The Roads' End
Old Ben, the pensioner, is going down to die.
Huddled in the mail-car, he turns a wistful eye
On this familiar forest scene, the wooded mountain wall;
And nought could lure him from it save the last stern call.
He has loved it with a fierce love no reason comprehends;
The great gums, the green ways, the rough bush friends.
But doctor says his tough old heart at last has let him down;
So he's off to be 'patched up a bit' in hospital in town.
'Patched up a bit'. . . He'd heard that talk when they took Badger Jack,
And Charlie Clem, and Lame Mick. But none of these came back.
Was it Mick went first? Or Charlie? (Lordy, Lord! How men forget.)
And now they're taking Ben away; and Ben not eighty yet.
The youngest, he, of six old hulks; and three have gone away;
Till now there's only George Jones left, and old Pete Parraday -
His oldest friend, Pete Parraday, who has his dog to mind.
The cruellest break of all, that was - leaving his dog behind.
Old Ben, the pensioner, sits huddled in the car;
And his filmed eyes seek the skyline where the timbered ranges are -
This kind, green place of singing bards, of tree and scrubland dense.
He hears their words of forced good cheer and jovial pretence:
Says old George Jones, 'In hospital you'll get real proper care.'
'An' mind,' says Pete, 'no sparkin' with them pretty nurses there.
Why, man, you'll be a two-year-old when you come back agen.'
'You keep your eye on my ole dawg, an' feed 'im good,' pipes Ben.
Then, 'All aboard!' the mailman shouts 'Now, Ben, mind them old bones!'
A hand-clasp from Pete Parraday, a pat from old George Jones,
And Ben, the pensioner, goes off on his last pilgrimage…
'Broke up reel fast,' growls old George Jones, 'considerin' his age.
Hey! Don't let that dawg foller him! Here, Rover, you behave.'
They watch the sick man turn about, and feebly try to wave.
Swiftly the car speeds round the bend; the echoes die away…
'Me next? Or maybe you, George,' says old Pete Parraday.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Related quotes
As Between Pensioners
''Tis precious stuff,' said old George Jones
'When men sore needs a fall;
Tho' how or why it comes, I owns
I ain't got clear at all.
Some sez that in the sun, a spot
Controls it in some way.'
'It's this 'ere wireless, like as not,'
Said old Pete Parraday.
'Wireless,' scoffed grey-haired Joey Park.
'Wot wireless did they use
When ole man Noah sailed the ark?
It's them black cockytoos.
Last week I seen more than a few,
An' then wot did I say '
''Tis wireless - I'm tellin' you!'
Said old Pete Parraday.
'Cockies? Sun-spots?' said Daddy Shore,
'Jist foolish talk an' vain.
It's this 'ere Abbysinian war
An' guns as causes rain.
Ain't it been proved by natcharil laws
Time an' again, the way '
'It's this 'ere wireless is the cause,'
Said old Pete Parraday.
Said old George Jones, 'Ain't you ashamed
To talk the way you do?
It's providence gits mostly blamed
When things is lookin' blue.
Ain't the rain now due? For ain't we got
O'er all this world full sway?'
'Too right. But wireless helps a lot,'
Said old Pete Parraday.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Hundredth Year
Not that I'd quarrel with the way
They celebrates their hundredth year
In town (said old Pete Parraday),
But that don't suit us bush blokes here.
So let bells ring and whistles blare
And fill the town with mighty sound,
Let motor noises tear the air
An' bonfires light the hills around.
When I'm five score I want some say
In things (said old Peter Parraday).
I've lived me life here in the bush
(Said Pete) since I was but a boy;
An' all this city noise an' push
Ain't my idea of showin' joy.
Me ears ain't tooned to sich like noise,
And fire is like to wake our fear.
Them ain't the things that we enjoys
When celebratin' birthdays here;
So, if I live so long, I pray
For peace (said old Peter Parraday).
