Desert Wind

Low is the howl of the desert
As the wind comes howling along,
And the dust and the sand become airborne
With the wind has a howl for a song.

A blast from the wind causes havoc
With the trees as they bend to the ground,
And the wind just keeps itself blowing
Making its mournfully sound.

The lizard the snake and the beetle
Scamper around for a hole,
The scorpion and mouse look for cover
As they fear to the depth of their soul.

The sand blind the others that live there
Causing havoc not known to man,
To have fear of death in the desert
Only the creatures that live there, they can.

Krackatinni® Copyright March 15, 2008

753

Our Visitor

We just had a visitor
He was such a little chap
He was grey and sorta furry
And he came to have a nap.

He didn't speak at first you see
He just gave a little squeak
Then he looked around the corner
To have a little peak.

I tossed a bit of tucker
For him to have a chew
He nibbled it much too fast
And the little chap he spewed.

He gave a cough and then he sneezed
And he nearly had a fit
So I had to mix his tucker up
And feed him just a bit.

Well, well, well

The little grey and fluffy man
Climbed up on my lap
He had a stretch and then he sighed
And had his little nap.

Krackatinni® Copyright March 16, 2008

761

Crumpets

I like to eat crumpets you see
With plenty of butter for me
With meat paste or honey
There on the money
Hi diddle dum diddle de.

Some times, I like em with jam
And into my mouth I will cram
Crumpets so nice
What ever the price
Hi diddle dum diddle de.

So when I buy crumpets
I go blow on a trumpet
Then I toast em real quick
While their fresh and their thick
Hi diddle dum diddle de.

But when I get old
And the crumpets are sold
I'll go buy some bread
And toast it instead
Hi diddle dum diddle de.

Krackatinni® Copyright April 5, 2008

763

Hunger

As daylight turns to night he waits
He is a night hunter, who relies on fate,
Fate brings him much closer to his meal
And to him at night it's no big deal.

Silently he creeps not making a sound
Then he stops and lay upon the ground,
He is a hunter hunting for a meal
For days now he had been through this ordeal.

Without food he will succumb to weakness
Hunger, lack of food will weaken his fitness,
It has been nearly a week since he ate
Lack of food, starvation will be his fate.

He had spotted a meal in the tall grass
Has he the strength or, will he let it pass,
Slowly he creeps closer to his pray
He thinks today might be his lucky day.

He holds his breath and inches nearer
His pray is feeding none the wiser,
The closer he gets the slower he moves
He's within ten feet but must improve.

Then suddenly he springs at his quarry
If he misses now he will be sorry,
His intended meal jumps with fright
And bolts into the dark of night.

Slowly he moves with resentment
Then, he lets out a growl of discontentment.
Once again he has missed his kill
Will his empty belly ever get its fill?

Krackatinni® Copyright April 13, 2008

766

Grey Clouds

The clouds of grey form overhead
Brings darkness everywhere,
Raindrops falling one by one but,
They never have a care.

The water runs along the ground
Forming puddles everywhere,
Big and small and every size but,
They never have a care.

The puddles join each other
Getting bigger everywhere,
They start to run in little streams but,
They never have a care.

The streams are getting bigger
Forming rivers everywhere,
They're getting big and mighty but,
They never have a care.

The rivers they form torrents
Flooding water everywhere,
They flood into the ocean but,
They never have a care.

Then the cycle starts again
Forming grey clouds everywhere,
The grey clouds drop there raindrops but,
They never have a care.

Krackatinni® Copyright April 22, 2008

768

Death

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder
Or it's only skin deep
How deep do we look
For our beauty to keep.

Does our beauty last forever?
Or does it fade with age,
Does it fade with time?
When time it turns the page.

Beauty fades in our hour of death
How lifeless we become,
Sorrow grips us all
No longer is life fun.

Death is the end to all things
Or so it is said,
Nobody knows the difference
Until they are dead.

Krackatinni® Copyright April 24, 2008

776

Pommie Umpires

He must have been a pommie umpire
One-eyed, those pommie's are,
They should 'ave used a Morris
Not a bloody yankie car,

'Cos if they'd used a Morris
I know old mate for sure,
That, that bloody pommie umpire
Would 'ave give ya's all a score.

So three boos for those pommie's
Three boos are the best,
'Cos bloody pommie umpires
Are a flamin' pest.

So if you playing football
And rugby league as well,
You can tell those pommie umpires
To go to bloody hell.

Krackatinni® Copyright May 4, 2008

777

Woolarama 2002

Is Woolarama just for farmers
Or is it for the local crowd,
And are visitors all welcome
But the black folk aren't allowed?

And the carnie mob set up their stalls
To screw you for your dough,
And the members of the artist mob
Put on an artist show.

But its funny how that Sheila
Who runs the artist gal-a-ree?
Gets first prize, knocks off the rest
How could that ever be?

And does it cost you money
To get into that show,
It bloody does much to much
Because I flamin' know.

There is a special rate for pensioners
But only for the old,
And the ones that work for CentreLink
Are left out in the cold.

They get the same amount of money
As the pension for the old
But they pay the full amount
So they're bloody told.

Is Woolarama just for farmers
Or is it for the local crowd,
And are visitors all welcome
But the black folk aren't allowed?

Krackatinni® Copyright May 4, 2008

781

A Small Cottage

In a small clearing stands a small cottage
A small cottage with a garden of roses,
There are many roses of different colours
And with perfume that tickles our noses.

The door of the cottage is wide open
And there stands a lady dressed in red,
Her hair of gold hangs down to her waist
As she admires the beauty of her flowerbeds.

She sees so many different kinds of flowers
Then, she looks at a bee buzzing around a daisy,
Looking for pollen to make a hive of honey
Bees are always busy with no time to be lazy.

Hollyhocks and geraniums with bluebells in a row
Petunias and lavender with blossoms as well,
Pansies and poppies with sweet peas so tall
Which are the prettiest; it's so hard to tell.

In a small clearing stands a small cottage
A small cottage with a garden of roses,
There are many roses of different colours
And with perfume that tickles our noses.

Krackatinni® Copyright May 10, 2008

783

Did You

What is the greatest thing that you've ever done?
Was it for real or was it for fun,
Tell me the truth don't tell me a lie
Did you go for a walk or did you just fly.

Did you brand cattle or did you chase sheep
While you're awake or when you're asleep,
Did you catch crocks or a possum or two?
And, did you skin them alive when you were through.

Or, did you dance in the moon light on a cold winter's night
Or hide in the darkness to give them a fright,
Hair' em and scare 'em and make 'em all jump
And if they put up a fight you'd give them a thump.

Did you plant cotton or wheat or some hay?
And play merry hell the very next day,
Or did you pick apples, peaches or pears
Or did you sit down on a soft velvet chair.

What ever you done it must have been good
From shelling some peas to chopping some wood,
To skinning a cat of its soft furry pelt
To cleaning a pig so it no longer smelt.

So tell me a story the truth or a lie
But please for my sake don't make me cry,
If I don't like your story I'll most likely scream
And I'll go of to sleep and have a bad dream.

Krackatinni® Copyright May 21, 2008