A Fond Farewell

I am the greatest puddle chaser that’s ever lived in Tas,
Because of the attitude and all the courage that I has,
There’s not a bunny rabbit nor a possum can outrun,
This demon of the speedsters when the race has fair begun,
I’ll find them in the mulga an’ in the scrub I’ll search,
So that none of them can ever my goodly name besmirch.

Kevin, who comes here with me is forever on the look,
To make sure I do not vanish into a scrubby nook,
But I am well ahead of him an’ he knows it to be true,
For if I were to scarper there’d be a flamin’ blue.
So I’ll do me level best to scare the things away,
And carry on a walkin’ as we do so every day.

The plan is woeful easy for a dog like me to know,
We rise at six and thirty an’ make ready for the go,
We’ll head off, perhaps in his little four-wheel drive,
Or track across the paddock when the sheep will take a dive,
To let us pass unhindered and them in peace to be,
While him and me with careful eye take in all we can see.

Sometimes we venture far afield o’er hills an’ valleys green,
Sometimes we visit places that the day before we have been,
But together we are travelling like mates so often do,
A ponderin’ on the world an’ solvin’ problems new,
We work at it while marchin’ him callin’ out to me,
‘Clancy boy, where are you now, come on oh can’t you see.

It’s time for heading back and you cannot hide like that,
It’s not the world you’re looking for it’s some silly wally’s scat.
Come on you pup, you renegade, you’re a devil on four legs,
Don’t have me chase in after you it’ll be the bleeding dregs.’
So out I come as nice as pie not wishin’ for a blue,
Nor have ‘im in an apoplexy, an’ then me day to rue.

We settle down and step sedate the way back that we came,
I’ve had me fun he’s had his walk it’s really just a game,
And other things of great import are waiting to be done,
There’s jobs a plenty at the homestead it’s time they were begun,
Some folks have come to say hello an’ brought with them a dog,
I can see we’ll make it fine me an’ him as solid as a log.

We’ll share the home but not me bed nor grub I’ll give to him,
I’m keen to please an’ welcome them you know I am not dim,
But the very greatest joy I have is when I see them leave,
With throwing stick I dance about a twirling an’ a heave,
Into the air and down again I catch it in me gob,
To help them on their way I’ve learned this handy job.

It works you know for soon they’re gone with smiles and waves galore,
Leavin’ me to do me work an’ tally up the score,
But now me days are shortening an’ grindin’ to a close,
I can see round one last bend the end is comin’ I suppose,
It’s been fine to share the joys and the love they gave to me,
With him and her we were a team a team you’d rarely see.

I’ll tell you this an’ listen well for I have a bit to say,
Me time with you has just been great in each an’ every way,
I’ve done more things than any dog an’ that’s the truth to tell,
I’ve done ‘em good I’ve done ‘em smart I’ve done ‘em bloody well,
And now I’m for a well earned rest to cool me heels I’d say,
So long, adieu, farewell dear mate I knows I’m on me way.

Don’t fret old chum it aint too bad this is the way it has to be,
We all come here an’ have to go there is no other way you see,
You know dear Kev, I’d be a burden if I had to hang around,
I’ll go real quiet I promise mate without a single sound.
So say goodbye an’ have a grin, go on smile for me ,please do,
‘Cause when it comes to be your turn, I’ll do the same for you.


From Clancy, for me best mate, Kevin.
Transcribed very carefully by Adrian. 30th July, 2011.

Back to work - hopefully

After such a long absence I think that our blog might have found a new lease of life - hopfully. I have been e-mailing Bill Guy in South Australia to see if he might have a go and deposit a few verses for our enjoyment. Other than that, if anyone else can muster the courage, interest or enthusiasm to throw in a poem or two, that would be appreciated.

I had thought that the Blog might have been discontinued by Google. Thankfully it was there when I sought to put on my effort for St Columba Day. Well that's it for now. I do look forward to seeing something new very soon.

Thank you everyone.

Adrian.

