Poem Number 180 - Ron Morris: My Good Old Friend Of Years - 27/9/1986

Ron Morris: a good friend whether drunk or sober,

Has been a great assistance with me for over two years.

We do not use each other within the word: friendship,

We rely on continual communication and discuss major problems.

These problems may be mostly political,

But we help each other, by words of advice.

Some people can’t stand his attitude of appearing stone drunk at functions,

But Ron is only human and can take little pain.

His nice side (of which everyone has!), ids the care of his parents,

Although around their middle seventies and eighties, both his mum and dad come first.

A staunch Carlton supporter (VFL), since younger years,

He’ll watch every game they play, until they take home ‘The Cup’,

Ron’s been supporting the ‘Liberals’ in campaigns of fifteen years,

And by true Aussie nature, the colors he’ll wear for joy.

And like me, he likes to assist in the organization of the party,

Because he’s in there, with spirit and he’ll back up the right people.

If anyone bad-mouths Ron, for any reason at all,

I tell him instantly, so he is aware.

I do not say this to him just to create a stir,

I do so, so Ron is put in the right picture. 

Poem Number 179 - Stunned Amusement Or Entertained Confusion - 27/9/1986

Only a three-hour sleep within the last couple twelve hours,

And yet, my body is forcing me to sleep it off.

While awaiting my girlfriend, finishing her Saturday work,

I sober my thoughts on the night of the last.

A grand opening of a Kings Cross disco/night club,

A grand night of requesting the vegetation of girls to the floor.

Free drinks galore to cater Lionel and myself,

An occasional joke of satisfaction and entertainment swapped between us.

The city sights from this disco/night club of ‘The Cross’,

Had the upper class touch of feeling, with warm smiles around.

The women of such stunning dress appearance,

During songs, in pairs light-footed, to a dance.

Oh, how I wish today wasn’t today, but yesterday!

With rememberable thoughts of approaching the human female,

And the swallowing of drinks going all the way down,

Adding a touch of class to the feet tapping, on the disco floor.

Knock backs after knock backs, fell flat on my face,

Acquaintances of us, all watched every move, I made.

The overall reaction left them either with stunned amusement or entertained confusion,

The end result of this ongoing persistence was three out of twenty-four to dance. 

Poem Number 178 - The Mulot Family - 24/9/1986

I thought I only had my Australian family,

My Australian family, of Mum and Dad and Anne-Marie.

But now, my mother of great courage has traveled,

To resee and relive her family of much esteem.

I was scared that my mother, wouldn’t come back,

I tried hot to shed my dreaded tears away.

But, by drop and drop: they counted the days,

Of her overjoyment of reuniting this great family.

I telephone-called from thousands of miles away,

Just because I was jealous to miss her,

But as soon as I spoke no real feelings did I hide,

Just tender loving care of words, on another’s’ countryside.

For Anne-Marie, my sister of whom I would care and die for,

I didn’t realize such great brotherly love, I share for her.

As the weeks did turn the days so fast,

I was thinking of the hurt, I caused to her in the past.

If you look back at me, this very instant day,

No money, just be loving of the greater futures, in my way.

I feel as if I should know you all ‘Mulot Family’,

But not being or seeing anyone of you here, determines it to be that way.

All I can say for a large family of integrity,

Are that and what my Aunties and uncles had suffered through WW2.

In an experience that only you’ll share,

And that’s why your children with you, will care.

For cousins who aren’t married by their beauty,

They will, by the time of 1990, be man caring.

To such a lovable man who’ll won’t rip you off,

But be home by day and by night, and all the time.

For the young cousin, who is a thinkable man of prestige,

Let me share your experience of a lifetime.

Be it what come may. We are all of the same blood,

For let us all reunite with the gate of open floods.

The ‘Mulot family’ of love and personal strength,

May the world be lingered towards your golden hands.

I am John of man-like Mulot, of such kindness,

Open your hearts and minds; come over to see us, in Australia? 

Poem Number 177 - Wow! Such A Weekend And Monday Night!

Wow! Such a wonderful weekend and Monday night!

To a twenty-first party of such beauty of girls.

A night of talking to girls with little ease,

To meet such a nice crowd of young people.

To my delight, Lionel and Paul wanted to go there,

To explore a night of such lonesome women, all around.

But as the night had drawn closer to a crowd of a midnight café,

My friend Lionel was walking outside with Rene.

The woman whom had prepared the chicken of garlic galore,

The woman whom had kissed Lionel and left with an ulcer.

At the very next day, Lionel said he didn’t want to know her,

My reasonable thoughts are because he still loves his own Cathy.

With Paul, grass-skiing in the front with Lyndal,

Both had been left with green marks on their clothes.

But never the less, Paul had made it with her once,

And broken the condom, after a coming instance.

‘Sir Rodney-Rude Lloyd’ flashed his leather tie around,

And interrupted conversations of other loves.