A hundred year's a long, long spell
To hang about this mad ole earth,
And when man nears his century - well
He don't crave much of noisy mirth -
Not for himself, with life near run
Its length, such comes for others yet;
Not for himself; for he is done,
With all life's hectic fuss an' fret.
So let me have my foolish way
In this (said old Pete Parraday).
I ask but this, an' nothin' more,
When comes my hundredth natal day;
Let me sit here beside my door
And dream (said old Pete Parraday).
While bush birds sing the songs I know,
And bush sounds that I love the best,
Wake memories of the long ago,
Let me sit here a while and rest.
Aye, rest, and sleep and, who shall say?
Sleep sound (said old Pete Parraday).
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Cherry
'Some I got with amber stems an' some with silver bands,
Bent ones an' straight ones an' all sorts o' brands.
A lot of pipes, sez you, for one old pensioner to own;
But, folks, as soon as Christmas comes, they won't leave me alone.
'We'll give old Pete a pipe,' they sez, forgetful in their way,
It's wot they gives me every year,' said old Pete Parraday.
'Bent ones an' straight ones, some must ha' cost real dear -
More than I'd smoke if I should live for two hundred year.
''We'll give ole Pete a pipe,' they sez. (People is awful good
Here in the bush! 'He sucks,' they sez, 'at that ole cherrywood
All bound with bits of wire an' stuff, an' cracked an' caked up too!'
But, lordy, none of 'em don't know that pipe the way I do.
I've had him over seven year, an' I just likes him fine;
For, cracked an' all, an' caked an' all, he's a good ole mate o' mine.
'Cherry,' I calls him, just for short. I own he smells no end,
But, if I was to lose him now, I'd feel I'd lost a friend.
'Yes, he knows me an' I knows him - a cranky coot some ways:
Got to be youmered, like a man; he has his sulky days.
Goes stubborn an' won't dror at all if I packs him too tight;
An', if I cuts the baccy coarse, the cow won't stay alight!
But on long winter evenin's, there by the blazin' log,
The three of us gits yarnin' - him an' me an' my ole dog -
But, lordy, if I told you all about ole Cherry here,
You'd say me brain was softnin'; you'd say; 'Ole Pete's gone queer.'
'He lost his self last winter down there along the creek,
An' a pretty dance he led me with his crazy hide an' seek.
That's how I catched pnoomonier. The doctor sez, 'Yer mad!
Risk death for that old stikin' pipe!' But I sez, 'Listen, lad,
Ole Cherry does me far more good than all your doctor's stuff!'
But he jist stands an' grins at me; he knowed it sure enough.
'Cherry,' I sez, 'has been my mate -'. But he sez, 'Hold yer row!
You tough ole hunk o' hide!' he sez. 'Sit up an' drink this now.'
'Some I got with amber stems an' some with silver bands,
Bent ones an' straight ones - all sorts o' brands.
If you came into my bush hut you'd see a brave array -
Pipes of every shape an' cut,' said old Pete Parraday.
'But don't you say you seen 'em, 'cos folks is awful good.
'We'll give ole Pete a pipe,' they sez. 'Pooh! That ole cherrywood!'
Yes; folks is kind at Christmas time; but, now an' then, I grants,
I wish they'd stand a man a short, or p'raps a pair o' pants.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Bush Veteran
Old Pete Parraday, he toddles up the road,
'Dangin'' things and 'darn in'' things and hefting of his load
For yesterday was pension day, Peter has his goods:
Butcher's meat and groceries and all sorts of foods;
A bit of plug 'tobaker' and a tin of 'jelly Jam,'
'Termatter' sauce and yellow soap, a knuckle-end of ham,
And a little flask of 'special stuff' discreetly tucked away.
'I takes it for me rheumatiz,' says Peter Parraday.
Old Pete Parraday, he lives all on his own.
People say he's getting old and shouldn't be alone.