Ode to Saint Columba

We are here today to sing the praise
Of a daring Irishman who set his world ablaze
By sailing far from old Eire’s shore
To convert the pagans by the score

He took to the sea without much care
And with his mates did keenly dare
To forage in a new land where he wished to be
Spreading God’s blessing for all to see

But word of this great man’s new deeds
Without much effort him precedes
To far off lands where now he’s known
And where over time his fame has grown

Columcill he was called when just a boy
But changed his name in a cunning ploy
And as Columba he’ll be widely known
For that’s the name this priest does own

And in Tassie there’s a waterfall where you can go
That bears his name for all to know
So get you there and have a look
At the might work nature undertook

So every time you see this sight
Be it a gentle flow or in its might
Just think of that great Saint beyond
Who did not from his Scottish isle abscond

And sail across the world to view
Those falls, that have been named anew
For if he had, the truth be known
The Aborigines might have turned to stone

When they saw that man all dressed in green
As an Irish priest would have surely been
He’d call to them, in Gaelic broad
But he could not strike a willing cord

For they would know, he was here to stay
To spread the gospel each and every day
While in the waters that now bear his name
He’d wash them for the Christian game

And turn them from their own belief
And steal their culture like a thief
Before he would quietly slip away
To collect his sainthood as a worthy pay

Well now my story is at an end
Has it sent you round the flipping bend
But truth to tell, it’s easy just to say
Saint Columba’d wish you well this happy day

ExStanza is having a break - sort of!

Hello everyone,

As all can see who read this Blog, precious little has been posted to it since April this year. That is because we have pulled the blinds down for a while to let some of our members do other things.

Do not be disheartned, I am sure that we will be back as good as new in the not too distant future. In the meantime, the Blog is available for any and all our members to post a poem. The fact that we will not be gathering to share it in person ought not matter. The important thing is to keep on writing poetry. Allowing your work to be read by all is a benefit to both the writer and reader.

My recommendation is, therefore, get with it and compose so that we might be able to share your words and thoughts.

Adrian.

Kym's Limericks

1.
There once was a man named Adrian
Who was Irish and not a Bavarian
Twelve limericks he asked
I tended to gasp!
A task not very Herculean.

2.
There once was a poem called the limerick
A ribald verse written as a gimmick
Popularised by Lear
1846 was the year
Now that we know we can give this ditty the flick!

3.
The grey nomads are on their adventure
Before the onset of dementia
A group of girls were all talking-
They've gone off a-walking
So my limerick is read in absentia.

4.
There once was a lass turning fifty
Who pulled off a most marvellous swifty
She got back to her roots
By walking in boots
And declared that this was really quite nifty!

5.
A great group of friends once gathered
For Easter, nothing else mattered
The fish it was ling
Such a beautiful thing
A feast where the taste buds all lathered.
Kym Matthews.

Limericks by AK

1

There was a young boy from Rinanna
Who was sent out to buy a banana
He could only find sticks
So went off to the flicks and when
He got home told a bunch of lies to his mamma.

2

There was an old man from New Jersey
Who wanted to swim ‘cross the Mersey
He took a high dive in the water
But then thought that he oughta
Get a boat to the Island of Gurnsey.

3

There once was a fat dancer from All Hallows
Who did her steps in the shallows
She was seen by the queen who
Let forth with her spleen
And sent her quite quick to the gallows.

4

There was a young man from the city
Who often thought it a pity
To ride on a bus
Without making a fuss
Of the folk who keep it so pretty.

5

There was a young maid from Galfairy
Who worked every day in a dairy
She milked all the cows
With the help of some Fraus
And gave the ice cream to sweet Mary.

6

There was a young man from Bombay
Who travelled to Rome in a quick way
He crossed all the mountains and lakes
With every short cut that it takes
To see why it was not built in a day.

7

I would dearly like to compose
A great work of poetry or prose.
I sit long into the night
But am quite unable to write
So it will never be done, I suppose.

8

The trees are all green with deep shade,
The ideal resting place for a young maid
Who wants to know more
Of the forest’s greats lore
And how on earth to get laid.

