Caution: the odd poem may contain swear words.
CONTENTS: All n nuthin’ / Antsy / Bein’ a dick / Upwardly mobile / Medical AUSLAN / Nailed it! / The far queue IQ / Inflation stagnation / Pell’s bells / The Royal sigh… / Mandates / Koen’s ‘The fibber’ / Who squashed me balls? / Wurst first aiders / Caught out / Closing the gap / Nurse mischief / Anatomy 101 / Close as, bro… / The Inverse Square Law of Nagging / Nupday / The dead cert… / Flogs / Lycopene prostate food / Dreadybears’ picnic song / Evolution’s conundrum / Roolz / When ya gotta go…! / Heifers / The eccint / Bunch of chunts / Mathsturbation / Smooth as… / So /Gotcha! / 21st Century vocab…
All n nuthin’
All case n no pillow
All bat, no willow
All fence n no paddock
All wind, rain sporadic
All lines n no part
All custard, no tart
All window n no soul
All spade, no hole
All talk n no walk
All board, no chalk
All front n no shop
All plough, no crop
All bluster n no muster
All polish, no lustre
All strut n no class
All credit, no brass
All bullseye n no darts
All huff n brain farts
All slag n no weld
All sex, handheld.
Antsy
Childlike, annoying? You’re a pissant
No moral compass, serial woman groper? A sextant
Slavish, vicarious hanger-oner? You’re a pendant
Loyal, Shtuum, dirty-deed doer? A servant
Annoying, whinging, negative? You’re a depressant
Courageous, doing nature’s destiny? A transplant
Hindsight’s correcting of a falsehood? You’re a recant
Surgical enhancement of your looks? An implant
Charisma, charm, eloquent, honest? You’re an enchant
Sucking up, grovelling boot licker? A sycophant
Noisy, fist-pumping, over-done? You’re a triumphant
Bludging, tight-arse, always on the bum? An underpant
Repetitive, syllabic, boring? You’re a chant
Wears minimal clothing publicly? You’re a scant
Loud, unintelligible sex breaths? A pant
Allocated money for rorts? You’re a grant
Favourable media, cover-ups? A suppressant
Refuse to learn/accept facts? You’re an ignorant
Just grow older, not smarter? A dormant…
Bein’ a dick
Being a dick, to make my wife laugh
Doin’ the dinner plate dance, a farce
Warren Haynes beat: ‘Drownin’ in self pity’
Hamming it up to a great music ditty.
Gyrating exit to the kitchen
Ditched the plate and grabbed a new prop then
Encore entry with pelvic thrusts lewd
Wine bottle dick, loose lid! Red ‘spoof’ rude.
Upwardly mobile
Wish I was a mobile phone
Never lonely, Darby and Joan
Close relationship, in the zone
Always lavished, full attention
Funnelled thoughts, on ascension
Recurring habit, no prevention
Fussing, caring, its well being
State of charge, to it seeing
Other things mostly fleeing
When it rings naught else counts
Put-off chores, the list mounts
Never dropped, it won’t bounce
If mislaid, it’s panic then terror
Forgiven when it makes an error
Others never treated fairer
Stroked and stared at with intent
In hand or pocket most frequent
Quality time and money spent?
Medical AUSLAN
Drove two-ninety Ks to the dick doctor the other week
My pushy Prostate: his diagnosis to seek
Charged me two-thirty bucks for a ten minute linger
And all he did was give me ‘The finger!’
Next week, two days and twelve-hundred Ks
The eye doctor and his high-tech scan ways
Paid four-seventy bucks: Nevis or Melanoma?
Gave me ‘The Thumbs-up!’ with his Diploma.
Nailed it!
Social media’s free-for-all megaphone
Trolls, cancel culture’s digital delivery drone
Hate speech, bigotry, misogyny and racism
Barbed ballistics for the victim’s baptism
But wit and truth, fired back so as to toast
Last laugh: nailing a turd to their own post
And if nailed horizontal to sag at ends’ weight
Same clock sad-face shape as at twenty past eight.
