The story so far: Robert and Julie went for a walk when someone stalked them. The person seemed to look like President Obama but when removing the rubber mask, it turned out to be a blonde woman who ran away. Later, in their Winnebago, they made love. Soon someone was rocking the van. Robert took his shot gun, caught his hand and fell and became unconscious. Julie called the police and ambulance. A policeman came, saw the gun and tried to remove it when a shot went off into the ceiling.
The constable stared at Julie. "What’s going on?"
"Someone was rocking the van," Julie snapped back.
"And this man was trying to shoot them?" asked the officer sarcastically as he pointed to Robert.
"No, but we had a problem in the park, before!"
"Excuse me!" The ambulance officer was pushing his frame through the door to examine Robert and then put an oxygen mask over Robert’s mouth and nose.
Julie pointed to Robert’s head. "I tried to stop the bleeding," she said.
"I heard a gun go off," pondered the ambulance man.
"It went off," agreed the constable.
"Why don’t you both step outside. I’ll see what I can do for this man," said the ambulance officer to Julie and the constable.
By this time, a group of policeman had gathered at the door of the van and another ambulance officer was waiting outside with a stretcher bed. From the door, a constable said, "Madam, would you please come outside."
Robert was breathing heavily as an unconscious person often does.
A moment later, Julie was standing near the police car, explaining, "We are on holiday from Sydney and went for a walk in Burnie Park where we were stalked. It turned out to be a blonde woman in a President Obama, full-head rubber mask. The woman then ran away. We came here and then the van rocked."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we were sitting on the bed and it rocked a bit..."
"Why the gun?"
"We had trouble in Sydney, that’s why we came to Tasmania. Some people didn’t like us."
"Why didn’t they?"
"A long story."
"And why the Obama mask?"
"You’ll have to ask Robert but it has something to do with America."
"What?"
"I don’t know."
An ambulance man approached them, "We’ll take him to emergency. It might be a good idea if the lady came too."
There was a moment of silence, then Julie thought that she heard the insane laughter of the blonde woman in the distance.
(To be continued)
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Joe Lake’s Opinion
I had so much fun at Burnie Shines For Poetry this month,
which we held at the Burnie library,
that I’m still laughing, especially at the guy who recited his
poem with the help of a hip-hop beat. You wouldn't read about it!
(Joe Lake read his Tasmanian Tiger Ode to a fast hip-hop drum beat.)
which we held at the Burnie library,
that I’m still laughing, especially at the guy who recited his
poem with the help of a hip-hop beat. You wouldn't read about it!
(Joe Lake read his Tasmanian Tiger Ode to a fast hip-hop drum beat.)
Crosswords
My wife did crossword puzzles, which she bought by the book.
I thought they were a waste of time but now and then would look
and help out with a word or two, which sometimes was quite fun,
then I started going over the old ones that she’d done.
Some of the clues were difficult, with odd words so confusing,
they really were a challenge, some strange words they were using.
Starting off to help a bit, on puzzles she had started,
I sometimes filled in most of them, as soon as she departed.
Somehow, she didn’t want this help - although all done for her,
she went and bought a book for me, said this she would prefer.
Rather slow to start with, as just a raw beginner,
it soon became a lot of fun - her idea was a winner!
Now we have our own books, though still help out each other,
they can be very challenging, those puzzles ’neath the cover.
We keep on adding new words to our vocabulary,
though foreign ones are not much use, I rather leave them be.
But now, if she can’t find me, she knows just where to look -
eleven down and nine across, in my crossword puzzle book!
© Pete Stratford 22.4.10
I thought they were a waste of time but now and then would look
and help out with a word or two, which sometimes was quite fun,
then I started going over the old ones that she’d done.
Some of the clues were difficult, with odd words so confusing,
they really were a challenge, some strange words they were using.
Starting off to help a bit, on puzzles she had started,
I sometimes filled in most of them, as soon as she departed.
Somehow, she didn’t want this help - although all done for her,
she went and bought a book for me, said this she would prefer.
Rather slow to start with, as just a raw beginner,
it soon became a lot of fun - her idea was a winner!
Now we have our own books, though still help out each other,
they can be very challenging, those puzzles ’neath the cover.
We keep on adding new words to our vocabulary,
though foreign ones are not much use, I rather leave them be.
But now, if she can’t find me, she knows just where to look -
eleven down and nine across, in my crossword puzzle book!