9

To save Tasmania’s old trees,
And bring that horrid Gunns to its knees,
We will do it with honesty by voting,
Which will put a stop to their rorting,
Because deep down we are Greens

10

A Limerick it takes ten seconds to read,
With some doing it less if at speed,
Now I have asked you for twelve,
So into the format you’ll delve,
And hopefully that’s all we will need.

11

There’s a wonderful group called ExStanza,
Whose main aim in life is to organza,
A verse that might rhyme,
If given the time,
Then the members will have a bonanza.

12

Now Jan runs a local book group,
Once a month they discuss in their coupe,
All the stories they choose,
With the talk that accrues,
Makes this a most formidable troupe.

13

Ian Matthews rides a bright red machine,
Around the streets of St Helens so keen,
Each day he’ll prevail,
To deliver the mail,
On the nippiest motorcycle to be seen.

Myths and Legends

History's pages are littered with legends
They come from land and sea
Their feats achieved from the much maligned
Or fearless gallantry.

Sailors huddled together
Taking comfort from the fire
Reading Greek classics
And absorbing mythological tales -
Of Jason and The Argonauts
Plying different dimensions
Homeric proportions.
Camping beneath canvas -
The sails of their sailing ship
In a quiet cove of water
Beyond the reach of the gale.

A warrior chief watches from afar
As these pale spirits enter his realm.
He meant to save his people
By meeting with their charge
Only to meet a tragic fate
Far away from his sacred land.

Few of their names are here
Though a little seeking will reveal
Their mark has left its trace.
A solitary rock to Kunnanara Kuna -
A memorial in place.

Hesitantly a township grew
Around that gentle bay
Emerging into a brave new world
With nomenclature intact.
There is Medea Cove
Along with Homer and Jason Streets
Argonaut can be found-
The sailors' stories and histories
Etched upon the landscape.

Myths and legends can blur and blind
One a tale of imagination
Explaining away the cause of our being
In a dreamtime beyond all knowing.
The other a thing to be read
Known and studied -
A collection of lives traditionally told
To further our own morality.

Me, I prefer another definition
Recounted by a modern Scottish bard
Legend is rumour plus time
That will do me fine.


Kym Matthews
6th February 2010

The Frivolous Cake

A freckled and frivolous cake there was
That sailed upon a pointless sea.
Or any lugubrious lake there was
In a manner emphatic and free.
How jointlessly, and how jointlessly
The frivolous cake sailed by
On the waves of the ocean that pointlessly
Threw fish to the lilac sky.

Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was
Of a glory beyond compare.
And every conceivable make there was
Was tossed through the lilac air.

Up the smooth billows and over the crests
Of the cumbersome combers flew
The frivolous cake with a knife in the wake
Of herself and her curranty crew.
Like a swordfish grim it would bounce and skim
(This dinner knife fierce and blue)
And the frivolous cake was filled to the brim
With the fun of her curranty crew.

Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was
Of a glory beyond compare -
And every conceivable make there was
Was tossed through the lilac air.

Around the shores of the Elegant Isles
Where the cat-fish bask and purr
And lick their paws with adhesive smiles
And wriggle their fins of fur.
They fly and fly 'neath the lilac sky -
The frivolous cake, and the knife
Who winketh his glamorous indigo eye
In the wake of his future wife.

The crumbs blow free down the pointless sea
To the beat of a cakey heart
And the sensitive steel of the knife can feel
That love is a race apart
In the speed of the lingering light are blown
The crumbs to the hake above
And the tropical air vibrates to the drone
Of a cake in the throes of love.


Mervyn Peake.