The far queue IQ
Time cures youth with aging
Immaturity’s just a noun
Ignorance may be educated
Drunkenness sobered down
But stupid lasts forever
Dumb legacies of a clown
Those who just grow older
Induce a scornful frown.
Inflation stagnation
Mammal’s means and motivation, to perform insemination
To use gas or fluid, to make turgid with inflation
Too high? Too little? Constant economic debate
Relationships defined, factors, desires to abate.
Demand: “Wanna root? I’m feeling really fucking horny!”
Political barriers: “That mess you left!” Answer pure thorny.
Supply chain disruptions: partner absent with work.
Interest rates: low, fixed, variable, comply or just shirk?
Productivity lagging: gambling and social media noise?
Commodity shortages: prophylactics and those sex toys?
Time constraints: parenting, work, domestic duties and leisure.
Wages: Vacuuming, laundry, cooking/wash-up, can earn pleasure
Market manipulation: libido porn-enhancement, position variation
Sex ain’t simple, today’s world complex, age and health: stagflation!
Pell’s bells
Ding, dong dell
All is well
God rang the bell
Pell’s in hell
Now for his mates who wouldn’t tell
What he did, but his lies to gladly sell
Aiding, abetting truth’s death knell
Eager to be seen, a loyal Pell pal
Reserve their spot in Heaven’s stairwell
Now false accolades via media pell-mell
Spruiked by the sinner-saints’ cartel
Despite the victims’ tragic groundswell
Crushed by smug silks’ verbal lapel
To maintain, the blind faith’s spell
Thwart justice, enlightenment’s quell
Am I now consigned, same place to dwell?
In the far queue, thinking “Far canal!”
Nay
What word do babies first learn and know?
Not ‘Mum-a’ or ‘Dad-a,’ said just so
This word’s emphatic, as they grow
No mistaking, the meaning of, “No!”
As a measure, means to success
How many times “No!” to make a yes?
The Royal sigh…
I seen her coffin, on TV, slowly passing by
I arks meself, ”Why’d she haf’ta go’n die?”
I’ll comfort-eat some fresh-made pumpkin scones
A senimar to guide me, tell me where I belongs
Or a Bex, a cuppa, and a good lay down
To tug me grey forelock, to Charlie’s Crown
I’ll lower me front-yard flag to about half mast
And dream of Union Jacks, days of future’s past…
Mandates
Wife had a man date the other day
With me, her husband (there is no other way)
With mandates today, now so yesterday
It’s voluntary, the old Gough Whitlam way
Like with AIDS: “If it’s not on, it’s not on!”
For safe sex, latex mandatory condom
So here’s me, unknowingly exposed
To Covid, in iso dread supposed
At home, masked up, to protect my wife
Then the man date, potential risk rife
Cuddles, no kisses, safe sex so saves lives
Naughty but nice, with nude KN ninety fives…
Koen’s ‘The fibber’
No-one can say my Mummy’s a dummy
Who says that is nothing but crummy
‘Cos my Mummy knows all about toes
And books and toys and my runny nose.
And my Mummy cares about things and me
When there’s trouble, she can always see
How to fix it, and make it funny
I don’t think my Mummy’s a dummy.
Who squashed me balls!?
Hours and hours pass, hiding low in lockdown
No company, no mirror, just a sandy nightgown
For hunted little sandcrabs, hiding in the dark
Buried, low tide waiting, sand balls then to park.
And boy, can we make balls, rolling up the sand
Pedipalps a-picking, interstitial food land
The main game is placement, creative ball art
Smooth beach, blank canvass, each tide’s refreshed start.
Some balls big, others smaller, (does size matter?)
It’s how ya leave ‘em, strategic or random scatter
Beholder’s interpretation, balls proudly on display
Wait! What? Who so-ever? Why’d ya squash me balls that way?!
Wurst first aiders
Ryanie’d had a heart attack, prostrate on the floor
Barry: thumb on his neck, carotid pulse to explore
Finding none, “We’ve lost him,” he solemnly pronounced
Ryanie: eyes blinked open, “Feel up higher!” he hopefully announced.
Caught out
“Now Nanna, write this down for me.”