Carrying on………like a hypocrite of the ‘sixties’,

Talking to an ‘Alison girl’ of blond sweetness.

On Monday night after a movie, ‘ A fine mess’,

The 'Svensons’ turned out to great success to Lionel and myself,
Cathy and Karen (young HSC’ers of 1986),

Dancing and talking to both of us, with such ease.

Meeting with Michael, a nineteen year old manager,

With an interesting past lifestyle history,

Telling me, of special jobs he does for coppers,

Just so, he doesn’t get booked for car speeding.

And then a fire commenced amongst the Club’s ferns,

I jumped, to put out what needed to be destroyed.

Whether it was set deliberate or just out of sprite,

I ended up with two cans of beer, for being a small time firefighter. 

Poem Number 176 - Megan: A Punnet Of Chips - 19/9/1986

A punnet of chips’, is what Megan asked for,

With the background and accent of a New Zealander.

To meet on a train station and talk for a time,

Is something of amazement, to my understanding.

Many times on city streets or shops, I’ll try to talk to unknown people,

Trying to cheer up their hearts and sad souls.

I sometimes get, ‘Get fucked!’ or ‘Well done’! results,

And mostly no results are felt, at all.

But an incredible achievement was made on last Saturday,

To approach and speak to a girl of unknown qualities.

This girl (I thought when I first met), was twenty,

But to my surprise, she was sweet young seventeen.

We chattered of all different topics,

On the train, Mathew was bored and left aside,

For the train journey, traveled in my distance,

To a two game ten pin bowling night, of sexual desire.

The rest of the night was such a disaster,

That I couldn’t touch or near a young girl of sweet kisses.

A young non-Australian of kiwi-tongue: licking of taste,

The splendor of such sweet femininity of our world.

WHAT A NICE GENUINE WORLD WE LIVE IN!!!

Poem Number 175 - Anna Of Basketball - 19/9/1986

A leather-jackettered woman of young,

Whose scores by playing the real game: basketball.

A woman of happy go luck,

And charm of all beaut ages.

A cheerful lady of such quality,

Who looks after her brothers and sisters, like her own family,

May she of woman, she’d like to be,

Live a life of fun and high esteem.

They may say that she’s ‘easy go round’,

But she’s just like any woman; she’s easy to talk too.

There’s a moon beyond the shinning sun,

And Anna’s the sun in front of the moon.

The moon will only appear when the sun goes,

And that’s just what it takes to a man that shows.

Drink like any normal teenage to twenty-five,

There’s an enormous strengthness of disco fever,

When you meet such an energetic female,

That will point-score with playing and accelerating.

Poem Number 174 - 'Paddi' Of Richness Of Color

Such a sweet lovable ‘Paddi’ is she,

She responses to deep red beauty,

Not the beauty of purple (which shows anguish),

It is the red blood, of life and generosity.

She’s no longer a poor Irish Paddi with sadness and no prosperity,

Her gold is how she is with the richness of color.

The colors of the rainbow, that glows in the dark,

That the tree of Brendan’s love doesn’t need the bark tree.

For Brendan of young bearded blue,

Paddi is the latest of young and new.

Her body and Irish appearance grow to maturity,

One day she’ll leave Australia. She’ll leave with joy!

Paddi’s brother who’ll remain here will shed tears,

With his size and strength. He’ll be able to look after himself.

There’ll be a few people over here she’ll miss,

But back at home; they’ll all have missed her with love (especially her mother: Ann).

The experience of friendship from two countries shows strength,

The strength of love and humanity of all kind.

There’s a difference between friends of Ireland and Australia,

She’ll never forget the “Aussie Beer” as against to the “Irish coffee”! 

Poem Number 173 - Man, Grown Man - 14/9/1986

For someone who is a current non-alcoholic,

It isn’t hard to spot his liquors drinks.

He may camouflage his glass with his gross hands,

But never will he drink lightly, on the side.

For someone who likes practicable jokes at work

He will never mean to act so young.

With looks of a twenty year old,

There is a bright smile on his face, to be sold.

Sold to the top forty lists of acquaintances,

Of young illegal sexual age.

For he who never stops with girls,

Will always have a good start.

May he who not smoke,

If so, only once every three months,

Be smart in not introducing me to his friend,

Who, same like me, does smokes.

At least, he’ll grow out of his immaturity,

But only time will take its course,

To result with a man-grown-man,

And on his feet, take his feet on the stand.

The ladies say that he is smart,

But the ones that say that to him are tarts.

The guys all look at him, as a macho-man image,

And then, they throw him for a show, on his own stage. 

Poem Number 171 - Colleen's Lifestyle Appears - 14/9/1986

I see a head of a young feminine woman, sunken in sheets,

For she, who I think is in her old teens.

She is of nice personality and of course, utterly decent:

Colleen is a young girl at heart.

