Poetry

On a rainy Sunday I turned eighty-three,

And right by the bed, you sat with me.

You looked at my hand, I looked at your smile,

We sat in the silence, then talked for a while.

I told you that you were my last old friend,

And I saw the confusion on your face extend.

I explained that we'd met over ten years ago,

On a warm summer day, by my Winnebago.

You had asked for a spanner, or a tool of some sort,

And we'd finished the day with a bottle of port.

At that point in time it had not crossed my mind,

In that moment, you'd be the last old friend I'd find.

Since we met I've known others, family and friends,

But quite often for them, I've been a means to an end,

People come and go, but rarely do stay,

And with that I'm reminded of you and that day.

We laughed and we shared, and we drank, and we cried,

And we held each other as our older friends died.

We visited each other, and wrote via letter,

And when you got ill I'd pray you'd get better.

As I lied on the bed, on that rainy day in June,

I knew I'd be leaving, passing by soon.

I never knew how important our friendship would be,

My last old friend, and the last one I see.

Two little fruits bats climbed upon a tree, 

A place to call home, they hung there with glee. 

The evening was quiet, the sky ever black,

They’d found a high branch, on which they could slack. 

Soon came the ‘morrow, but the sky hadn’t changed,

Darkness encompassed the view they’d arranged. 

A keeper walked sulking from the nearby abode,

Looked at the sky, and near fell off the road. 

For above him was a wave of wings and flock;

A sky made of feathers, it gave him a shock. 

For as far as he saw, no glimpses of blue, 

So he followed the pathway, the mass of birds flew. 

Straight cross the lawn, over a fence,

Down a steep gully, building suspense,

The flock had a target, the giant old gum,

They aimed for the branch with the bat and his chum. 

The plovers were nasty, all swoopy and dumb,

“You can’t hang round ‘ere, go back where ya from.” 

An owl tried to reason, play middle ground,

“There’s plenty of room, down close to the ground.”

Some lorikeets defended, “diversity is real”

While a Kookaburra laughed and left for a meal. 

“Why on earth, are you upside down?”

Asked a daft little Galah, wearing a frown. 

A magpie got clever, and tried on his tricks,

“Have you thought about sleeping on a pile of sticks?”

The crows joined the magpie, attempting persuasion,

“What if your old home was the place of invasion?”

Not sure what to do, the bats hung quite still,

To leave their new home? Or stay for the thrill?

“I see you up there,” called the Emu below. 

“Don’t worry yourselves with the Maggie and Crow.

They all called me names, just because I can’t fly.

But we’re stronger than that and I’ll tell you why.

That tree is not theirs, it’s for all wings to share,

And we’re all pretty different, from our talk to our hair. 

If they’re worried for looks, or where you were born,

They aren’t worth your worry, they aren’t worth your scorn.” 

And with that the great emu chucked them a smile,

Jumped off the ground and sprinted a mile. 

The two little fruit bats, a new sense of calm,

Stayed in their spot, on the tree by the farm. 

Eventually the birds who were rude, found new things to hate,

But the ones who were kind, made a new mate.

Oh, left elbow.

You have no point.

Except for the fact,

You are a joint.

Oh, left elbow.

How you bend.

Not quite a right angle,

But we can pretend.

Oh, left elbow.

You're ugly as heck.

With a wrinkly exterior,

And an arm for a neck.

There was a purple elefant, as big as big can be,

I saw him just the other day, climbing up a tree.

He sat upon a skinny branch, beside a kookaburri,

And when it cracked the bird took off, in quite an awful hurry.

Elefant, who couldn't fly, had no choice but to fall,

And so he tumbled down the trunk, the thing was rather tall.

He hit his head on every nook, and landed on his bottom,

He shook it off, and dusted off, the fail was not a problem.