Nanna writes, “Blah blah, blah blah,” very nicely
“Now Nanna, read that back to me.”
“I’m only five, can’t read, you see.”
“Ummmm…”
“Aww, I’ll just have to video it; you’ve been trickin’ me.”
Closing the gap
(… the easy, less important one)
Once things were joined, aligned with an overlap
Then the plastics industry discovered , invented THE GAP
Unsightly, evil, leaking air, water, even your secrets!
So off to the hardware, a wall of gap sealants.
Sealants for this, sealants for that job
Find the right one to seal the thing-a-me-bob
No gap too big, no “too hard” complaint
How did we cope, before half-inch paint?
Nurse mischief
Mate playing footy broke his leg badly
Hospital nurse answered his questions gladly
‘What’s that operation where tonsils are removed?’
‘They do a tonsillectomy, if that’s the problem proved.’
‘Yeah, so what’s it called with the appendix taken out?’
‘An appendisectomy, perforation expected, no doubt.’
‘And the one where men are sterilized?’
‘Vasectomy, the vas deferens are excised.’
‘So what’s the one that turns a woman to a man?’
‘Oh… I don’know when that operation began…’
‘Well they tell me it’s called an addadictomy…’
‘Can’t recall that one, but I’m sure it’ll come back to me.’
Anatomy 101
A bright little girl, always punctual
Head of the line-up for class
“G’day Sir,” up for a chat
As we waited daily for stragglers
Then one day, out of the blue
“Sir where’s an elephant’s penis?”
“Same as all quadrupeds, bull or horse.”
“No, that’s not right, it’s on its foot!”
“Who told you that? How can it be?”
“Cos if an elephant stands on your foot
It fucks it, that’s for certain!”
She laughed and laughed until she stopped
Gob-smacked me; no answer to that…
The final irony in this story
Her passion was for horses
Graduated, off to uni
Studied animal husbandry!
Close as, bro…
Strange how things change from yesteryear
Clairvoyant now, in olden times seer
Vagina, not cunt, considered really rude
Now other way round, cunt is lewd.
Accuse, attack others, of what I myself do
Lie, deny, cheat, steal/claim, ideas new
Hypoclite the new word, no impolite affront
Close as you get, to a hypocritical cunt.
The Inverse Square Law of Nagging
Exploring relationships in my mind
Dynamics, tensions there to find
The inverse square, nagging’s flaw
Theory proposed, I formulated Law.
C = 1 ÷ N2
Where C is the likelihood of compliance
And N is the extent of nagging’s reliance
So the more I’m nagged, the less I do
Twice the nag, one quarter result due…
Nupday
“Want to…?” “Nup.”
“Well how about…?” “Nup.”
“Would you like to…?” “Nup.”
“Did you like…?” “Nup.”
Every day, in some way
Every day is nupday
Payday, Friday? Anyday soon
One day, someday, yupday’s tune
The dead cert…
Countless times, accused of thought ‘crimes’
Devious notions, conniving emotions
Not once I remember, I had to surrender
Give up the fight, admit she was right
Reveal my plight, confess in plain sight
So far off the mark, not worth a snark
Yet every time, no reason nor rhyme
Dead certain she was, and all because
Mind reader she is, brain anxious, a-tiz
Wishing me dead, ‘cos some other’s mind she’d read?
Flogs
Everyone knows one, they hang round like dogs’ balls
Boastful, up ’emselves, self-promoting calls
Egotist, self-agrandizing, loathsome tossers
Greedy, aggressive users, sometimes bosses
Pretentious, self-centred and silently cursed
Wanking: the only race where you always come first.
Lycopene prostate food
Lady went into the Greek greengrocer’s store
No list, not certain to buy, or recipe for
He, new arrival, proud new Aussie
In the land of the dick-sticker cozzie
“Umm… could I have some broccoli please?”
He bagged and weighed them with practiced ease
“Will-a there be anything else?” he said
“Some tomatoes too please, would go with my bread.”
“Sorry liedee, we have-a no tomatoes.”
“Oh, some carrots then… maybe… I suppose.”
