Views in Verse on 'ratbags'

There is nothing like the predictability of a good night out spoiled by some ratbag who appears to have a totally different agenda to all of the rest of us...?

What does he have to say on the subject? Let's find out...

Reflection

The man in the mirror
is toiling away
Working off last night's fun
A self-critique
while purging away
Reflection on the run:

I pump and I grind
cause I have to really
I carry some weight you see
Cause the man in the mirror
He ventures on out
a little too often that's me

As I work through my session
Thoughts comes on thru
A little uncomfortably
I'm the man in the mirror
I'm feeling good but
moving gingerly...

The woman with the hat
Was in my face
Well ...that was plain to see
A friend of a friend
she was so pissed off
...but hey  ...not because of me?

What about Sonia's brother in law
Some people argue
Even when they're wrong you see
He's better off really
for the 'spray' I gave him
 hey ...deservedly

I was with that blond
...say ...why not?
She captured my interest awhile
The 'hat lady' sank as the
Blond headed 'skank'
Waved at me and smiled

The blond wouldn't dance
when offered the chance
Said I'd  indulged 'too willingly'
tried to resolve it
but I couldn't hold it
in speaking ...adequately

More time at the bar
Could only but mar
any chance of a budding romance
By now kind of numb
right down from my bum
Best suited for sitting ..not dance

Then (hey) that fellah
who just kept looking..
Staring provokingly
I broke my rule
Confronted the 'tool'
Sorted it out...well...
gentlemanly?

Sometimes there are things
that are much better
well...left unsaid
 a good shove ...hey?
It works every time
Puts the issue
'straight to bed'

The pain in my shoulder
I can't quite trace though
the bouncers do come to mind
for no good reason
That I can recall
The barman really wasn't that 'kind'

My mates tell me
I could do a little better...
Be more careful with what I drink
But those last few...
'wow'!!!
Kind'a creep right up on you
you just can't ...really...'think'

Anyway...
Better for the workout
Time to text the boys
Sunday's a great day
I always reckon
For making a little noise...
Reservedly though
Yes so reservedly so
I'm a social soul
That's me


Views in verse - Grahame J Flynn

Views in Verse on ‘political correctness’

Time and Space

Political correctness
The enlightenment of our age
A Proustian exercise 
In ritual disdain
As with ‘Christmas in our schools’
We’re judged to be such fools
For calling out 
Such ill-informed refrain

Who are these backroom idealists
Masquerading as realists
Their intentions seem to hide
Their common sense
Our cultures develop
In their own time and space
Without a need 
For cavalier pretense

Notwithstanding…
The norm must not be
Simply a veil, well designed,
To hide the rank exclusive
Moreover a platform
With adequate time and space
To be judged...
‘Authentically’ inclusive

Views in Verse Grahame J Flynn 

Views in verse on 'old ways'

Country Folk

She hears the pots a’rattlin’

As she patiently waits outside

He’s usually back home around six

A farmer’s wife knows a lot about waiting

Always something else to fix

Her day’s work done,

Her gaze now fixed upon the gate

A meandering half mile away

Lately she’s seen the dust a little sooner

It’s been so dry these days

For forty odd years

He’s worked this farm

‘Bloody hard work”, says he, “nothing to do with my brains”

Wasn’t always the case for her in truth

Now the bush runs through her veins

She often worries about him though

Out there, on his own

Can’t afford a hand; that’s for sure

But as she returns from her round of the kitchen

His frame now fills the door

“Ran into the neighbour just now…”

“Up for a yarn”

“…a little late getting back”

“But you know old Norm

“…he’ll never change”

“Always up for a chat!”

“He’s missin’ Shirl, 
…couldn’t help but think…”

“He’s lookin’ a little bit thinner?”
“So look luv, 

Can you set him a plate…?”

“I’ve asked him around for dinner”

From my desktop Grahame J Flynn Views in Verse

Views in Verse on resilience

Resilience

Dark omen blights my day

An iceberg in the northern sea
It leaves me reeling
Impacts
Unmistakably

Bounced from wall to wall
Rocked, stunned
Bereft of direction
Enter
Uncertainty

Unwelcome to said intrusion
Finds me deep
In forced reflection
Thinking
Euphemistically

Clawing from the wreckage
Spent, breathless
Somehow lifted
Save
Unknowingly

The human spirit responds
When challenged to the core
Reason provides
Succour, 
Sustainability

What doesn’t kill us
In turn makes us stronger
Life’s struggles abide
In step
Enduringly

Ready to hand trade-offs
Spring to mind
New horizons dazzle beyond
Not
Unsurprisingly

Views in Verse Grahame J Flynn

Views in verse on 'the sacrifices of war'

Moving Day

Following the soldiers back home
Along the track from Bruce
Came a ragtag troupe of ‘carnies’...
Not fit for His Majesty’s boots.
They crossed the River Namoi
At the town of Jindalee,
out back of the Mallee stoop.
There, the humble circus
It brought them all out
To help them with their war;
A wall,
Of pain and shattered truth

Young Jimmie Malone
Didn’t feel right, at home, these days
As he searched for life
Deep in his sad father’s eyes.
His Dad, Bert,
disconnected,
At best,
No matter how hard he’d tried.
Had said he wanted
To go to the circus...
Jimmie knew in his heart that
He'd lied.

Sgt Malone, as feared,
Winced at every crack
Of the showman’s whip
So employed to teach
An unwilling beast to dance;
The tortured lion
Roared back its’ discontent
As Bert’s head regaled
In battlefield noise
With random addled rants

Another soldier, Murph,
Reported daily to Nell’s bar
Ensconced there,
Safe from all the hullabaloo
The white tiles clean
A refuge serene,
For the needy
Solitary, few.
By the third whiskey chaser
A warm friend arrived; enter
This fond and calming ‘bracer’

Alone on his boarded porch later
Malone sat restless
And staring,
Lost in his own drinking time.
Instinctively fearing,
A circumspect vigil for
‘Next orders, Sergeant’
To filter down a distant line.
Despair silently, but surely, negating,
Life’s mandate...
A subconscious ...somehow waiting?

Young Jim was seen about
As the clan,
Had left, disorderly,down the one shabby street
The weathered parade passing
With the odd thankful wave
As it rattled o’er the dusty peat.
The boy, meantime, tried
to quiet his racing mind
Stowed, safe, beneath
A sturdy waggon seat

And as the two serviceman
Again, searched their glasses deep
For answers to their plight;
The circus meandered
Out toward the Barwon Plains,
For a matinee show next night.
The lion trussed in a wooden crate;
The performers bedraggled along;
Their eyes locked on the trail up ahead
The odd one humming a hopeful song...

And so on they went
One day at a time,
A ritual of the ages
In an attempt to somehow
Rewrite over time
The story
Of their pages.
Leaving behind this weary day
A new life to begin
Far from dark provost,
Cruel discontent,
Of faceless, driven men

Grahame J Flynn Views in Verse