Here’s to a Legend

They talk in awe in Launceston of the floods of ‘29
And the rains that came and caused such disarray –
How a peak tide coincided while the heavens were divided
And the Tamar cut the town from Invermay …

And all along the riverfront the waters swirled and rose
With a sucking, rushing terrifying sound –
Like ants the people scattered and only one thing mattered:
To beat a fast retreat to higher ground –

But one man went against the flow from his home on Mowbray’s ridge
He leapt onto his pushbike and rode towards the bridge
For years he’d worked at Boags – drove the brewer’s dray round town:
He knew his Clydesdales in the stables there would more than likely drown …

He reached the bridge and pedalled on, the waters now waist-deep
Halfway across his bike was gone and the odds were looking steep -
But guided by the railings he swam and clawed his way
Till he reached the other side of the bridge at Invermay …

And the horses in the stables saw a figure wading near
And his presence calmed them greatly and soothed away their fear
As he gently slipped their bridles on and stroked each massive face
Then led them through the flooded streets to a safer, higher place …

They still look back in Launceston to the floods of ‘29
And Wizard Smith’s brave act upon the day –
And how he was rewarded with a job for life at Boags
And the pride with which he drove the brewer’s dray …

And I even now imagine on a wet and wintry night
If I stood there by the river with the brewery in sight
I might spy a misty figure perched high upon a dray
With four big Clydesdales crossing the bridge at Invermay.




John McCallum
2010

Nike

My runners have a message
emblazoned on the side:
Just do it.
A slogan to inspire us all
to run the miles,
last the distance,
succeed in life.

Just do it.
An all-purpose, one-stop slogan
with special offers,
dreamed up by some advertising guru
on Madison Avenue
who wouldn’t know the real Nike
if he fell over her.

Which he might,
if he climbs Mount Olympus
on a hot Hellenic day,
wearing his expensive runners
with tight, pressed jeans
and a superior expression.
(The tourist from the bus
who looks like Dolly Parton
only bigger, thinks he’s cool.)
A legend in his own lunchtime,
full of hot air and coq au vin.

But ah, that Nike!
A goddess with class, looks, allure
and wings. The Goddess of
Strength, Speed and Victory.
Our friend might glimpse her
on the mount, hanging out with
Zeus, Apollo and their lot.

But I suspect she took off
when she saw him coming,
because she knew he couldn’t
do it.



Cathy McCallum

The Wonder of Myth

At the foot of great mount Olympus
They sing sweet songs to appease
Grumpy old Zeus, while in his
Heavenly house he would berate
The daughters of the cunning immortals
And Ares strikes his spear upon
The rocks, sparking high notes of war
To hurry the phalanx beyond the green
Valleys of the waiting Peloponnisos.

Dear, gentle Athena, teaching Apollo
How to curry favour with the tiresome Greeks
And Hector, rattling his platitudes to anyone
Who will stop singing those sweet songs
To appease grumpy old Zeus in his heaven.
Oh! That we should have to know such
Mind numbing codology from the long ago.

It would be far better to prattle on about mythical
Cuchulainn, tied to his tree-trunk, frightening
The enemies of the Fianna as they tried
To subdue the bold men of royal Ulster
During the wars of the ancient Celts
Spilling blood and gore in the name of
History and righteousness for all to share

Or talk about the seal-women swimming
Along Atlantic waters by the coves of Achill
Where they shed their skins and lived quietly
Among the fishermen on that barren isle
Or will we have to find more believable
Myths in the books of the past while the
Writers of the new world spill out today’s
Stories of unbelievable nonsense.

Ah! we need a Palaeolithic myth to tickle the
Blood of our listeners on this summer’s day.
Then lend an ear as I unburden myself with
The myth of the almighty serpent, spinning
Its dreamtime wonders, gouging the course of
The Murambigi and the Todd and the other
Mighty rivers of this great land, home to the
Oldest myths-makers of all time and wonder
Why their stories are not yet world renown.

Legend Bother

Stories of the legend, of past and present folk,
Are shared with all of us to help lighten up the yoke,
To make life more bearable, to ease the pain a bit,
Well it’s all a load of rubbish, a load of ol’ bullshit.

For there is no special hero nor heroine that I can name,
Who would pass the common folk in any sort of fame
And all the stories you might hear, well they are just that,
A heap of hyperbole by some PR bloke, chewing on the fat.

