Welcome to my page... Enjoy!
Graham E. McLoughlin
NOT SO SERIOUS
Here are a few that are no so serious... All are based in fact... The names in some have been changed to protect the poet...
ON THIS PAGE:
ON ANOTHER PAGE ON THE SITE
TURTLEHEAD AND THE LOADED RABBIT
I knew a bloke called Turtlehead ...That wasn’t his real name.
He had no chin and balding pate... His brother looked the same.
Though we all called him Turtlehead, his missus called him Peter
We wouldn’t have ever found out that, if he had not had us meet her.
He disliked “poofs” and “wogs” and “poms”, and “dickheads with drug habits”.
But what he really hated was....Little furry rabbits.
Probably because, on Peter’s farm, perched high above the Murray,
as it came on dark, the dogs would bark, as great herds began to scurry.
They came from holes in hollow logs, from warrens under tanks,
but most streamed out of limestone cliffs that formed the river’s banks.
It was said he’d tried to shoot them out and cook them in a pot.
All he got was hungrier... he was a pretty lousy shot.
He’d dug until his face turned blue and set a thousand traps,
But still they thrived and multiplied and made more rabbit craps.
At last he’d had enough of it, so to the cliffs he motored.
A stick of ‘gelly’ on the seat, a ‘det’... all silver coated.
A two foot length of minute fuse, a single box of matches.
Turtlehead would rid himself of holes and bunny scratches.
He’d set a trap the previous day and caught a milky doe.
He’d tie the gelly to her tail and into the cliffs she’d go,
Taking the explosive down to where it would do it’s worst,
Or at least that is what would have been, if Turtlehead wasn’t cursed.
He lit the fuse and released the doe...but she went a little silly.
Instead of running to the cliffs, she raced under Pete’s ‘tilly’.
And there she sat with fuse alight, enjoying all the fun.
While Turtlehead was tossing up...Move the Ute ...Or run.
And all the while the fuse burnt down, closer to the ‘det.
’“If I scare her out she’ll run away”...“I Think my pants are wet”.
These things raced all ‘round Peter’s mind, and still the fuse burnt on.
The doe still sat there quite content... time was nearly gone.
At last Pete thought, “I’ll save the day. The wick... I’ll pinch it out”.
He lay down beside his stricken ute and fumbled all about.
You’d never know, he touched the doe and she leapt from her squat.
The ute was right...But poor Peter’s plight... his water tank was not.
The doe spotted a warren there and quickly headed in.
Beneath the tank that fed Pete’s house, made out of shiny tin.
The resulting blast cause dust to rise and soldered seams to fail.
The water sloshed, the ute got bogged ...All Pete could do was wail.
The rabbits still invade Pete’s place and now there’s twice as many.
Turtlehead has replaced the tank...It cost a pretty penny.
He still hates “wogs” and “poms” and “poofs” and “Dickheads with drug habits”.
But Turtlehead has made his peace with his brand new mates...The rabbits.
Now if you laugh at this story’s end... if you think it’s bloody funny.
Spare a thought for Pete’s poor wife....and of course... the bunny
© G. McLoughlin 2011
I Think I’m Getting Old
The other day I had a thought... I think I’m getting old.
My memory is fading fast, or at least that’s what I’m told.
I’m told that I can’t do as much today, as I did last year.
I’m also told I’ll slow down more as the fateful day draws near.
The thoughts of things that I have done before outnumber things I’ll do.
The future seems so hazy yet the past still rings quite true.
I like for once to go to bed and stay there through the night.
I haven’t yet wet the sheets, but I've gave the wife a fright.
My body seems to ache all day, my head aches all the time.
It’s even starting to hurt some more as I cobble out this rhyme.
I walk now, slowly, with a limp, where once I used to run.
Except where toilets are involved... Then walking would be fun.
I’m friends with lots of doctors now, with an interest in my date.
They think their anal interest should make them my best mate.
Then there’s my friends... All of them are old... At least as old as me.
But they don’t ache, or limp or leak... Just how can that thing be?
“Viagra”... Now there’s a joke. You’d wonder why I’d bother
It cost a fortune, doesn’t work and upsets the significant other.
I ‘spose I’ve knocked myself around, these past sixty years or so.
It seems that I have little choice than to just go with the flow.
There is no doubt that some folks age with a modicum of grace.
So stuff it all... I’ll just stay young and grow old at MY pace.
© G. McLoughlin 2011
With apologies to John O’Brien
“We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan
In accents most forlorn
On his facebook page, the other day,
Between two bits of porn.
His FB friends sat all about
Headphones in their ears.
And talked to people far away
They hadn’t seen for years.
“It’s lookin crook,”wrote Daniel Croke;
The country’s all gone bad
The GFC has sent us broke
There’s nothing to be had.
“I’ll post this link’” said young O’Neil,
With which astute remark
He put a quote from Abbot up
That left everyone in the dark.
And so around the chorus ran
“Its freaking bad, no doubt.
“We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan
“Before the year is out”.
When your pipe-work packs it in
A mate and I were yarning on his deck the other day.
About all the things that happen when things don’t go your way.
How good things seem to stand alone, but bad things follow bad
We talked at length on stuff-ups and disasters that we’d had.
We agreed the times that tried us most and wore our patience thin
Was the stuff that always happens, when your pipe-work packs it in.
Like when I was young and virile, I bought a holden ute
Twin carbs and big extractors, all lowered... What a beaut.
A big hit with the girlies too... They would all come for a ride.
Until I dragged the muffler off with the copper’s lass inside.
“This bloody thing is off the road!” said her old man, with a grin.
It’s not good to be a young bloke...when your pipe-work packs it in.
A little further down the track and I was married with three sons
I was earning ounces... but she was spending tons
So I took up a weekend job, building houses with this bloke.
Two stories up on an old scaffold... a bloody corner clamp broke!
Down we both went, arse over tit, followed by gutters, tools and tin
It appears you can get badly hurt... When your pipe-work packs it in
Just recently this mate of mine went on a trip up North.
He took his grandkids... dogs...ex-wife... I thinks she’s about his fourth.
While he was away from his brand new house, the kitchen sprung a leak.
Imagine what it looked like when he returned the following week
With nowhere to stay, except with the ex, his options are now running thin.
Sometimes it just can ruin your life... When your pipe-work packs it in
I’ve felt pretty crook for the past few months, from my knees up to my chest
I’m having trouble doing stuff , even though I try my best
I can sit for hours and concentrate, though nothing seems to happen
The one thing I was most proud of was my regularity for crappin’
The doctor told me to give up the fags, get fit and then get thin.
Life can be a pain in the arse... When your pipe-work packs it in...
© Graham McLoughlin 2015