They talk of institutions where he'd have most kindly care.
'Wot? Me?' says Peter Parraday. 'An' wot would I do there?
Lose me independence, an' be 'umble when they scold,
Eat an' sleep an' dress an' smoke just when an' how I'm told?
Shove ME in an Old Man's 'Ome to rust me life away?
I'd like to see 'em try it on!' says Peter Parraday.
Old Pete Parraday has little time to spare
For a bush hut and a garden are a common source of care.
There's wood to cut and meals to cook - a thousand things to plan
In the little kitchen-garden that 'do fair absorb a man.'
Green peas and radishes, brussels sprouts and beans,
Silver beet and lettuces - all sorts of green.
'Waterin' an' weedin' 'em, the hours they melts away,
An' days ain't halfways long enough,' says Peter Parraday.
Old Peter Parraday, he sits beside his door
To smoke a pipe at day's-end when fussy toil is o'er.
'This world it changes fast like,' says he, 'as time drifts by;
For old days was easy days when I was young an' spry;
An' cash was easy come by, with fortunes flowin' free,
An' many a man growed wealthy wot toed the mark with me.
But me? I seemed to miss the bus. Fair lost me chance, ses they,
Yet that don't seem to grieve me some,' grins Peter Parraday.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Bird - Seed
Old Pete Parraday, he isn't very wise
Or so the local gossips say - They love to criticise
His crazy views and values, and the things he counts worth while.
'Better had he saved his money,' say his critics, with a smile;
'And not become a pensioner with all his silly chat
Of finches, wrens and robins, and such trivial thngs as that.
It's livin' lonely all these years has filched his brains away.'
'An' left me kind o' peacefuller,' grins old Pete Parraday.
Old Pete Parraday, he sits beside the road
Resting from the hefting of his week-end load:
Bread and meat and groceries to serve his simple need,
And a tiny paper packet with the tag, 'Bird Seed.'
'I allus gits three-pennyworth - I've never needed more
For them there little Pommy-birds wot hops about me door
Goldfinches, starlings an' stranger-folk like they
Wot ain't brung up to grubs an' things,' says old Pete Parraday.
'The robins likes their meal-worms; the blue-wrens tackles grubs;
Grey thrushes goes for take-alls like the boozers goes for pubs;
But the little vegetarians for food has far to roam;
An' so I buys 'em bird-seed to make 'em feel at 'ome
Goldfinches, sichlike, them little stranger-folk . . .
I know 'ow people counts me soft an' reckons I'm a joke
When I talks about me bird friends. I've seed 'em nudge an' wink.
But I valyers them there mates o' mine. Cos why? They makes me think.
'They makes me think of beauty, of the glory of the earth,
An' they leads me on to dreamin'. An' wot is dreamin' worth?
Some folk might call it crazy; but it's heaven's gift to me.
Aye, vision sich as never is or was by land or sea.
Man cannot live by bread alone, nor dreams be put in words;
An', if I'm mad, I'm happy mad, an' talkin' to me birds.
Three-pennyworth o' bird-seed counts more to me that way
Then all the wealth of Sheba's queen,' says old Pete Parraday.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Good Grief
Good Grief, For Pete’s Sake and I Swanee To My Time
How many times I’ve used these phrases to express what’s on my mind!
But I’ve had some time to think things through and if you’ll pardon me
I think I’m more confused right now that I ever used to be!
Could someone please explain to me how grief is ever good?
Who the heck got that one started I’ve never understood!
But oh, Good Grief it’s not like I intentionally misled you
You’ve said it too, you know you have and you’re confused now too.
And has anybody ever figured out just who this Pete guy is?
I knew a Pete some time ago, but I don’t think this sake is his.
My mind is reeling now, seems I’m more confused than ever.
And for Pete’s sake don’t try and say you never said it, never!
So here we are at last to the most mind boggling phrase
I Swanee to My Time? What th? My mind is in a haze!
