Rays of light through clouds
Beg, it is a sign from God’s advisor
A piscatorial nomenclature penned on the waves
Proof Old Joe was a fisherman
My trusted Father
That I cast to thous’t very mark
Lest I never would prosper

It’s a pity that you knew not,
Of my deepest love,
And I am so sorry that you left early,
For that place so far above.

It’s a shame I never said the things,
I felt in my heart,
But aren’t all dads wary of such expression,
That a son about love would impart.

It’s a tragedy that you have gone now,
Unaware of my caring,
And surely I could have thanked you earlier,
For that opportunity we were sharing?

And the sadness in me wells today,
About things I left unsaid,
So from a son to his beloved father,
In Heaven, I hope I am well read.

It’s been a while Old Joe,
Since you packed up and went,
Suddenly from your home,
Undeservedly, heaven sent.

I miss you till this day,
Won’t forget you Joe,
Still not understanding,
Why you had to go.

Hero’s always seem to me,
To be in short supply,
Life became more difficult,
When my hero had to die.

The anniversary of your death,
Never lost with me,
Fabulous times together,
Still I clearly see.

Let this time of remembrance,
Be a clear message of my love,
And say I’ll miss you always,
Until we’re both there up above.

Time stood still the day dad died,
Coldest moment of my life,
First thing that I thought of,
Was mother, poor Old Joe’s wife?

Thought of Old Joe himself,
Prayed he did not suffer,
Knew he faced a challenge,
Doubt there were any tougher.

Wonder why he died alone,
Bet that was his call,
He hated company most of times,
Even at his fall.

Wonder of his last thoughts
As he felt that chronic pain,
A prelude to Old Joe’s demise,
When he never woke again.

As he died he relived his life,
Wanted to love us all the more,
Sadness probably ripped his heart,
That he didn’t say all this before.

Old Joe still looks down on us,
From heaven way above,
I reckon he’d be pretty proud,
Of the kids he’s grown to love.

Now one of us will be first,
To join our dear Old Joe,
I’m a very willing volunteer,
I just loved him so.

Old Joe was short on words,
Did most things with a nod,
Conversations were like gold,
Unless you’re talking Murray Cod.

Fishing ranked up near the birds,
If you wanted him to speak,
Otherwise he’d go all-quiet,
Say nothin! All flamin week.

Old Joe really loved the bush.
Where chat was rather rare,
For bloody conversationalists,
He really didn’t care.

At Lyons Road, Old Joe shone,
Through his aviaries he’d walk,
I’d be absolutely amazed,
If he ever stopped to talk.

Old Joe there on the verandah,
At Kochel’s with Uncle Paul,
The last time I heard him speak?
More than a minute, I recall.

Old Joe got his wish,
The peace of heaven I’ve heard,
I’d gladly join him tomorrow,
Just to hear another word.

Well you can imagine Old Joe,
As he hangs off his cloud,
That god gave him to keep,
And it made im’ so proud.

A hundred square acres,
Come hail or shine,
Of the best cloud in heaven,
Old Joe will be fine.

But what would he do,
From morning to night
If he couldn’t trap birds,
Would e’ be all right!

He met with St Peter,
Who never had a clue?
About Old Joe’s skills,
And what he could do.

I have to trap finches,
Maybe parrots as well,
I’m a trapper old boy,
Can’t you tell?

St Peter was excited,
Old Joe was his dream,
And he thanked the trapper,
For coming clean.

Old Joe you are magic,
I’m so glad you have no fear,
You can catch the birds,
That really bothers us here.

When can I start said Old Joe?
Keen to spring his trap,
And catch the birds you talk of,
That’ll put me on the map.

Tomorrow at two, St Peter said,
The first flock comes through,
Set your traps and be ready,
See what you can do.

Old Joe did what St Peter said,
Had his traps set at two,
But the flock never landed,
A flock of Virgin Blue.

I demand to see the boss,
And to God Old Joe was sent,
He complained about St Peter,
And the wasted time he’d spent.

How can I catch planes God?
Old Joe sincerely asked,
And Huey burst out laughing,
Old Joe your time has passed.

The rocky garden border,
In my memory still impedes,
You move a big stone slowly,
And catch the giant centipedes.

There were ants’ worms and slaters,
Under every giant rock,
And every time I moved them,
Old Joe would do his block.

I seemed to forget as a little kid,
If you move it, put it back,
I probably doubled Old Joe’s workload,
Crikey! I was slack.

I always blamed the girls you know,
If Old Joe could smell a rat,
I’d look him straight in the eye,
And say, “I never did that”.

In fact He never got on to me,
For the many rotten things I did,
When Old Joe came hunting,
I buggered off and hid.

A modern day Ned Kelly,
I was terrific on the run,
Old Joe never suspected me,
For the many things I’d done.

In fact I was a mongrel kid,
A thorough little toad,
But take me back anytime,
To Old Joe and Lyons road.

Remember Old Joes Marrows and Vines,
Around timber frames they grew,
And as best I recall some were ten foot tall,
A shadier place I never knew.

The hollowed marrows, Old Joe dried,
Nature’s sun did this the best,
He adorned his fabulous aviaries with them,
And the birds, in them loved to nest.

The lush green grapes also grew,
Atop that rickety old frame,
Built from timber Old Joe recycled,
Again and again and again.

All along the aviary facade,
Old Joe’s marrows and vines hung,
A backdrop to the beautiful gardens,
And testimony to a hero so unsung.

Somewhere in Queensland there lies Old Joe,
A wonderful man reduced to ashes,
And none may understand,
The heart, how it tumbles and crashes.

Calamity and chaos, a man half lived,
And endless life in my book,
The soul of the man must recoil,
Of the chances he never took.

But old man nature has it’s way,
Sometimes fast, sometimes slow,
Lapping the limits of life and death,
And the calling in of dear Old Joe.

For the strength of the man sings within,
A dead man in a wall,
A shocking and plain way to pass,
Burnt, without my permission I recall.

Brothers two, Charles and Paul,
Can they take no part,
Only dead men smiles’ can win,
In my sadly ruptured heart.

Driving along my favourite road,
I managed to find my past,
And reflect on Old Joe’s memory,
This is where I knew him last.

In the tall blue gum bush,
Around the dry bracken rows,
The wind still whistles Old Joe’s tune,
“Buttons and Bows”.

And the birds that he trapped there,
Still abound and sing,
He never harmed an animal,
That soared on the wing.

This place was his hideaway,
For he loved it the most,
The rolling hillside getaway,
Far away from the coast.

Enter at your own risk,
Old Joe’s trail’s through the herds,
Wild bull’s and their cattle,
How he loved those birds.

It all took me back,
Just seems so long ago,
To another treasured memory,
Of my father Old Joe.