© Pete Stratford 22.4.10
Talking leaves
As I write upon this page
That was once a tree
That now I call my
"Talking leaves"
For it allows me to put
My feelings on these leaves
For all the world to see
For now "Talking leaves"
Are things of the past
For now we have the modern
"Talking leaves"
The computer of today
But for me the "Talking leaves"
Is the way to go
For I can store these leaves
Then pull out to show.
© Richard Griffiths November 2008
That was once a tree
That now I call my
"Talking leaves"
For it allows me to put
My feelings on these leaves
For all the world to see
For now "Talking leaves"
Are things of the past
For now we have the modern
"Talking leaves"
The computer of today
But for me the "Talking leaves"
Is the way to go
For I can store these leaves
Then pull out to show.
© Richard Griffiths November 2008
The Stoker
Sweat at the furnace face,
Stoker feeds hungry flame,
Skin glistens in fire reflection,
Eyes peer through wet grime,
Lungs bake in the heat,
And the engine throbs, ever needy,
Shovels clatter in the din,
Hungry, hungry, faster, faster,
Satiate the white glow,
Hatch opens to salty sting,
Cool air as boat lurches on a wave,
Soiled, damp handkerchief
mops perspiring brow, hair matted,
Hands sore, bloodied, blistered,
Knuckles gnarled,
The drone is relentless,
Time to descend to the black hole again,
And the roar of voracious inferno,
Pistons pounding steam,
And another one ascends, reaches for blue relief
while playful children squeal in delight,
Sea spray pinking their cheeks,
Oblivious as stokers toil, eternal,
The day is night in furnace storm.
© Michael Garrad October 2010
Stoker feeds hungry flame,
Skin glistens in fire reflection,
Eyes peer through wet grime,
Lungs bake in the heat,
And the engine throbs, ever needy,
Shovels clatter in the din,
Hungry, hungry, faster, faster,
Satiate the white glow,
Hatch opens to salty sting,
Cool air as boat lurches on a wave,
Soiled, damp handkerchief
mops perspiring brow, hair matted,
Hands sore, bloodied, blistered,
Knuckles gnarled,
The drone is relentless,
Time to descend to the black hole again,
And the roar of voracious inferno,
Pistons pounding steam,
And another one ascends, reaches for blue relief
while playful children squeal in delight,
Sea spray pinking their cheeks,
Oblivious as stokers toil, eternal,
The day is night in furnace storm.
© Michael Garrad October 2010
You Left, Baby
To the song of the wind
you whispered away,
Petals burst and fell,
And laid a carpet colour,
And we danced,
Breath to breath,
as the sun dazzled, decayed
upon the day,
It was the night most feared,
Fingertips rushing, then still,
A smile of eternal summer,
And boundless memory,
A heartbeat ago,
And the longest silence,
Not a leaf murmured,
Your anger against
black was beautiful!
© Michael Garrad October 2010
you whispered away,
Petals burst and fell,
And laid a carpet colour,
And we danced,
Breath to breath,
as the sun dazzled, decayed
upon the day,
It was the night most feared,
Fingertips rushing, then still,
A smile of eternal summer,
And boundless memory,
A heartbeat ago,
And the longest silence,
Not a leaf murmured,
Your anger against
black was beautiful!
© Michael Garrad October 2010
My View with Michael Garrad
Eager youth looks at age with disdain - perhaps scornfully, even.
Age is so far distant that it is uncool to think about it. As for memories, well, they’re a waste of space and time. Who cares?
Now is the moment and gathering years are too far off the scale to contemplate. Live it and love it.
Youth forgets (or ignores) that each day ages and cannot grasp at 18 that 60 is going to come around, all things being equal.
Age is gross! How can older people have loved and, God forbid, had sex? The notion doesn’t bear thinking about. Sex is for youth only, exclusively.
How misguided, how self-focused!
But we are, all of us, like-minded in the youngest days and nothing else matters except the next flash-second and the one after that, and...
Will Death tap us on the shoulder?
Age is so far distant that it is uncool to think about it. As for memories, well, they’re a waste of space and time. Who cares?
Now is the moment and gathering years are too far off the scale to contemplate. Live it and love it.
Youth forgets (or ignores) that each day ages and cannot grasp at 18 that 60 is going to come around, all things being equal.
Age is gross! How can older people have loved and, God forbid, had sex? The notion doesn’t bear thinking about. Sex is for youth only, exclusively.
How misguided, how self-focused!
But we are, all of us, like-minded in the youngest days and nothing else matters except the next flash-second and the one after that, and...
Will Death tap us on the shoulder?
Happiness
Happiness is the absence of anxiety.
Happiness is to adjust peacefully.