I heard that all my life it seems and from my kin was told
O, I Swanee to my time! Forget it! I’m just too damned old!
So now we have dissected all those cute old phrases here.
I’m sure you will agree with me the meanings now are clear
Good Grief will just confuse you and For Pete’s Sake, don’t you lie!
I Swanee to my time! Uh, hello? You see I have gray hair? Why?
poem by Donna McCord
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Old Pete Parraday
Old Pete Paraday, his mind works very slow;
But, when it fastens on a thoughts, he will not let it go.
He measures it and mumbles it until an answer comes,
Just as he mumbles bits and scraps between his toothless gums.
'I likes to think a bit,' says he. 'An', thinkin', by and large
On these 'ere modrun fashions like, 'as fairly riz me garge.'
Old Pete Paraday, he thinks the joke is rich;
''Cen-TEN-ary! Cen-TEEN-ary!' Did ever you 'ear sich?
I never knowed the like,' says he: 'sich argymints as those.
The proper word is 'Century,' as any scholard knows.
An', when I makes my century, come seven year ahead,
I'll have you call it 'Century,' an' nothin' else instead.'
Old Pete Paraday, he cackles in high glee.
''Cen-TEN-ary! Cen-TEEN-ary!' Ho, lahdidah!' says he.
''Tis these 'ere modrun misses is to blame for all sich rot.
They paints their lips and plucks their brows an' thinks they knows a lot.
But I weren't hatched but yesterdee; an', sure as you're alive,
I knows,' says old Pete Paraday, 'how many beans make five.'
Says old Pete Paraday: 'I've thought it up an' down,
An' back an' front an' crossways, an' likewise roun' an' round'.
The proper word is 'Century,' an' means one hundred years.
'Cen-TEN-ary! Cen-TEEN-ARY!' They fair gits in yer ears!
So when I reach my century, you call it just that way;
An' none of your noo-fangled stuff,' says old Pete Paraday.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Take A Load Off Your Feet
I do them when Im down in the tub
With avocado cream theyll take a rub
They wrinkle like a-raisins if I stay too long
I wouldnt want to do it wrong
Theyll put you in the drivers seat
And to the table when you want to eat
But when you go to sit down in your chair
Something else has got to put you there
Take good care of your feet, pete
You better watch out what you eat, pete
Better take care of your life
cause nobody else will
Theyll twinkle when you fall in love
And put you there when you jump up above
When youre on the spot, get them right under you
One, then the other too
If you want to do the right thing for them
Just take a walk in the grass
But dont you catch yourself fallin
Or steppin on a piece of glass
(ouch glass)
Pete knows all the treacherous blows
The fallen arches and the cramp in the toes
He went to h. e. l. p. and got some sandals new
And dusty old saunas too
Take a load of your feet pete
You better watch out what you eat
Better take care of your life
cause nobody else will
Do do do do do do do do do do
Do do do do do do do do do do
Do do do do do do do do do do
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mr. Jones
Mr. jones
Put a wiggle in your stride
Loosen up
I believe he'll be alright
Changing clothes
Now he's got ventilated slacks
Bouncing off the walls
Mr. jones is back!
Bulge out
And wind your waist
Tight pants
Got curly hair
Drinking cold beer
From metal cans
Moonshine
And handi-wipes!
Mr. jones is back in town
It's his lucky day
Hold up your hands and shout
Jones is on his way
Pitter pat
Mr. jones is back in town
Aces high
Now his pants are falling down
He looks so fine
In those patent leather shoes
Mr. jones, you look tired
I believe you'll be alright
Sales men
Conventioneers
Some rock stars
With tambourines
Short skirts
And skinny legs
Selling bibles
And real estate
It's a big day for mr. jones
He is not so square
Mr. jones will stick around
He's everybody's friend
Fast cars
And motorbikes
I'm sure glad
He's on our side
The jones gang
Down at the bar
Watch out, this time
They've gone too far
They call for mr. jones
They put him in charge
Mr. jones will help us out
He's a lucky guy
It is mr. jones' birthday party
For another year
In his hotel room party favors
It's a holiday
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dialogue Part I
Terry: Are you optimistic 'bout the way that things are going?
