Under The Mallee Bough

  Love Me Tender. Scene: It is late evening after dinner..a fire burns briskly in a low height brazier in the centre of the small circle of trailers and a couple of caravans where can be seen from the light of the flames the painted signs advertising the circus of which the folk gathered sitting on bales of hay around the fire belong. There is emblazoned in red and black on the side of a long, horse-box trailer ; “Dangling Bros’ Circus”…on a caravan is the announcement of the next town in the itinerary of their tour, but with a pasted paper sash across the dates and location with the scrawled word “Cancelled” written on it. The folk sitting around the fired brazier look glum and dispirited. They consist of the owner and Master of Ceremonies of the circus; Kevin Cotton, His partner and wife, Beverly, who serves as acrobat and “Lion Tamer”(of in fact two trained Samoyed dogs, whose coats have been clipped to make them look like they have a lion’s m...

  I Sometimes Hunger. I sometimes hunger for the impossible, Like the moth doth for the star, I sometimes yearn for the memory, Like a migrant for his land afar. I likewise dream of the pleasure, Tho’ I confess ‘tis mostly in vain, For there’s not a God in Christendom, Could conjure herself, when I speak her name. Tho’ in my vanity seeking, To re-claim that pleasure that was mine, I see no fault needs forgiving, In visiting such a moment in time. For let us admit if nothing, There are moments once lost to one self, Though be no fault of our choosing, Begs no redeeming, what was a delightful indulge.

  Flirting with the Ladies. Of course we men flirt with the ladies, And why should we not try, Does not the honey bee flirt with the flowers, Does not the hummingbird flirt with the sky? Mark the loquacious mopoke, with its subtle lover’s song, And what of the curdling howl, of a dingo all night long? And of the wide, vast, expanse of ocean, With its currents, deep waters and lagoons, Does it not reflect the sensuous glory, Of a brilliance of shine from the moon? So leave us please sing our love songs, To our Helen or Kate or Kim Soon, With all the passion and hunger, Of a wild beast’s mating croon. We are but singing as a loving swain, Serenading to the women, mostly in vain, Attracting attention in our exaggerating swoon, Under a new and full, September Moon. So of course, we will flirt with the ladies, Indeed, damn us if we don’t always try, Presenting them flowers, poems or h...

  Let my heart stay young…(A prayer). “The calling of St. Joseph.” Let my heart stay young, Like the Gardens of Gethsemane stay young, Let my heart seek love’s joy, Like a child would harbour a favoured toy, Let me, in this, my last remaining times, Embrace that joy granted, of love sublime. While all about is awry with turmoil and strife, Let me serenely sail through on love’s delight, While all about is bent to sorrow and pain, The heart will reside in comfort of love’s domain. Don’t force my heart to grow old, Like the Gardens of Babylon have grown old, Don’t soak my heart with saddened tears, Before I have reached my terminal years, Leave me if I may, sing Aphrodite’s sensuous song, Praising her beauty in loquacious tongue, Prithee. . . Leave my heart stay young!

  I now identify as a Neanderthal Man. A Trans-Gene decision. I’ve decided that I am from this day forward identifying myself as a Neanderthal Man…if a bloke can identify himself as a woman without any of the accoutrements of a woman, and a woman can say she is a man for the same reasons, then I can identify myself as Neanderthal. Why? You may ask even though it is not your business nor right to ask…it is because I have had a gutfull of frikken’ Cro-Magnon and Sapien Man pushing, pushing, pushing to get up early, aspire, aspire, aspire to get things done, to “succeed” to accumulate material possessions etc, etc., when it is so much more comfortable and productive to the psyche to lay in bed and dream of ..of..dreamy things…and when I get hungry, I can knock a bit of flint to Make a fish-hook and go catch a cod or something and cook it over a slow fire while the good wife knocks up a watercress salad or something. What’s with all this ...

  Of A Beautiful Woman. Francesco Bianchi Buonavita Mary Magdalene, Of A Beautiful Woman. Please wear the sky-blue scarf, my love, When we meet at our next assignation, The one I saw you clutch to your breast so dear, When first I saw you at the railway station, Let me feel again, a surge of delighted frustration, That impossible, urgent demand, of hollow desperation, Let me wonder on this mystery, of a man’s hunger of adoration, The troubled emotions, teetering thrill, of patient anticipation. Please wear the silken sky-blue scarf my love, That you wore on our first meet at the station, But this time it covering your tumbling locks of coral curl, That portrait frames visage of a cheerful, bonny girl, Enhancing so sweetly, this man’s gnawing hunger for adoration!