Pining fo you

Gunna miss you Annie,
Gunna miss your smiles
Gunna feel your love shine through
Across those vacant miles
I saw your face reflected
In a great grandmother's tears
Happy happy tears.
We may have met but only once
And once again must do
So as you say goodbye
To Australia's shores
Our best wishes and lots of love
Go off to foreign shores with you.

Should you travel down to Cornwall
And walk among ancient stones
Look upon the names carved there
I'm sure you'll find a family name
or two there
It's where we our forefathers sailed from
where our genetics grew
So sing of your Australian links
When the flag of Australia's flown
With a foot in each hemisphere
You can call Australia home.

Gunna miss you Annie,
Gunna miss your smiles
Gunna feel your love shine through
Across those vacant miles
I saw your face reflected
In a great grandmother's tears
Happy happy tears.
We may have met but only once
And once again must do
So as you say goodbye
To Australia's shores
Our best wishes and lots of love
Go off to foreign shores with you.

A little bit from Chapter 28 of Les Gillespie's Gold

Within minutes she had set up an office, arranged a colour printer for her suite, ordered paper and arranged a temp for tomorrow. She perused the menu and wine list and arranged for room service. It was time to open the picture files from Spoggy’s phone. Her own phone kept beeping with messages. She set it to, silent and decided to look at them later, but now the geologist in her wanted to study the samples she’d collected from the creek.

She rummaged in her case and found a pair of pantyhose. Out of habit she sniffed them and screwed up her nose, better to wreck a pair she had worn, rather than cut up a good pair. A coffee cup would serve as the repository to catch anything small and heavy that washed through her sieve. Sam didn’t know what to expect, semiprecious stones would be great, diamonds a possibility, but gold would be better. Sam stretched the stocking over the cup and secured it with a rubber band. Using a finger to create a void and poured in half of her sample. She sealed the bag and dropped it into her briefcase.

Room service arrived and the waiter steered in a tray. Sam slammed the briefcase shut, closed the screen on her laptop and washed her hands.

‘An experiment,’ She said when the waiter looked at the cup, ‘for my thesis. Prof says it’s easy, but I’m not so sure.’

‘Better you than me, I was too interested in girls to put much stock in study. Now look at me, nearly fifty and still waiting tables. It’s a good job that one of those girls said yes and made me get a steady job, eh.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘Want me to set out, or are you right to manage it.’

‘Thank you, I’m fine, I’ll do it. And tell that lady of yours, she picked good, yeah.’

‘Thank you, Miss.’ He pointed to the phone, give the desk a ring and I’ll come back for the tray, or you can leave it outside the door if you don’t wish to be disturbed.’

Ode to the Flinders Ranges

CJ Dennis was a poet we studied at school and last weekend while in Laura I took a photo of his statue.

They were having a country music festival there and I'm sorry I missed it. However, this morning prompted by photos one of my friends had posted on Facebook, a poem started forming in my mind. It's still rough, but in recognition of the Sentimental Bloke, here is my ode to the Flinders Ranges.

For you CJ


I hear your hills a callin'
Callin' me back home
To see my friends and family
And stop this ache in my heart
When I feel sad and alone
So somebody please
Write me a letter
Send me a card Sing me a song
When I feel lost
And times are hard
I feel your pull
You are the mighty Flinders
Place of my birth,
I'll keep missing you
And your people so badly
Until that sweet day
I’m returned to your earth.

Dave the Slave

I found a note I had scribbled onto a piece of paper when I was working on business names some time ago. I threw the paper out today and before I knew it, a few lines rolled themselves into a ball and came out of my fingers as a poem. It needs work, but here are a few rough first lines.

Dave, everyone thought he was slow

Because at school his grades were low

Teachers gave him extra work

Soon the target of the high school Jerk

But Dave was a thinker strong and kind

A Novel Writer's Blues

Rain and hail beats a heavy tune

The wind rips outside my winter room

And like a banshee does wail

I’m trying hard to force the flow

But my chapter just won’t grow

Yesterday I had that gift

But today I just don’t know.

Words that tempted me when I young

Haunt me now like songs we sung

Today every sentence written fails

I tap the keys time and time again

Read my margin notes scratched in pen

Where is this gift I’m sure I had

Why today are my words so bad

A ray of sunshine tries to sneak through

Rain and wind soon wipe away a sky of blue

Write something else I tell myself

A song a rhyme to find my flow

Advice for others if their words were slow

But what’s it worth, advice for free

Story of an angry day and stormy sea

Heavy the rain still beats its tune

And wind still rips outside my writer’s room

And like a hundred banshees does wail

Still trying hard to force the flow

But this chapter still won’t grow

Yesterday I had the writer’s gift

Yet today I’m lost, I just don’t know

Loneliness and Laughter

I  found this poem today and gave it a bit of a polish. I have posted it as Pop before, but have changed the title today to bring it more in line with the message.
If anyone wants to play with the rhythm and the beat to make it work better, please feel free to have a go.  



He was grey, he was old

And in the lines on his face

His story is told

Spotted with age and hands bony thin

His life’s story is written on him

His mind still holds his memories so sharp

Has no time for tears

For love beats his heart

On his front porch he sits all alone

Black tea cools a cup and he’s holding the phone

It rings and he answers and answers again

A smile crosses his lips, and it's hello old friend

He shuffles, he snuffles and sometimes he creaks

Says there's no time to grumble, 
When it's friendship he seeks

He starts in the morning, at a quarter to ten

You'll see him each day
He's out there again

Humming while he’s dialling

And phoning a friend

He’s laughing because of
Another story to tell

A group of old friends
All denying their Gods or the Devil

Swift passage to heaven or hell

Another day’s passed 
He wanders inside and thinks of his day
He smiles because 
It doesn't matter that little was done

Everyone, laughing and lying

About deeds that they’d done

The sun's set and changed into night

Is he lonely you ask him
And he says that he might

But only after he kisses her photo
And turns off the light

TED Talk

Today I watched an inspirational TED Talk from a young man who, with limited education and resources, decided to change his world.

Take a look at his story:

William Kamkwamba - How I Harnessed The Wind