Pete: No, I never ever think of it at all.
Terry: Don't you ever worry when you see what's going down?
Pete: Well, I try to mind my business, that is, no business at all.
Terry: When it's time to function as a feeling human being, will your Bachelor
of Arts help you get by?
Pete: I hope to study further, a few more years or so.
I also hope to keep a steady high.
Terry: Will you try to change things, use the power that you have,
The power of a million new ideas?
Pete: What is this power you speak of and the need for things to change?
I always thought that ev'rything was fine, ev'rything is fine.
Terry: Don't you feel repression just closing in around?
Pete: No, the campus here is very very free.
Terry: Does it make you angry the way war is dragging on?
Pete: Well I hope the President knows what he's into, I don't know.
Oooh I just don't know.
Terry: Don't you see starvation in the city where you live,
all the needless hunger, all the needless pain?
Pete: I haven't been there lately, the country is so fine,
but my neighbors don't seem hungry 'cause they haven't got the time,
Haven't got the time.
Terry: Thank you for the talk, you know you really eased my mind,
I was troubled by the shapes of things to come.
Pete: Well, if you had my outlook, your feelings would be numb,
You'd always think that ev'rything was fine.
Ev'ry thing is fine.
We can make it better (x3) Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!
We can change the world now (x3)
We can save the children (x3)
We can make it happen (x3)
-------------
Transcribed by
Don F. Pizarro
[email protected]
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Take A Load Of Your Feet
I do them when Im down in the tub
With avocado cream theyll take a rub
They wrinkle like a-raisins if I stay too long
I wouldnt want to do it wrong
Theyll put you in the drivers seat
And to the table when you want to eat
But when you go to sit down in your chair
Something else has gotta put you there
Take good care of your feet, pete
You better watch out what you eat, pete
Better take care of your life
cause nobody else will
Theyll twinkle when you fall in love
And put you there when you jump up above
When youre on the spot, get em right under you
One, then the other too
If you want to do the right thing for em
Just take a walk in the grass
But dont you catch yourself fallin
Or steppin on a piece of glass
(ouch glass)
Pete knows all the treacherous blows
The fallen arches and the cramp in the toes
He went to h. e. l. p. and got some sandals new
And dusty old saunas too
Take a load of your feet pete
You better watch out what you eat
Better take care of your life
cause nobody else will
Do do do do do do do do do do
Petes feet are your feet oh
Do do do do do do do do do do
Petes feet are your feet oh
Do do do do do do do do do do
Oh!
Petes feet are your feet oh
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Old George Said
Said old George Jones: 'All in a hundred years.
'Tis little time enough, and well may make
This youthful country proud among its peers
Of progress wooed and won for progress sake.
A splendid city shining by the sea
And all that count of wealth and worth she owns
Speaks well enough for our first century,'
Said old George Jones.
''Tis with a country much as 'tis with men:
The fevered morn o' life goes all for gain -
For all the things gain signifies; an' then,
We pause to con life's lesson o'er again
And find, if be that wisdom comes with years,
That gettin', gainin', holdin', scarce atones
Nor pays for all man's toil an' sweat and tears,'
Said old George Jones.
'Not with the golden profit won thro' trade,
Not with the tawdry treasure that we wrest
From this scarred earth, nor things men's hands have made
Comes any answer to man's age-long quest.
Not at the gates of such material goals
Nor pedigreed cities builded high with stones
Lies ought to serve or satisfy men's souls,'
Said old George Jones.
