Some one
Just the other day
Asked me about my good friends, did I have any?
And I laughed about what he meant
Did he mean the ones who owed me money?
Or the ones who wrote long letters of apology
From time to time about mute points
Or the ones who travelled by my side
If only for security and direction
Or indeed the one’s I loved and in turn loved me
For all of those years the so called mates and lovers
Who kindly made arrangements they could not keep
Because of another lover or perhaps another friend
Or a travel arrangement not disclosed
Or some tryst by a photographer promising everything
And the ones who used all of my resources with no hope of return
No prospect of renewal never to be trusted ever again
And to this day when I count the dollars you must wonder
Why am I not rich?
And to the girls in my life who should be so pleased
That I could be so easily led
For they have profited well indeed and I loved those times
For integrity has not been invented with this rabble
I told him
And gay abandon rules the roost
But to dream when I was young, now two score ere
Integrity was a natural attribute and Old Joe still lived
I think I was a good kid and I do have a friend
An old soldier and a mate for thirty plus years
And we love each other still

Old Morton’s pram was our saviour
We door knocked til’ dark
And filled the old pram with bottles
A halfpenny each was our lark

And old Mrs Williams, well
She just loved a drink
Sometimes she filled that pram
Before you could even blink

And handy as a garden tool
Just up the road
Happened to live this bottle’o
Who always bought our load?

And Old Joe never said much
When we turned up with a bob
Cos we explained how old Morton’s pram
Helped us do the job

All the neighbourhood drunks
Didn’t give a damn
As long as when we called
We had Old Morton’s pram

Take away the evidence boys
They would say with glee
And just be sure you tell no one
You got these bottles from me

In our youth we made lot’s of dough
And many times on the lam
But success was always guaranteed
If you borrowed Old Morton’s pram

Always fight the good fight,
Ne’er let the enemy be right,
Keep it goin’ day and night,
All goals within your sight.

Always fight the good fight,
Be it wrong or be right,
As a wordsmith keep it tight,
Do not let the litigants slight.

Always fight the good fight,
No matter what be your plight,
Everyone remembers Dwight,
And from his speech seen the light.

Always fight the good fight,
Against terrorism show your might,
Stand proud and then you might,
Always fight the good fight

Stretch my limits if you will
And take away my right to complain of thee
I’m a dweller as you know
Do not keep pushing the edge is coming quickly
And I’m right on that threshold
Understand what got me here and you understand the world
Cliff faces in the darkness a terrible drop when blind to the dreams
Oh my friends do not try to save me in this dark mood
I’m a dweller on the precipice
And I’m prepared to bare my soul
Heavens door would never be open in my world
But the devil awaits me with open arms

So let elsewhere the thugs of Melbourne writhe
Be it fair a prison doth please me in my dream
And so what be it the commissioner takes power
To wit I would doff my hat
Yes come forth my decent ones and love thy chief so true
Stand up; stand up stand up all traps
Feel safe if integrity rings thy bell
But behold ye all are scrutinised doth it matter not
To find a weed in thy garden a blessed plot
And remember Ned and his mob, you did not fade
Mad dog got his due
Revisiting the will of the people gives Nixon her due

There’s no place to go anymore with your art
And the media decides if you’re a star
Some scribe with little or no knowledge will be judge and executioner
But what of the thousands who love your work
Bastardised by a critic readily published under privilege
Are you not all but ruined by this prized fucking know all
Then tell me clearly you bastard, what is it you have done
That makes your critique so much better than the art itself
And when you were challenged you knew nothing
But for cover you clearly ran
Protected by something called newspaper circulation
Yet you dare to go home at night and believe you are talented
So what happens when your newspaper is no longer read as widely?
Oh yes, that’s it, you eat humble pie and the rest of us still starve
When fame finally reaches our door there you are
On your comeback trail
You prized arsole, trying for an exclusive and you know
We are just so happy to give, as we now have to love you.
My how we have grown together through thick and thin
And by the way, I have always loved your work
And the media decides if you’re a star

I’m crouching and almost frozen,
Know idea what to bloody do,
The Sergeant said, listen for my signal,
And follow my every cue.

The noise was deafening, horrific,
Nothing like I’ve ever known,
And the whistling of artillery shells,
Just chilled me to the bone.

I prayed to god that my Sergeant,
Would get me on this phone,
And my thought of panic was ill founded,
That I haven’t been left alone.

Four frightened hours on my own,
No signals and no cue,
The panic of hearing foreign small fire,
What the hell am I to do?

Sit tight and do not dare to move,
Without a clear signal from me,
Was the last thing my Sergeant said?
But now it’s up to me.

I disobeyed more out of fear,
The order that he gave,
To move without his signal,
That this trench would be my grave.

I raised myself in godly fear,
My Sergeant’s direction I would head,
Running a mile better than Bannister,
And hoping my leader wasn’t dead.

Smoke dust, noise, fear and stench,
Somehow a miracle got me through,
The bullets, shells and mayhem,
Just things a soldier had to do.

The Sergeants’ trench was collapsed,
I risked life and limb for mate,
But nobody needed saving at all,
They’d already met their fate.

At home they said you’re our hero,
You were so brave right to the end,
But I never did anything for any one,
Except the Sergeant, who was my friend?

Starve my kin ye will not
And I will steal whatever purveys
My lord I tried so hard for tasks not beyond me
But you failed me over time
My own parents to me are unknown and I am sad
Priority to the family is my way
And I will not back down
Your ship to Australia and my desperation
Are the same, yet our children still are hungry
Over time you will see I was a good man
And my wife was slagged by default
Eight years you thought was just
And I cried
My wife broken
And children to criminals without a father will yield
Why did you not rethink? All of this
I am a convict through love and heartache
I am your type indeed
For are you not my Lords, my Kings
Bastards like me.

Collar up,
Sideburns down,
Slick back hair,
One cool frown.

Tight jeans,
Studded belt,
Lot’s of girls,
Wanna’ melt.

Polished wooden floor,
Jive time,
Just walked in,
Feelin’ fine.

Choice a plenty,
Real cool chicks,
But could be trannies,
Girls with dicks.

World’s A’changin’,
Not the same today,
Even helps a bit,
If you are gay.

I got scared,
And didn’t dance,
With a gorgeous girl,
Who gave a glance?

So heaven knows,
How would ya’ tell,
If it’s a fair dinkum bloke,
Or if it’s Elle?

As much as you all fear me,
For my vitriol,
Is as much as I love you all,
With my heart and soul.
And as much as we are crazy,
We are beloved of each other,
Individual insanity aside,
We are sister and brother.