Poem Number 198 - Bearded Men - 21/1/1987

Once out of adolescence for a young man,

He may want to try to grow hair, on his face.

This maybe so, if there is something wrong with his personality,

And he wants to spring up to his girlfriend, his new surprise.

To start of, there are five ways you could grow a beard,

All of which are easy to do.

It’s just a matter of time and patience,

Before you will obtain a perfect result on your face.

The first, is to grow an ‘Elvis Presley’ side burn,

Which will turn on the teenage girls, to show red faces,

Or you either have a moustache that is groomed,

To curl the ends of the moustache, pointing up!

To be smart and to look so presentable,

You grow a neat moustache whilst every day; cutting its length,

Or to grow a complete ‘Goatee’, to suit yourself,

Or a full-length beard, to keep the flies away! 

Poem Number 197 - Bus Stop Woman Pick Up - 21/1/1987

This mood I was in just two days gone,

Brought out more guts, than I’ve ever had before.

The instantaneous thought, was like a band drummer…rolling on,

Rolling on…non-stop, from morning to dark.

Just one quick drink of bear I digested,

After that, I remember myself seating in the middle of a seat

Watching for any lonely, kind and good looking woman,

To sit next to me, so I could observe her, carefully.

And so it happened! It happened she was sitting on my right side,

And I perved at her, she displayed her legs.

Watching her seat, ‘Macdonald’s Nuggets’, one by one,

Yet her body was small enough for me to handle all over.

Her hair of brunette, showing of young woman still to grow,

And then her face appeared and showed me: AGED THIRTY.

But she, who I wouldn’t stop looking at (as my eyes were watery),

Kept on munching and eating away, anyway.

For a moment I had thought I lost her,

As she got up and  ‘Did the right thing!’

By disposing of her ‘Macdonald’s leftovers’,

In the nearest and closest, footpath rubbish bin.

Her actions, her body movements kept attracting my eyes,

As I thought of what conversation could I start on and say,

So that a dress would come true, to have her as my date,

Whilst the result of true love and bedding, be safe!

To caress her with my blue eyes,

To unwrap her warmly clothes,

To feel and touch her skins softness,

To make love to her in gentle ways.

I spoke and yet she heard,

I poked and yet she replied.

We both returned conversations to each other,

And then I asked if she’d accept a date, with me?

Well, with little shock to be seen on her face,

She answered with a sweet affirmative voice.

Quite a shock to hear, ‘Yes!’ I asked for her contact details,

Whilst she didn’t want mine, she completely denied for her to ring me.

Well, how did I feel, as I was first to get my bus?

Even when I had passed by the driver, inside the bus,

She raced to the front door of the bus; she passed over my forgotten brolly,

And in my own mind I said, 'Isn’t that a beaut, cute woman?'

Well, two days have since passed,

When I picked up this woman, at the bus stop.

Already, I’ve made my second approach using the phone,

And also she accepted a light date with me, next week.

Some people would say by now, ‘what a beautiful ending!’

But really it could be a start to an understanding, long lasting relationship,

Of one that would make either: break the others heart apart,

Or one of everlasting peace, love care for someone special. 

Poem Number 196 - Port Macquarie Disease - 15/1/1987

I’ve got that ‘Port Macquarie Disease’ affecting me,

Making me feel that in my retirement days, I’ll stay here.

And when I’ll arrive back to Sydney next week,

They that know me so well, will ask me why I have changed my diet, by holidaying?

For it has been a good long twelve years stand,

Since last time, I arrived here as a young child.

To have no asthma attack or nightly mosquitoes,

To consistently hear the bashing of waves from the ‘Pacific’.

For the townsfolk I know or have met this holiday,

Have been so nice and comforting like good old friends.

From restaurateur to the potterer, to the vineyard of Hastings,

To taste the grapes of vine, to end up to dine.

With beaches compared to Sydney, it is not too crowded,

And the people sun-baked to a tan of raw brown.

Whilst the waves hit the coastal shorelines,

With continual ease, softness of breeze.

For a town that is 'over businesses', from what I see,

To the tourism industry, there is a lot to show for it.

To relax, to lay back, to take it easy,

Was like in the RSL, to me…a big winner!

I bet the summer season is over,

The owners and proprietors are deserted with no customers,

And the preparation of goods and services,

Are accommodated for the next summer season. 

poem Number 195 - Small Holiday - 7/1/1987

What a relief it feels, to go on a small holiday!

Away from al the paperwork of control and controversy,

And from the routine questions of daily problems,

Away from the perils of creating and solving mistakes.

Saying ‘Goodbye’ to everyone,

To tell them how long I’ll be,

To know that all might be in safe hands,

Is such a good feeling to me!

Poem Number 194 - Criminals At Large - 6/1/1987

For all that has been given to us by others,

Are special gifts of gold, packed in nice little bundles.

The kind-hearted souls who reach out and pour,

They keep on pouring with beautiful over pouring results.

Those whom greed for no love of mankind,

Those whom don’t Share and cherish the relationship of love,

Those whom in their only evil minded meaningless attitude,

Have no end result of glory and won’t be forgiven.

Smiles saddened faces rarely occur,

The laughs of the dead cannot be heard.

The cries of the unknown children of future generations

Will be the results of what mankind has taught.

Anyone can go right up to somebody and beg,

Anyone can go right up to somebody and borrow,

But nobody should go right up to somebody and steal,

And nobody should go right up to somebody to buy him or her out.

What in this world of ours, will kill the continuous crimes?

Who has the guts to order or push the button of an electric execution?

Where will all the criminals go to, when they admit their sins/

Why is punishment made easier for criminals, while society is burdened with their problems?

Hang these men and women of backgrounds,

Let their skin rot under god’s created soil,

And let their stinking bones burn and dry to ashes,

And this will tell them, to not enter our clean proper community again.’