Firewater

Tags

firewater, Formal poetry, moonshine, poem, poetry, whisky

There’s whisky bubbling in the hills
From numerous illicit stills,

Where varied are distiller’s skills,
For some are masters – some are dills,

Thus varied is the drink one swills
With water and with ice that chills.

That amber hooch your tumbler fills
May make you green around the gills,

So don’t forget to make your wills,
For methylated moonshine kills.

The Storm Bird

The Common Koel, a migratory cuckoo, arrives in Australia in
the late spring (storm season). It’s mating calls are associated with
storms, and it is considered by some (particularly farmers)
to predict them, and hence is known as the storm bird.

The Storm Bird

The storm bird sits in the tree and calls
But still no rain from a clear sky falls.
His constant song echoes long and loud
But the sky has nary a single cloud,
While bakes the land ‘neath the sun’s fierce fire
To the mocking sound of a feathered liar.

Jesus’ Birthday

It’s the birthday of an influential man,
But I suspect that he must be surprised,
(that tinsel never was part of the plan)
At how his special day’s now super-sized.
(like many of the folk who celebrate)
The supermarket’s packed with chocolate bars,
And all the stores are staying open late.
I wonder does he gaze down from the stars,
And all this crazy commerce contemplate.

Mandela is Dead

Tags

australian formal poetry, Australian traditional poetry, Mandela, poem, poetry

Mandela’s dead! Hold all the news!
We’ll pay the saint his earthly dues.
No need to mention early sins.
Forget the losses, count the wins
And paint the Rainbow Nation bright.
No mention of the white man’s plight
Or for that matter of the blacks
As multitudes slip through the cracks
And followers revert to type;
Unleash a flood of praise and hype.
Tell of a modest honest man
Whose contemplation in the can
Turned him from terrorist to god,
Then cover all with soil and sod.