Happiness is what is successful.
We make our days.
Happiness is the creation of minds.
You wish happiness.
The happy man averts negativity.
Heaven is hard to achieve.
The rich can buy happiness.
Precious moments fill an empty glass.
An open mind is best.
Appreciate your blessings.
The purpose of life is life.
To live is the purpose of life.
You find happiness only with your eyes closed.
Happy is he who contemplates.
(From Joe lake’s Basic Aphorisms)
Happiness is to adjust peacefully.
Happiness is what is successful.
We make our days.
Happiness is the creation of minds.
You wish happiness.
The happy man averts negativity.
Heaven is hard to achieve.
The rich can buy happiness.
Precious moments fill an empty glass.
An open mind is best.
Appreciate your blessings.
The purpose of life is life.
To live is the purpose of life.
You find happiness only with your eyes closed.
Happy is he who contemplates.
(From Joe lake’s Basic Aphorisms)
Images Of Ellie
Whatever had I done! Oh, I really didn’t know
Images of Ellie lying in the snow
It wasn’t really thoughts that lead Ellie back to mind
Thoughts of that day were all but left behind
Coldness numbs my toes but I burn with guilty shame
Why did I leave Ellie, alone in the lane?
Did I turn my back and just walk out of sight
Or was it something more sinister, did Ellie and I fight?
Now there is no place, no sanctuary I can go
Always in my head Ellie lies in the snow.
I’ve put it many ways and turned it inside out
But Ellie’s death was my fault, of that I have no doubt.
For my memories are clearing and I shall watch again
A flash of sharpened silver above a seeping crimson stain
As was Ellie’s wish, I turned by back to go
The only image in my head, Ellie lying in the snow...
© Lauren Hay
Images of Ellie lying in the snow
It wasn’t really thoughts that lead Ellie back to mind
Thoughts of that day were all but left behind
Coldness numbs my toes but I burn with guilty shame
Why did I leave Ellie, alone in the lane?
Did I turn my back and just walk out of sight
Or was it something more sinister, did Ellie and I fight?
Now there is no place, no sanctuary I can go
Always in my head Ellie lies in the snow.
I’ve put it many ways and turned it inside out
But Ellie’s death was my fault, of that I have no doubt.
For my memories are clearing and I shall watch again
A flash of sharpened silver above a seeping crimson stain
As was Ellie’s wish, I turned by back to go
The only image in my head, Ellie lying in the snow...
© Lauren Hay
The Old Draconian School System, Part 1
To many, school in the 50s and 60s was a place to play,
A place for the studios;
A place for cleanliness and the ability to regurgitate;
but for others, like me, it was a place of hell,
A place of contrast, a place we learnt our place in society.
Children proud of their fathers
Who were trappers, farmers and truck drivers (truckies)
Were soon taught that such occupations were frowned on.
What one learnt at home, and was often concreted
Into the minds of the older generation,
Was sometimes in contrast to what was taught at school.
Many old books praised Stalin,
Whilst teachers of the 50s and 60s talked
Vehemently of his atrocities.
We were taught about our great, proud nation
With its White Australia Policy and its universal voting;
We were taught about the wrongs
Of apartheid in South Africa;
We were taught about the atrocities in Germany;
We were taught to be proud of our
Queen and country and God; our protectors.
We were never taught about our atrocities
Towards our Aborigines.
We denigrated their existence.
This was the time of perceived white supremacy.
Thank God the old Draconian system is only
A haunting memory in some ageing Australians.
I wonder how many descendants of Aborigines or Chinese
Cringe at such sentiment -
How many felt that they were betraying their ancestors
By the denial of their school days?
© Judy Brumby-Lake
A place for the studios;
A place for cleanliness and the ability to regurgitate;
but for others, like me, it was a place of hell,
A place of contrast, a place we learnt our place in society.
Children proud of their fathers
Who were trappers, farmers and truck drivers (truckies)
Were soon taught that such occupations were frowned on.
What one learnt at home, and was often concreted
Into the minds of the older generation,
Was sometimes in contrast to what was taught at school.
Many old books praised Stalin,
Whilst teachers of the 50s and 60s talked
Vehemently of his atrocities.
We were taught about our great, proud nation
With its White Australia Policy and its universal voting;
We were taught about the wrongs
Of apartheid in South Africa;
We were taught about the atrocities in Germany;
We were taught to be proud of our
Queen and country and God; our protectors.
We were never taught about our atrocities
Towards our Aborigines.
We denigrated their existence.