But let me make it plain and let me make it clear,
If we didn’t have those legends life would be pretty drear,
For without them in our midst we could become distracted,
By all the other rubbish we see each day enacted.

It’s not just the Politicians who daily scream and rant,
It’s all the other no goods who strive to be gallant
And seek the name of legend to add to all they own,
It leaves you with such an ache there’s nought to do but moan.

So here’s a thought on legend, I hope you’ll take it kind,
For if I truly wanted I could really spill my mind
And rip into those legends of every shape and style
But that would take up more than just a little while.

So a though I’ll share around and ponder it please do,
For if you were a legend, do you think you’d be true blue
Or just a load of argy-bargy to keep things as you would like
Well, if that’s the case old mate you can go and take a hike.

For a legend, no matter to whom or what the name belongs,
Is made up by a variety of mongrel worded songs
And no one can guarantee that any legend story’s true,
And that’s the rub old china, it’s really up to me and you.

We have to source the facts and dig down to what is real,
Where any legend is concerned we have to toss the spiel,
There truly is no knowing that what we read is right,
It makes you want to fume and take to them the fight.

But whoa there, grab a bit of time; see things for what they are,
Come sit over here and we’ll chat about it at the bar,
We’ll have a pint or two, maybe even more,
Then once and for all we can settle this legend score.



There’s heaps of legend tales, go on just take your pick,
You can start the game, I’ll make it easy, you, have first kick,
It is difficult I know but be a sport and give it all you can,
For most of them, those legends, got up and then they ran

Rings round the rest of us, humanity I’m talking about
Those legends took no prisoners they truly caused a rout
And scattered any opposition, no dallying there for sure,
So, if you want to challenge them, don’t be so demure.

Get in and sock it to them, give it all your might,
Take it to those legends it is your human right,
For if you don’t they’ll smash you to the ground
And have you on the ropes before you make a sound.

For the legends will have won and left you mighty dazed
And the chance to overpower them will make you feel half crazed,
So before you stand upright and go in to bat once more,
I’ll tell one last time as you struggle from the floor.

These legends have been with us since time itself began,
Though it wasn’t Moses nor mighty Zeus who put them in the can.
It was just a bloke like you or your missus overt there
Who started all this legend stuff by sitting easy on a chair.

Boredom is the culprit you can take my word on that,
Just a couple sitting down after dinner and chewing on the fat
That is how it started they told it all to one and other
Then left it there to us to sort, this endless legend bother.


Adrian Kavanagh
February 3, 2010

The Myth of Positive Thinking

With positive thinking you can defeat death
Be happy, be brave , you can do it, you can!
I don’t want to look at your skeleton frame
Shrunk and ravaged by cancer and ready to cark
So don’t shout, don’t be angry, don’t scream at your partner
Retreat to your centre and accept your fate for
we all must die.

No positive thinking can save you from death.
So scream and be angry and rage at the light
that’s dimming before them, the unhappy kids
Who cannot accept that you’re reaching the brink
Of a great new adventure that makes you a star
Recapture your faith and toss away fear for
we all must die.

Myths and Legends

Somewhere between history, present, and past, they lurk,
Just out of sight they lie awaiting animation on my inner eye these
Fables of wisdom, luminosity of ‘otherworld’ and even life itself.
Tales of unrequited love , heroism ,for there is only victor and vanished
Passion, revenge, matricide and children lost as pawns in love and war.

What can they offer us with their glossy patina of truth these
Legends of ‘otherness’ and difference vying for our loyalty?
Power in the tribe, safe within the fulcrum of reality and disbelief?
Somewhere between the thin places, they lie claiming life in invention
In the fulcrum binding myth, legend and spirited grudging acceptance.

