Claude Morris - Poem - Trouble Brewing.

[MikeM16]

Morning All. Claude Morris is (or was) a bush poet of the CJ Dennis ilk - this one might tickle the funny bone. It's not verbatim but how I recall it from the Penguin book of australian verse. Plus I added a final stanza...

 

Trouble Brewing.

 

He came walking through the forrest, in the summer's blazing sun -

In his left hand was a BOTTLE - in the other was a GUN.

His beard was wild and wooly and his hair was shaggy too,

And his old straw hat was full of holes where tufts of hair came through.

 

I stood and watched and waited as he came with steady stride,

And I studied his appearance till he halted by my side.

He wasn’t old, nor was he young, he was somewhere in between,

And his heavy eyebrows almost hid his eyes of greyish green.

 

Then he handed me the bottle – ‘You must have a drink.’ he said.

And I heard him cock the rifle he presented at my head.

‘Yes, take a swig of my home-brew, and you may be the first

To have a chance of sampling my remedy for thirst.’

 

That rifle never wavered as it pointed straight at me,

And that close-up gaping barrel was a nasty thing to see.

I lifted up the bottle with a very shaky hand,

And a silent prayer to Heaven, as I followed his command.

 

I swallowed twice, and God above; that brew had come from Hell!

And I could feel my head exploding as drowned my dying yell -

I fell upon the dusty ground and grovelled there in pain,

Vowing he could shoot me, but I wouldn’t drink again.

 

As the pain and shock receded, and I staggered to my feet,

‘It was AWFUL – it was AWFUL,’ I could hear my voice repeat.

Then I heard the brewer speaking; he said, ‘Yes, and I agree –

Now give me back that bottle, while you hold the gun on me.

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The last time I heard him, you'd hardly say he's skint -

He owns two thirds of Queensland, and is partners in a mint.

There's a sequel to that story, you can take it straight from me;

How he got rich and famous, and he called that crap - VB.

[Ramjet]

Claude it seems without a doubt, he was a man of note

The way he wove a storyline, twas magic that he wrote

But now comes m-i-k-e m-sixteen to add the final touch

So take a bow, and have a brew, and thank you very much!

 

 

Well done Mike - got any more like that one?

[MikeM16]

Hi Roger

 

Yep - one or two but I'm not looking to change my day job. Your's isn't too bad, and I will take you up on that suggestion for a ale - will drag up one of my own better ones.

 

Cheers,

 

Another Mick

[MikeM16]

 

This one I wrote on request for one of the girls in the office going on maternity leave. Now, that's a pretty tough project because you're usually dealing with women in this sort of situation, and consequently you can't assume anything. For instance, you could get into trouble or bring on a tear storm for suggesting that the lady in question is, in fact, preggers. To resolve this, I had a sledge at her boss and involved a few of the office personalities in the poem as well. There's Wendy (aka mother to be), Dave (Manager), Brett (the IT guy), Simon (the Lotto syndicate bloke) and Sam (Wendy's mate). Plus, of course, Steve, who was contracts manageer and Wendy's boss. (And not at all dumb - except for the sake of this poem.)

 

She’s Having a Baby.

 

Wendy is leaving; the secret is out

But for some in the office, there’s a lingering doubt.

“Why,” said Steve Jeffery, who’s thick as two bricks,

“Would my star performer just leave me like this?”

He appealed to the heavens, but was answered by David

Who informed him, correctly, that Wendy was gravid.

 

Steve got the words, but not what was said;

As usual, the story went right over his head.

Brett chimed in with his own point of view:

“She’s got a new package – its Furmage Version 2.0.”

Now that’s a bit cryptic, but be as it may,

It’s computer guy talk for the Family Way.

Simon came by with a nod and a wink;

“She’s been playing more than just Cross Lotto I think.

The bun’s in the oven, she’s all up the spout,

She’s 8 months gone, and the truth will come out.”

 

Mr Jeffery looked all puzzled, perplexed and quite dim,

But all simultaneous, which is normal for him.

Sam, walking past, knowing Steve’s tiny brain

With some well chosen words, did attempt to explain.

“Wendy is fecund, she’s maternal, her future has dawned,

She has procreated, she’s gone and she’s spawned.

She’s bearing much fruit, she’s about to begot,

Prolific she is, impregnable not”

 

“She has joined the club, she has done the deed,

She is large with child, there’ll be two to feed.

The oven is full and the pudding has set,

She’s got a full house and the front room’s been let.

The stork’s on its way, it’s a happy event,

With a little delivery, a gift heaven-sent.

She’s got a full load, she’s big round the mid,

She’s all packed with features, with a bonus tin lid.”

 

“She’s selflessly answered the Treasurer’s call

One for Mum, one for Dad, one for country and all

With a radiant glow, she’s all in full bloom,

And the house will be needing a little more room.”

 

“Wendy’s conceived, she’s with child, she’s in delicate state,

She’s banged up, she’s preggers, she’s lady-in-wait.

She’s got a gutful, she’s not all alone –

In three weeks time she’ll lose half a stone;

They say baby makes three and she’s all up the duff -

Should I draw you some pictures, or will that be enough?”

 

Somewhere upstairs, in Steve’s thick bony skull

The penny did drop with an echoing dull.

“She’s having a baby!” Then a long, pregnant pause.

He then turned to Wendy. “Are you certain it’s yours?”