This was the time of perceived white supremacy.
Thank God the old Draconian system is only
A haunting memory in some ageing Australians.
I wonder how many descendants of Aborigines or Chinese
Cringe at such sentiment -
How many felt that they were betraying their ancestors
By the denial of their school days?
© Judy Brumby-Lake
Julia Awakes
Awaking in the morning
and looking at my love,
my read-haired, dearest Julia,
my lovely fair-skinned dove;
Prime Minister and bed mate,
we’ll keep the status quo:
you will do the talking
wherever we may go.
But I’ll be in the background
to ensure that when you face
the public or the media,
that ev’ry hair’s in place.
In Parliament or kitchen,
my dear, please be assured,
that whatever the occasion,
you're perfectly coiffured.
For your hair is my creation,
its tints and glints and gleams,
these lovely Titian tresses
that thrill me in my dreams.
Now, dearest Julia, it’s clear
as your nightie is transparent -
if you are now the Sovereign,
then I’m the Heir Apparent.
© Mary Kille
and looking at my love,
my read-haired, dearest Julia,
my lovely fair-skinned dove;
Prime Minister and bed mate,
we’ll keep the status quo:
you will do the talking
wherever we may go.
But I’ll be in the background
to ensure that when you face
the public or the media,
that ev’ry hair’s in place.
In Parliament or kitchen,
my dear, please be assured,
that whatever the occasion,
you're perfectly coiffured.
For your hair is my creation,
its tints and glints and gleams,
these lovely Titian tresses
that thrill me in my dreams.
Now, dearest Julia, it’s clear
as your nightie is transparent -
if you are now the Sovereign,
then I’m the Heir Apparent.
© Mary Kille
Entanglement
Defining quantum theory’s obscure traits
That prove a particle’s entanglement
At light years’ distance; act as one, and states
That they react the same to measurement.
So, if we change the quantum state of one,
The other particle reacts the same;
What Einstein called "A spooky action", done;
But is this all perception in a game?
Is free will but the measurement one takes;
Or is the quantum theory false, unreal;
Or are our lives’ perceptions really fakes;
Or are the faster speeds than light for real?
Entanglement appears in you and me,
When we are one for everyone to see.
© Joe Lake (From Songs Of Science, 2010)
That prove a particle’s entanglement
At light years’ distance; act as one, and states
That they react the same to measurement.
So, if we change the quantum state of one,
The other particle reacts the same;
What Einstein called "A spooky action", done;
But is this all perception in a game?
Is free will but the measurement one takes;
Or is the quantum theory false, unreal;
Or are our lives’ perceptions really fakes;
Or are the faster speeds than light for real?
Entanglement appears in you and me,
When we are one for everyone to see.
© Joe Lake (From Songs Of Science, 2010)
Soapbox
Like Diogenes, who was so unimpressed by wealth and power
That he refused to bow down to Alexander the Great
When he visited Corinth. I too am true to myself!
Why can’t people see who I really am, appreciate me for the woman I am,
Respect my values - like those of that noted Greek philosopher?
Not that I aim to live in a tub, as he was reported to do!
Throughout life, I’ve been misjudged, misunderstood and patronised -
It's so frustrating! I’m comfortable with myself and I believe in myself -
So why can’t others believe in me too?
I’m on my soapbox now and yet I shouldn’t have to be!
The burning question is - when someone is treated badly,
Can that person forgive and forget?
After all, when unkind words are uttered or a wrongful deed is done,
Surely the memory of that never completely leaves -
It’s as if a record player’s needle is stuck, round and round it goes -
Or as if a movie camera constantly rolls in our minds,
Shooting the same old scene.
© June Maureen Hitchcock July 18 2010
That he refused to bow down to Alexander the Great
When he visited Corinth. I too am true to myself!
Why can’t people see who I really am, appreciate me for the woman I am,
Respect my values - like those of that noted Greek philosopher?
Not that I aim to live in a tub, as he was reported to do!
Throughout life, I’ve been misjudged, misunderstood and patronised -
It's so frustrating! I’m comfortable with myself and I believe in myself -
So why can’t others believe in me too?
I’m on my soapbox now and yet I shouldn’t have to be!
The burning question is - when someone is treated badly,
Can that person forgive and forget?
After all, when unkind words are uttered or a wrongful deed is done,
Surely the memory of that never completely leaves -
It’s as if a record player’s needle is stuck, round and round it goes -
Or as if a movie camera constantly rolls in our minds,
Shooting the same old scene.
© June Maureen Hitchcock July 18 2010
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)