Friends

Dreams can be odd things. I woke up earlier than usual this morning with a limerick I'd dreamt. And bugger me dead I couldn't go back to sleep until I'd purged these words:

There’s a bloke I know and can recommend
A champion of the underdog with an honest hand to lend
A life dedicated to fight
For justice and what’s right
Bernie Mendis, my wonderful witty friend

But not to mention his better half would be a no-no
A sassy lassy looking for a fair go
A lady with multiple talent
Time with her is entertaining and well spent
Pauline Darby, my witty and wacky friend also

So there you have it! Weird hey? I guess your poem about me stored itself in my subconscious and elicited this nocturnal response.

MATTER - By Fred Bogusz (1997)

Matter – the indestructable essence of existence;
Atoms of energy micro small,
Transmute through the decomposition of time,
Elements of one life form to another.
Proof that we are one connected to all.

The cosmos condensed into the microcosm of self –
The internal internet, where you will find
The collective consciousness of Mankind.

Meditate and a universal truth will be revealed.
The earth is a liquid fire cast from the sun.
It’s surface cooled, a fertile crust
Supporting Mankind;
A family of the same cosmic dust.

Connected in matter, we share a common soul;
The divinity of creation, reincarnation and birth.
We are related; our purpose to serve one another,
Here on this reality we call earth.

A fat man's domestic problems - John Romeril

Here's a poem from a book of poems I've had for at least 30 years. I found it recently tucked away in my bookshelf. I love the imagery and its metaphoric language. 

i am an elephant

compared to elephants

no mirror can hold me and live

to tell the story

look at the way i eat

spilling my gravy, tearing

at the bread stuffing the children's heads

with nonsense and jungle books

any wonder you complain

and the blankets do slip off

and the light on the stairs is not yet fixed

and the landing creaks as the elephant comes home late again

with another story curled up in his trumpet

Walking about in shades of grey

I am a weary pilgrim lugging an overloaded mind
A walking thought bomb ticking time with vacuous questions
Triggering fractions of fact with flints of fiction
Harbouring splintered opinions in an explosive casing of shrapnel

I study the contours of issues on matters divided
Surveying the ridges of truth and the crevices of deceit
Lost in a canyon of persuasion, I see all points of view
Opinions reflected and deflected in shades of truth
Neither right nor wrong, confirming the duality of life
My conclusions explode in a chasm of self doubt

Sometimes I envy the unquestioning, decisive soul
Unfetted and free of cryptic analysis
Concrete opinions as indisputable as a schematic blueprint
Anchored to secure foundations
Constructing a credible argument without doubt

Not like me – churning in an aggregate slurry of vacillation
With no difinitive solution to coagulate into a solid fact
Neither black nor white, just a messy monochrome
Walking about in shades of grey

Stan the man

This is a poem I wrote for my father and read it at his funeral.

In my life I have been a fan
Of many public figures and their deeds
But the one I admired most, was my father - Stan the Man
A man of modest needs

He wasn’t famous in any way
But he impressed me above the rest
For what he chose to say
Was considered, thoughtfull and for the best

Childhood memories flood my mind
Of running to his outstretched arms
A powewrfull man sturdy and kind
Carpenters trade etched on his palms

Hands that circumstances had made rough
Could also create sweat music on a bow
And remember a gentle time before life got tough
With violin he would put on a show

With a passion for singing I recall
As a child moments of song
When Stan the Man gave it his all
That moment when you feel you belong

Or listening to the classics in his car
Familiar sounds of music to his ears
Evoking memories of his youth in a land afar
Gripped with emotion he would shed a tear

Stan the man had a gift, cut short by circumstance
His full potential slipped through his hand
As war interrupted his chance
But he made the most of what he had in a new land

And his artistic instincts followed him here
Where he tackled his new life in a creative way
To support his family he held so dear
He was admired for the honest work he put in each day

Chess was his passion too
A game of tactics he loved to play
Where once again his creative side shone through
And he was hard to beat on his day

This man we’re proud to call dad
Will remain our greatest fan
Because he gave us everything he had
He was one of a kind - Stan the Man

Flick to the flag

With my tongue firmly in my cheek and Lucifer sitting on my shoulder, a ladle firmly clenched in my hand and a bucket of poo at my feet, while sporting a dinky di, true blue, supercilious, patriotic grin, may I, laconically say: it’s bloody un-Australian to be “overtly” waving the our flag on Oz day, or any day for that matter - overtly speaking of course.

