Poems

© Dot Schwenke

Now Auntie Flo, our maiden aunt, was kept well in the know.
She was a gossip of renown, her efforts never slow.
She loved the phone, the party line.She’d listen to each call.
Then mail was brought in twice a week, with letters for us all.

Those letters that we loved to read,

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by Zoe Younger

I took a new friend home last year, to introduce her there.
I knew she needed company, a feed, some warmth and care.
When she felt scared, alone, afraid I stayed up half the night.
To comfort her.to be with her.Said,“All would workout right.”

Six months along she’s still around.She’s not inclined to roam.

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© Noel Stallard

Most people calling Smithy but I knew that’s not his name,
for he bought singlets from my dad who called him, Mr Frame.
Dad ran a menswear shop in town and knew near everyone,
the farmers and the railwaymen, the priest and teaching nun.

But Mr Frame,

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© Noel Stallard

“Now class today in English we will study… Jones sit down,
you might think life’s a circus, but don’t aim to be its clown.
And Braithwaite if I’ve said it once, I’ve said until I’m blind,
pull up your socks, tuckin your shirt, stop scratching your behind.”

“Now like I said,

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© John”The Joker” Pampling

Note- Bex was a brand name of aspirinin the 1950’s and 60’s, available in both powder and tablet form.

A boy named Tom comes home from school says,“Mum how old are you?”
“A woman never tells her age,It’s not the thing to do.”
“But mom the other kids all know how old their parents be.

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© Mary Hodgson

A true record of the dances we went to in the 30s.

The local dances were such fun
when I was but a brand-new chum.
To get there to the we school hall
was quite a feat for one and all.
For first we had to catch a horse
And then to settle it of course.

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© Mary Hodgson

Since retiring to a coastal town after a lifetime in the bush, I felt the need to go back to the bush again.

I must go back to the Bush again
to the living bush and the sky
that flaunts a thousand stars at night
when the sun is nowhere nigh.

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© Phyl Chapman

Once boys were happy with the bike.Then came skateboards, rollerblades and now a modern version of the scooter.The shops can be a most friendly place where friends gather on the footpath to exchange news and views.It can also be a place of hazard as the story tells.

I thought I was a gonna
just now across the street
it was so close- fair scared me stiff
my Maker I thought I’d meet
some kid up on his skateboard
his cap turned front to back
came hurtling down the footpath
a missile on attack.

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© Kevin Dean

The old man stood and pondered
as the day merged into night
And his vision slowly wandered
to the fading rose of white.

But it was not ‘til morning light,
he saw them clearly by the sea
and recognised those crosses white
as graves here upon Gallipoli.

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© Phyl Chapman

Do it yourself has almost reached plague proportions.
I thought I’d join the ‘happy’ band but the result was catastrophic

I went climbing up a ladder to some cobwebs that did gather,
on the most of outlandish spots around the architrave.
You see I’d started painting;My zeal is never fainting.

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© Harold Meston

Of all life’s many mysteries
the greatest is I find,
the vast amount of detail
stored in a woman’s mind-
dates of births and weddings –
engagements when we met –
those dates all women will recall
yet men tend to forget

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© Harold Meston

 

The footsteps on the pavement near the window by my head,
echoes through my rented room -a place I’ve come to dread.
The roar of city traffic -trams rattling on their track
drives me to distraction, when I leave, I’ll not come back.

I’ve helped to harvest fields of wheat and picked my share of corn-
I’ve tarred and tallied scores of sheep after they’ve been shorn.

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© Mary Hodgson

For some a castle home maybe,
But a roof or walls will do for me.
With nowhere else to lay my head
I welcome this, my own real shed

There’s all that’s needed to survive:
All the things to keep me alive-
Abed,

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© Kevin Dean

They stayed with us awhile

these faces on the wall.

I knew not one of them

but I feel I know them all.

 

They are not just faces there

painted from photos found.

They come to life for all to see

those youngsters were Childers bound.

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