“Certainly, and-a anything more?”
“Yes, some tomatoes please.” (under his breath he swore)
“Liedee, what-a you get, you take-a the ‘g’ out of grape?”
“Oh, umm… I think that’d be rape.”
“Now what-a you get, you take-a the beet out of beetroot?”
“Root.”
“That’s-a right. So what-a you get, you take-a the fuck out of tomatoes?”
“There’s no fuck in tomatoes!”
“That’s-a right liedee. There’s-a no fuck’n tomatoes!”
Dreadybears’ picnic song
(sung to The Teddybears’ Picnic song)
If you go down in the hot-shot woods
You’re in for no surprise
If you go thinking you’ve got the goods
You’d better go in disguise
For every buzzword ever there was
Will be heard for certain because
Today’s the day that buzzwords flow from dick wits.
Agile innovative wannabes
Shovel ready, seamless paradigms touching base
Leveraged, touch point coopetition
See them synergize best practices
Hear their stratcom algorithm
Their social currency
Benchmarking on the table
With scaffolded, datafied scalabilities
Organic cross-platforms it’s
Down-sized, off-shored stakeholder crap.
Evolution’s conundrum
The chicken and egg had just had sex
Chicken: head pillow-propped, discarded latex
Cigarette smoke ring, blank-stare expression
“Guess that solves that age-old question.”
Roolz
Rule number one: It’s always my fault
Rule number two: (the setting default)
If it’s not my fault, I’m still to blame
Rule number three: more of the same!
If I don’t guess, what you don’t know
Tell you before, your plan doesn’t go
‘I know, I know, it’s my fault too.’
I’ll get: ‘Why wasn’t I told by you?’
But if I do, tell you any stuff
I know for certain, sure enough
I’ll cop rule four, immediately from you
Which simply says: ‘Don’t tell me what to do!’
When ya gotta go…!
One minute walking, the next, ‘Uh-Oh!’
One second talking, then, ‘Sorry, gotta go!’
Demanding, painful, sudden urge
Prostate’s compulsive piss to purge!
Heifers
Little Johnny home from school, Vicar, cuppa tea, making his round
‘What’d you do at school today John?’ comfy on, safe polite ground
‘We went on a visit to Jones’ farm.’ ‘Marvellous, so, what did you see?’
‘Lots of animals, and the draught horse did a great big pee!’
‘We saw chickens and pigs and fuckers too.’ Horrified looks, heaven sent
‘Aww Mrs. Jones called ’em effers, but we knew what she meant.’
The eccint
Saturday market fair, NZ, in city square
Magician’s card trick, audience to dare
Large cards held aloft, selection to pick
“See this? This is my great big dick!”
Got me thinking, my curious instinct
The jarring vowels of the Kiwi ‘eccint’
Asked many people, historic origin?
Confused? ‘Bit’ for bet and ‘bun’ for bin!
Then one day, on Stewart Island boat
Kiwi crew, to Aussie me, did gloat
So waited my chance, question to ask
‘big dick of cards,’ my contextual mask.
“You blokes are boaties, you’ll know this quick.
Difference between a pissy deck and a pussy dick?”
Looked at me, reckoned, “about five minutes of pleasure”
“Good come-back mate!” He had my measure…
Bunch of chunts
Of all the swear words, THE most rude
In print, movies, TV, considered too crude
Same word used, to convey utter contempt
Or sympathy, empathy, but rarely literal intent.
Despicable male cunts get away with heaps
The victim, poor cunt, silently weeps
Would that it were, the origin of the word
Was not gender-based, disrespect inferred.
Mostly reserved as a name for flawed men
Rarely used for the same sorts of women
‘Fuckin’ bitch,’ by any other name
A lesser insult, it wouldn’t be the same.
As an alternative, the testosterone derivative?
Labia, the embryonic default initiative
Grow together to form a closed sac
Scrotum, better insult, describes obvious lack?
So dead cunts, greedy cunts, old cunts and more
Dumb cunts, lying cunts, and cunts poor
And some cunts, attained, certified, in breadth
Can’t call them cunts; lacking warmth and depth…
Mathsturbation
If
E = mc² is Universal grease
Then
U η I – religion = (Universal) Ps³.