Said old George Jones, 'This is an old man's pray'r:
That gainin' shall not ever wholly serve
This land o' mine when I drift otherwhere
To seek what share o' peace I may deserve;
But that the treasure of the one true worth
Shall gleam at last above my whitening bones
For wiser mortals of a wiser earth,'
Said old George Jones.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Watching Her Walk
Her presence moves
frail bent, head down
with a bow-strung gait
eyes fixed to pavement
Stopping, darting eyes
see something bothersome
a crack; a cautious step
moves her forward again
At first, heads turned
eyebrows cocked, curiously
watching her walk
watching that walk
A respectful 'hello Mary'
is usually heard
aging fast each year
less attentive
forgetful, slow
its a small town
people know.
Occasionally, a ride is offered
turned down... fearfully so
for dim eyes see strangers
if a familiar voice is heard
still, rides are waved off
with a polite, 'no thanks'
Now its just a kick of a can
to fourth Street and Beaver Avenue
where the once alluring presence
of the shapely young Slovak
with enchanting eyes
once played and walked
Back then, heads turned
captured eyes stared...
appraisingly
watching her walk
watching that walk
A relishing 'Hello-Mary'
was frequently heard
prettier each Year
un-assuming
un-forgetful
its a small town
young men know
Since then
much water has flowed
now she prays... always
praying and walking
especially...since Pete's gone
now up there...waiting
for her, she knows
Mary without Pete
This small town knows
She prays for us all
fervently
she prays for herself
un-knowingly
For the air, even
thanks are greatly given
by breathing deeply
Thank you Lord
for your air
that I breath
without knowing
each breath in
moves the right foot
each breath out
moves the left
A rhythmic cadence
a Prayer walking
is what is odd
This peculiar
gritty gait
is what
people
see.
Pete watches
from up there
looking down
watching her walk
watching that walk
His 'Hello My Mary'
is nearer each year,
Her presence is a bit
closer each year
Her tireless gait
takes that narrow way
up that well trod path
walk, un-forgetful
in a small mill town
its a small town
a town God knows
poem by George Vuyakovich
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Pete Dj Jones was the first person that I saw with 2 turntables. This was 1972.
quote by Kurtis Blow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Big Boy Pete
The joint was jumping on the corner down on Honky Tonk Street,
All of a sudden up pulled a Cadillac and out stepped a can named Pete.
A diamond on every finger, he wore he wore a tailor made suit,
Black cigar, he wore a Stetson hat,
He wore a pair on cowboy boots,
Busted on through the door mad as he could be,
Don't mess around, I'll cut you down 'cause my name is Big Boy Pete.
The music stopped, there wasn't a sound,
Up in the corner stood Bad Man Brown.
He smiled and grinned, he said you know my friend,
Take two steps further I'm going kick you in the hide,
Forty-Five keep it alive, seven bullets on my side.
Brown pulled a knife, jumped on Pete,
Fought from the counter right on out to the street.
They swung from the north, swung from the south,
Pete got the blackjack out.
Brown went out his mind, yes he did, now we deeply see,
If you're ever down on the corner, down on Honky Tonk Street,
Don't mess around he'll cut you down,
Take a lesson from Big Boy Pete
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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George Jones Reflects
It's up an' down, as me father said,
An' his as went before him
Good days could never turn his head
Nor the worst of seasons floor him.
(Said old george Jones). I've heard him say
Full many a time an' often,
'The man who knows no evil day
Ain't toughened so he can out-stay
Good times, in which men soften.'
See-saw. 'Tis the older law
That's ruled the world since Adam.
If men ain't sipped the bitter cup,
How can the good days cheer 'em up?
They never know they had 'em.
So, by-an'-large, I'm sorter glad
I've had a chance to share 'em
These long, lean years we've lately had.
Now good years come we've got the bad
With which we can compare 'em.
I've heard men say the land is done
Because the hard times fool 'em.
Poor simple loons, they ain't begun
To know the laws wot rule 'em.