Have ya noticed the trend, my friend. Flags are flapping up everywhere: stuck on sticks on cars, supermarket trollies, cyclists, the list is endless. I dreamt of one stuck in a bumcrack. You know it’s gone too far when you have nightmares like that. It’s time to slip, slap and slop a lotion of truth onto the traitors to our Australia Day traditions.

What has possessed us to suddenly become so “flagrant” as to rant about our flag. Historically we are not known for our jingoism. Lets face it, we are a nation born of convict stock and corruption, resulting in a healthy disrespect for authority that bred the iconic “larrikin” Aussie bronzed Anzac - the digger battlers that proved their worth to the world at Gallipoli, while simultaneously giving the pommy high command a taste of our egalitarian independence. Not to forget the women of this great country, who together helped forge this great island continent poetically girt by sea.

Unlike other nations, especially the US, who stand with a firm hand on their hearts to their national anthem and swear blind allegiance to its authority, we Aussies have historically snubbed such open displays of nationalism. We have something better: our own form of true patriotism - mateship that represents the people - not an obligation to a flag that represents a dual identity and an inherited constitution. So, let’s leave all the jingoistic bullshit to the Poms and Yankee Doodle Dandies - that’s what they do best! And let’s not import foreign cultures to our shores - Poms that have used and abused our friendship and Yanks that have corrupted our culture enough.

Take a good look at our flag. What do you see? Seriously, do you see anything remotely Australian about it. Even the southern cross is not exclusive to us. I personally, see Britannia ruling the waves. The colours are all wrong for Australia. I can’t relate to it. Bugger me dead mate, let’s colour it with an Aussie identity - the boxing kangaroo - Eureka - anything but that fucking symbol of imperialism, the Union Jack.

When I was growing nipper, the flag was seen only on official flag poles - we didn’t give a rat’s arse about these new, hand held, tiny, cheap imitations that are flooding the market today - Yuk! In the past we celebrated our “flagless” patriotism in our own unique, true blue style - an identity that has branded us world-wide - sport - surf regattas, carnivals and a relaxed day at the beach.

Today we are instructed with ads on TV, Radio, how we should celebrate - Yeah, fair suck of the sav bazza, like we need to be told? What crap. Come on Aussie, come ooooon - wake up to yourself, reclaim your lost identity and tell ‘em to shove it. Do what we have done for decades, celebrate without the stamp of authority and keep the old laconic Aussie tradition alive. Empower it with our trademark national character recognised world-wide - relaxed, spontaneous, understated egalitarianism - confident of who we are - our abundance and achievements without the tedious boredom of officialdom.

And get this cobber! The greatest irony of all. These cheap little flags aren’t even made here (the majority of them at least). Most are made in - you guessed it - China! Fair dinkum, friggin’ China. Now why would we want to support their economy on our National Day - it’s bloody un-Australian...mate!

We should flick the flag, at least until we get a decent one to replace the rag we have...but that’s another topic for another blog.

BLANK PAGE

Where has “Silence” gone?
I don’t hear It anymore!
The other day I could
But today ... I’m not sure

Why today ... do I hear everything else
Knocking at my door
Like the drone of humanity
That I can’t ignore

But where, oh where, today, pray tell, has silence gone?
Silence - to ease my mind
Silence - where all truth lies
Silence - today ... I cannot find