If
1 x (ogomy) + commitment > (power)¹
Then
3 + infidel(it)γ = 0 + 1
If
m × y(Relationships) – commitment = breakup ease
Then
(Intimacy)+ love = < hr³t disE³s²
Smooth as…
St. Bathins overnight, small hamlet NZ, population fourteen
Old gold mines, mid-eighteen hundreds, abandoned, not seen
As alluvials dredged, now fresh water lakes
Frozen in winter, world curling championships, the town awakes.
Went to the pub, built 1853, tiny bar, lounge, quaint dining room
But the best attraction, since the long-gone mining boom
Was the publican Mike, the Kiwi equivalent
Of Basil Fawlty, though more malevolent.
Bloke came in, inquired: “Can I get a meal sir?”
“Nup. Booked out!” walked off, bloke felt like a cur
Then guest from dining room appeared at the bar
Tweed suit, landed gentry, not travelled far.
He ordered a rum and a bourbon, both with Coke
Mike served in beer glasses, their appearance a joke
One overflowing, the other quarter empty, but
“which one’s which?” asked diner, the reply did cut.
“You can sort it, can’t ya?” as he sauntered off
To serve three Germans, boy, girl, boy, nice hats aloft
Mike, to the girl: ” So which one’s ya boyfriend, or both of ’em poofs?”
Surprised, embarrassed, nervous giggles, we sipped our drinks, to avoid the woofs.
Nice young-uns, a drink and they left
Enter Venezuelan couple, photographers, filled vacant bar cleft
Mike started lecturing them on Pinochet, Allende regimes
I reminded him, gently, wrong coast and country, it’s Chile he means.
“They’re all the same, that lot over there!”
As he quaffed another beer, no sense of care
Surprising, he was well-travelled, well-grounded
In earnest conversation, his life, his resume, that I sounded.
Then a Frenchman, pro-golfer, and an Englishman came in
The earnings bought rounds of drinks, cognac, chin-chin
Then Mike grabbed Tequila, from a shelf up high
A well-aged grub, in a bottle, its origin evoked wistful sigh.
He set up shot glasses, along the three-metre bar
And shouted us drinks, the grub breathed air again, alone in the jar
Then abruptly, “I’ve had no dinner, the bar is closed!”
Frenchman: “Another cognac!” “Pub’s closed, now fuck off!” the prompt reply posed.
So
So grammar was learned in Primary School
So clauses, phrases, syntax; parsing the tool
So not to show one-self, an illiterate fool
So start a sentence with “And,” just not anyway cool.
So adjectival phrases, could be fun and/or cruel
So punctuation then imposes, a higher set rule
So meaning construed by comma, apostrophe’s double duel
So are all sentences starting, with “So,” now cool?
So, like: “So what is this thing called love?”
So, or: “So what is this thing?” called Love
So, or: “So what is this thing called, Love?”
So, or: “So what. Is this thing called love?”
So suddenly popular to begin with “So”
So, trendy? habituated? sophisticated? So, I dunno…
So I worked with a bloke who wanted to know
So he’d walk in, look about, and just say: “So…”
Gotcha!
Yes! Yes! I’ve got ’em fucked!
Google’s bamboozled, their plan out-lucked
Their prying and spying on my internet searches
Their pop-up ads to goad my purchases.
The Board of Control, bless her soul
My Google account set-up, the data blackhole
Personal form-fill, in her own name
My new tablet, my searches play the game.
Boat parts, mechanical and building material
Blokey things, my searches habitually serial
But my pop-up ads, Google confounds
Summer frocks, handbags, makeup abounds.
One day engineering products, the next I’m showing
Her the nice dresses, my suspicion growing
Google’s algorithms think I’m a lady
Or a straight or lesbian Tradie!
21st Century vocab…
Little girl excited, ran up to her friend
“Hey, I just found a condom on the verandah end!”
Friend looked at her quizzzically, no clue to gander
Embarrassed but curious said, “What’s a verandah?”