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See the photo at left of Bob, our unique Mudgeeraba Budgerigar Rastafarian and his unique Aussie 2007 Model Saxaroo.About Poetry in Paradise
What: Poetry recitals, local poets perform own works.
Where: Jambo Java Coffee Lounge. 173 Musgrave Avenue Labrador, opposite the Sharks.
When: 2 pm - 5 pm Third Sunday every month
Why: Because we can and will.
Phone Jeffrey 0412577153
Please call Dave or Sarah on 0755030933 to confirm your anticipated participation or attendance
Keebra Park
I went to my high school reunion yesterday
30 years since we were there
The headmistress and the master
Showed that they still care
They proved that they remembered me
Though their reasons were not the same
She remembered my tortured eyes
He remembered 700 lashes with the cane
Pleased to see your out of jail, he laughed
And we are surprised that your not dead
Your mates have dwindled by the numbers
So the obituaries have said
You were always on my mind she smiled
Many times your face I have recalled
Did you learn to believe in yourself
Has life brought you just rewards
In my heart you have a special place
I sank every time I saw you in the hall
You were at first a gifted student
Then you had no faith at all
You look like you’re fit and healthy
Are you here alone
She looked over my shoulder
Have your three children grown
I told her I was now a nurse
She smiled with pride
I told her about the poetry group
She asked did I recall the day I cried
She tapped my chest with her finger
There is someone special there inside
You were the toughest kid in the school
Cause you kept it locked inside
We sat and talked for an hour
I was very warmly surprised
I did not know that her approval
Meant so much to my pride
Mrs Ganinan shook my hand
And then gave me a hug
She said she would visit my poetry group
I smiled warmly to up above
I saw my old class mates
They were all so much older than me
With their grey hair and their companies
And their desires to be free
Some are quite successful
With elocution manners grace and air
A politician and a minister
And the Gold Coasts next mayor
The girls were all ladies
Some were still so hot
The one I had a crush on
My name she had forgot
The best looking girl in the school
Still looked like she was there
We sat and laughed for an hour
I never knew that she cared
She knew the ages of my children
Where I had lived and been employed
My best mate was once her first love
But her old life he had destroyed
I had to leave for work then
I was grabbed my many more
A photo for old time sake
The task was not a chore
It was good to see past students
But all my mates are dead
None of my old friends attended
No parole like Mr Prowse had said.
Jeffrey Goudy
(C) Poetry in Paradise Reg 1028534The Bombay Express
© eoin macdhugail 07
The train, the train, I hate the train
We fidget in groups, as the morning sun greets
Ready to claw and fight for the few empty seats
the scores who miss out left to squash in the aisles
while the lucky ones strap hang and sway for miles.
The noise, the noise, I hate the noise
The young folk board, new mobiles on show
Testing 21 ring tones --- only three to go!
Others stare vacantly with iPods blaring
while unsettled readers start cursing and swearing.
The people, the people, I hate the people.
They grumble, they pong, they’re bald and hairy
There’s dandruff littered backs and men dressed like fairies
The prim, the proper, the perfumed tarts
And unwashed men with stale beer farts
The train, the train, I hate the train
With one seat free, you doze ‘cos you’re zonked
Until a space-stealing fat arse down beside you plonks
Bored public servants packed in like sardines
With jolt-awake snores disturbing their dreams.
The youth, the youth, they’re so uncouth
Punkers and emos and goths all in black
With cadaver cosmetics, they posture in packs
Just like the Myers staff who skulk ’round the store
They adopt a blank look and choose to ignore
The people, the people, I’m one of those people
What gives me the right to have a whinge.
To draw attention to the cultural cringe
well, mainly because when the fat lady sings
I have been guilty of most of these things.
© eoin macdhugail 07
The train, the train, I hate the train
We fidget in groups, as the morning sun greets
Ready to claw and fight for the few empty seats
the scores who miss out left to squash in the aisles
while the lucky ones strap hang and sway for miles.
The noise, the noise, I hate the noise
The young folk board, new mobiles on show
Testing 21 ring tones --- only three to go!
Others stare vacantly with iPods blaring
while unsettled readers start cursing and swearing.
The people, the people, I hate the people.
They grumble, they pong, they’re bald and hairy
There’s dandruff littered backs and men dressed like fairies
The prim, the proper, the perfumed tarts
And unwashed men with stale beer farts
The train, the train, I hate the train
With one seat free, you doze ‘cos you’re zonked
Until a space-stealing fat arse down beside you plonks
Bored public servants packed in like sardines
With jolt-awake snores disturbing their dreams.
The youth, the youth, they’re so uncouth
Punkers and emos and goths all in black
With cadaver cosmetics, they posture in packs
Just like the Myers staff who skulk ’round the store
They adopt a blank look and choose to ignore
The people, the people, I’m one of those people
What gives me the right to have a whinge.
To draw attention to the cultural cringe
well, mainly because when the fat lady sings
I have been guilty of most of these things.
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