Neatness and tidiness is her joy,

For she’ll grow up with smiles and joy,

To be a woman of a woman,

Who in turn, will like and love a special man.

With no tears dare I say,

That her fortune will come in a day,

And she’ll make individual decisions,

As the change in lifestyle appears.

For bad luck will turn into good,

Meanwhile, all is at safe first,

And the trouble starts to grow,

But your own common sense will tell you more. 

Poem Number 170 - The Pleasure And Leisure - 14/9/1986

Money means nothing too important,

To be ensuring people, are content,

Ending with a good night out,

Having fun and entertainment, all night.

My competiveness is extremely important.

My mind is not out of control,

My true colours of seniority will show,

And the result will be benefiting to all.

May mountains of the bush be flooded by the sea,

Whilst the richness of friendship, outspreads.

The ultimate soul of life’s expectancies bring forward,

The pleasure and leisure of extensive times.

Poem Number 169 - Luck And Fun - 13/9/1986

Bateau Bay is a town of houses,

And beyond is a plaza of large,

Mostly on a flat plain fields,

It doesn’t look desolated, but we are in the outer bush.

I’ve met a young crowd, who are all friendly,

Friendly with the atmosphere, so cool and reasonable personality,

All look relaxed and can cope with half country and city life,

Surf, with hot weather is their main social activity.

Many cheers and smiles from the townsfolk differ from the boredom city faces,

I’m getting the feeling that who shows themselves, alive within our rat race.

It’s so good to have a terrific break from, ‘Sydney’,

I’m glad that this invitation has brought me ‘Luck and fun’!

Poem Number 166 - - And God Made Women - 8/9/1986

As my thoughts show a cool water stream,

And a tri-colored rainbow glowing,

Tall eucalyptus trees reaching so high,

To feel the sweat of the summer’s day, come to an end.

A yonder the stream, is my true naked woman,

A clothes peg in her mouth, as she is hanging out the clothes.

Just before I see her, she tries to cover herself before, as I stare,

My eyes sparkling from her shoulders to her toe, they don’t want to change their sight.

After a tiring expedition, I feel buggered,

My bones from shoulders to toe don’t want to move.

But there is no political, persona or social worries,

There’s Carla and me, just bare and rare.

A pitched tent with little food to eat,

Sheets of sheets, to keep us at sleep.

No technological communication can be seen or heard,

No education of any kind to be taught.

I blink my eyes as I am left speechless,

And all I know is that both our interests are at best.

In the middle of nowhere, but somewhere,

Her sexual body and body language turn me on.

Dropped down is my spear of wealth,

Carla, she so beautiful, dives into this cool stream.

Splashes of water splurge onto the soil and rock ledges aside,

For a short moment, she can’t be seen and her head reappears.

Like a goldfish jumping out of a small fish-bowl to a large,

As I watch with interest, her body pushed out of the stream,

From the head to the sensuous breasts,

To a comfort lovable vagina, to the likable feet of the world.

I bring myself towards her so warm, tense body,

Her mouth drops to meet mine and tangle tongues together.

I tight-wrap her by locking my arms and hands around her,

She responds by forcing her breasts upon my chest.

My emotions take over and I’m left with sexual desires,

To no surprise, my pennies had entered her vagina, with ease.

Her breath was getting faster. Her legs spreading apart, wider,

‘And God made woman so that man………’

Poem Number 168 - My Friend 'Ron Morris' - 8/9/1986

For Ron Morris who drinks to no end,

A lot of ‘booze’ to the hilt.

It doesn’t matter whom he is with,

But any ‘freebees’, will put a smile back on his face.

A good friend of mine for over two years,

Somebody who won’t let you down, any day.

Somebody, who you can joke and laugh, everyday,

And also somebody who you can seriously talk and listen too.

Our beliefs in politics are the same,

Our beliefs in woman are all the same,

For we’ll gamble a bit together,

To obtain a profit of some kind.

For Ron, whose lead an active life, in younger years,

For Ron, who will comfort you at home.

Watching the favorite sport on VFL,

At least, I favor the ‘Swans’ and he, the ‘ Carlton Blues’.

Poem Number 167 - Lost Virginity - 8/9/1986

The moonlight night seemed to have been long,

But for some young couple of teen years,

Their shadows would be coming to the light of the night,

As both their virginity would have disappeared for long.

They lied to each other before they agreed,

As they wanted to ensure the other, that they were experts.

Experts enough to excuse bleeding and uncertainty,

On the aspect of how to perform sexual intercourse.

At least, they chose the right atmosphere,

At least, they were released of pressure from parents.

Twitching nerves and fumbling of all sorts,

Presented the final shocked result for them.

For a girl, who was a young seventeen,

For a guy, who is reaching eighteen.

The sweat poured right from the start,

Not a single word said, not even a fart!

They now have been married for many years,

And never have ended either in tears.

They have rested their undressed minds on a sandy beach,

Unpolluted by any youngster and talk of past, until sunset.