'Men ain't learned yet to live on air,'
I've hard my ole dad chuckle.
'Stick to the land. All wealth lies where
Earth bids all men to seek it, e'er
When life gets near the knuckle.'
See-saw. 'Tis the olden law;
An' laws help them as learned 'em.
An' us ole stagers wot held fast
To earth, now clear days down at last,
Why, praise the Lord, we've earned 'em.
Hard earned (said old George Jones) most ways
High prized. New loads is lighter,
Us, who held fast can well spare praise,
Aye, even for then strengthenin' days
That makes these good days brighter.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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It Is A Pity
it is a pity
that people peopled people into office
but people unpeoples their people on getting there
then cripple their people while peopling them
it is a pity
that pity cannot pity pete
in pete's land with pete's pills
but cripple poor pete with pimping preens.
poem by Olumide Ayodele
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George Of The Jungle
George, george, george of the jungle
Strong as he can be
Ahhh
Watch out for that tree
George, george, george of the jungle
Lives a life thats free
Ahhh
Watch out for that tree
When he gets in scrapes
When he makes his escapes
With the help of his friend
An ape named ape
Then away hell schlep
On his elephant shep
While fella and ursula
Stay in step with
George, george, george of the jungle
Friend to you and me
Ahhh
Watch out for that tree
Watch out for that (ahhh) (oooh) tree
George, george, george of the jungle
Friend to you and me
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Is Why
The elder of a pair of twins - my lil sis suddenly
called - Please open the gate, I'm waiting outside;
I went out, there she was on a BIG motorbike, she
explained taxman said we tax your business unless
you spend - she and life partner bought BIG motor-
bikes, riding to a Hotel - Formula One
Overwhelmed, never knew she and Pete - Petrus in
local parlance - had to fight taxman to keep enterprise
going; she bought an enormous scooter - 650 CC and
Pete bought a 1 050 CC - they drove off to Musina; the
back of the beyond where large trucks pass on their way
to far-off Zimbabwe and Mozambique
My lil sis drove till they tackled the mountains where she
was too tired to continue; Pete stopped, someone else
drove the rest of the way; she picked up by car; they
arrived safely - she has fun with her paintings, pool
and most important, taking care of Mom and Dad -
her mind is occupied; though
She feels smothered by too much well-being, a strange
concept to her - I wonder whether she understands -
this is why I hang on to hubby - myself?
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Postcard Pete
When Pete Moaner heard everything was going digital
it didn’t go down with him too well,
he decided to make a protest
and wonder which way was best.
The more he thought about it
and all the things he’d miss
he got angrier and angrier.
No more love letters with s.w.a.l.k. on the back
to hold onto forever never letting go,
the bills he didn’t mind
those he could do without.
Now for his protest it had to be strong,
something no one would forget.
He bought up all the saucy postcards he could get
and wrote on everyone and signed them P.M.
then sent them off to the power to be
and every computer company.
He sent them by the sack full
but none of them had a stamp.
If they were going to stop people
from writing sweet nothings to one another
the postage they could pay.
Eventually the law caught up with him
when he tried to deposit a truckload of cards
at the local post office.
The newspapers had a field day and dubbed him
Postcard Pete the protester.
The judge asked him when he went to court
how do you plead.
Guilty your honour
as I did it four our society.
Your honour would never get
those scented love letters
from your lady fair
if everything went digital.
You would have nothing
in future years to fondle and hold.
No paper to sniff the scent
of her erotic perfume,
no more mementoes
when you grow old,
that’s why I did it sir
to help people like you.
The judge nodded and called Pete to his bench.
Did you sign any postcard with your real name?
No your honour I couldn’t do that.
I signed them all from the P.M.
The judge looked up and in a stern voice said;
case dismissed through lack of evidence
unless someone wants to call the Prime Minister in.
Postcard Pete left the courtroom
his protest was done.
No more love letters through emails
and on that we’ll have to wait and see.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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