STRENGTH FROM THE GRAVE...

We can never go back my friend,

never question why.

For when a loved on passes on,

we must carry ourself with pride.

No matter the pain we are feeling,

Remember their love that made us strong.

Put them where they have always been.

In your heart, where they belong.

Remember theirs smiles and happy times,

and times of sadness shared.

I guarantee its those times that mean,

You'll get through,

Because you cared



BURGMANN'S BOXING B.B.Q....

What is a bloke to do?

A Friday night round here.

Well you grab some Bourbon and motor off,

To Burgmann's Boxing B.B.Q.

Its held out back of the mechanics shed.

Mechanic mayhem is what it is.

Where burn-outs are done in a art-work Holden,

smoke and rubber swim round your head.

Snags and Bourbon and home made cookies

are consumed before each bout.

Then the boys they don the boxing gloves,

the Testosterone cheer rings out..

Knock his bloody block off,

and get in there ya mug.

All the time a rorkous laughter,

as they dance round in the grease and mud.

Yes there is grazes from kissing the ground,

at times a bloody nose.

Still its just the boys, having good clean fun,

No one really come to blows.

As night ends,

and I'm sure it does,

but I haven't seen it yet.

There is little movement the next day,

All that testosterone was well spent.

BURGMANNS BOXING B.B.Q.

yes the stories are all true.

I just wish I had a little less Bourbon,

and seen the night right through...



THE CONSTIPATED DOG..

Poor ol' dog was crouching there

pained expression on her face.

Ma was in the kitchen,

with a potion taking place.

This will fix that mongrel up,

mumbling as she stirred the brew.

Epsom salts, Cod liver oil, a Laxet or maybe two.

Well I would not be that poor ol' dog,

not for all the gold round here.

No sooner had she downed the stuff,

the shit it flowed like beer.

The paddocks looked like a Pro Hart canvas,

sprayed brown and running thick.

Then the dog she turned and spotted Ma,

and too the bush she headed quick.

Then Ma let out an evil cackle,

her potion had done the trick..



PATERSON V STOCKTON 03/06/2003

PATERSON v STOCKTON 2003.

Bloody hell mate, its Overseas,

a slab wont get us through.

Pack a keg and carton of fags,

Maybe some Burbon.

Ye mate that will do.

Shit mate its said their looney,

thats been said from way far back.

No brains and no dam feeling.

Their strange, this Stockton pack.

Now its the overseas that puts me off.

Still its my bloody team n all.

So lets suck some booze and kick their arse.

Then lets end it with a brawl....

ITGONDAWINDYDAY

Standing at the Servo, just the other day.

my mate called in as oft he does,

just to say gid-day.

soon our conversation turned to that bloody wind.

mind you it rattled rafters,

eve tore off sheets of tin.

Yep it blew his faithful Mare off heat

Twas the tale my mate he told.

Did it blow right up her arse then mate?

The retort from a local old.

Well we laughed and laughed.

Still laughing now,

about that poor ol Grey.

The day she stood and lost her heat.

ITGONDAWINDYDAY.....

MY LOVER. MY SEASONS

The leaves are gone now..

Your once boa like green that draped you,

a skeletal remain of branches and twigs.

You stand still in a new season before me.

So still.

So beautiful as ever.

Like a lover who has died and the melancholy that has set in,

takes me back to who you once were.

My ever present companion that soothes my soul...



SPIRIT DREAMING

Lifting from the river in a gossamer weave the fog come in,

whilst the moon shines in all her majesty,

bushed ever so gently by a passing cloud that shadows the land briefly.

Silhouetted against this back drop, trees that have stood witness to the rivers changing moods.

Paddocks sculptured by man and time.

One wonders of what the SPIRIT DREAMS.

The weave grows thicker and encases the hill,

yet as quickly as it does cascades away and rolls across the pastures.

One can almost hear it whisper to the soul.

One can almost feel this SPIRIT DREAMING.

Sounds fill the body in restful tones,

thoughts become as lazy as the night itself.

One watches as for the first time at the wonders that stand.

Dressing and undressing before eyes and spirits that once were..

Spirits that once rested upon the land and in a time of

SPIRITS DREAMING.