An Inglorious War 1914-1918

Eyes blank, bodies shatter- soar in the current of hot air
then flumph into the dirt, broken, weightless flotsam
shared life and death in the unsung coffin of the trench
Unmitigated horror all around in hues of red and black
In the distance,the rat tat tat boom reveals reluctant day
No will to dawn on carnage bloody,brutal, hopeless
hoping none have lived to see theiring horses try to rise -
Disembowelled,entrails oozing sceaming for help but there
Are no words, no living hands to comfort their distress


Evil lives in this place hovers overhead
While Death waits with gentleling arms
For Death has no glorious lustre here
Nor will age weary glorious youth in sacrifice!
No honour in the children’s lives, so cheaply bought.
They lie forever now, entombed in time, beloved sons
beloved men of heart and soul, the flowers of the field,
extinguished forever in war's futililty and gloom of loss.

Beauty and the Beast

The beast lurks within each one of us, but
Beauty brings no measure of safety.
For wearying flesh reveals writ clear
Received myths of beauty, past and present.
Tossed into deepest darkness, our beast is unredeemed
The unfit spotted mirror remind us- all are doomed
Botox,Body Sculpting, lotions foul and pungent
Create doe eyed Bratz and Barbie look-a-likes who
Search deeply their reflection for a glimpse of
Once upon a time true self, acceptance and diversity.

When The Earth Is Full

The boats keep coming
Yes the boats keep coming,
Where do people go
When the Earth is full?
Some say take them
Other say no,
But where do they go
When the Earth is full?
There are not many tigers
There are not many tunas,
Where do they go
When we fill the Earth.
Are we all that matters
Is God's creation in tatters,
Where do we go
When the Earth is full?

Ian Matthews
25th October 2009.

The Elusive Soul

Your warmth holds me,
I cannot see you,
Where art thou, O Soul,
Where doth thy hide?

I walk in pastures new
That now groweth old.
I return unto you
And cannot find thee.

In the hollows
In the woods
Where go you my Soul,
Why do I need you?

Within the pulse of life
The Soul hovers, nonchalant.
The threads of consciousness
Bind the Soul
Connect the Soul,
Where art thou now?

Amongst those twisted myrtles
In the ousing of the sphagnam moss.
In the chatter of the wrens
Or the songs of the seagulls,
Where go you O Soul,
Where do I find thee now?

In the graveyard
By the old yew tree
I glimpsed thee
In the ways of the past.

But the past is gone
And the Soul lives on, in the now.
Where art thou, O Soul,
Where art thou?

Soaring o'er the hills
Of my wanting.
Onward, past the trickling stream.
To the grant place of
Inner strength and light
O Soul, capture me.


Ian Matthews
25th October 2009.

Chicken Power

The pecking order's tough.
The going's sometimes rough
And at times
I can hardly see my way through.

I'm told to get real
I always thought that was the deal
Until it's me
Beginning to feel.

So the chicken makes a run
Away from the shun
To the world she knows so well.

It's a living hell
At times -
Stoicism and the like -
More's the pity really,
Cos the only thing
I know how to do
Is to give
Without strings
Without reason
Just to be.

But it's nothing but chicken shit out there,
The lucky ones find their roost
The others just seem to flap around
On the edge of that high, high ground.

Kym Matthews, 1995.

Estrangement

In the soft grey light of their awakening dawn
it began by simple means and unintended
easy stages. Sadly, they were ignorant
of its advancing, pernicious existence.

Each day they would walk happily together
while the imperceptible diverging of their path
was cunningly hidden, though they were
side by side in shared knowledge.

One step, one year, one lifetime,
soon they would be so far apart
their separateness would then
be finally understood by both.

From either end of that long corridor
they looked back towards each other
wondering at how they became so distant,
not worrying at how to become rejoined.

In the never-ending confusion of this conflict,
alienation became their abiding collaborator,
as the long years of indifference made their
lives more liveable and less caring for those others.

Their progeny willingly accepted the myths of
distrust spreading quickly with great assurance.
Lives lived in ignorance enhanced the mounting
strength of this powerful, destructive schism.

It has been far too long for any repair, the eons
have made sure, the distance too vast and
the estrangement complete from those companions,
who with us, once roamed this planet in harmony.