Kevin the Terrible of Australia

This man has sinned.
He is undone because found out.
Men everywhere complain.
His crimes are broadcast far and wide.
He is unfit for public office.
He was once seen in a night club.
He has berated an air hostess.
He has worked too hard.
He has expected too much of others.
He engenders fear in colleagues
Such that none will speak ill of him
And all comport themselves well.
He has publicly eaten his own ear wax.
He has raised his voice in interview
With redoubtable Red Kerry.
He once privately expressed impatience
With agents of all powerful China.

His affectation of a gentle mien,
Pretence of domestic harmony
With loving wife, cat, dog and
Loyal children does not convince.
Nor does his bringing us prosperity
Amidst the chaos of a broken world.
There his greatest wrongdoing has been
To place the welfare of the common man,
The national economy and body politic
Before the powerful interests
Of international conglomerates.
Whose rights to the riches of our land
Transcend all others.
All this because of anger in his heart
Against a father now long dead.
For that he still attacks
The powerful, the great, the good,
Our mighty mining magnates,
Heroic men, more fathers to this nation,
More generous to us their media sons,
Than this would-be patricide.

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Musings of a political hack.

I sense an election
coming on
Or do I mean erection?
No, that recalls
A long ago affection
Ruined by a
Casual connection
Resulting in
An STD infection,
Followed by
Inevitable rejection.
No, these days
All of my reflections
Are political;
About defections
And policies,
Monitoring directions
Left or right,
Judging imperfections
Of articles
Which need correction,
Editing and
Pencilling objections,
And I’m the one
Delivering rejections.
Now it’s time
For pre-selection
Of candidates
With all their
Varied predilections,
Listening to
Their voice projection,
Subjecting them
To close dissection.
But after
Careful circumspection
For most of them
There is rejection.
Finally today’s
The day of the election.
After all
That national introspection
There’s been the
Ballot box collection.
Some scrutineers
Show disaffection.
Wait! Ours show joy!
The Party’s had a resurrection!
Oh perfection!
The others now can feel rejection!
And yes, I do believe I have it!
At last, a real erection!

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The Abbott Confers With His Bishop

“We must help the miners,
Land Labor some shiners.”
Julie grimaces, “Eeeuw!
The CFMEU?”

“No, their directors on boards!
If they get fewer rewards
With this new profits tax
They’ll stop our kick-backs.

It’s affecting their health
These threats to their wealth.
Every mining magnate
Has become overweight.

They say all this worry
Is worse than coal slurry.
I’ve got it – ‘Keep Mining Strong!’
Let’s promote their theme song!”

That’s what the two of them did.
Tony, muscled and fit,
Julie, hair all bouffant,
Aping ‘Walk Against Want!’

Yes, they wore the T shirt
And at Rudd threw some dirt.
That was really their pitch
In their ‘Fun Run For the Rich!’

Don’t these two understand
That for most in this land
Their actions were alien
To the average Australian?

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Et tu, LP?

Poor Kevin Rudd
They’re out for his blood.
Whatever he does
There’s always a buzz
To find the right spin
His plans to unpin.
If he changes tack
They’re soon on his back.
Turn the other cheek?
That makes him look weak!
He’s coming on strong?
They’ll find something wrong.
You’re Right? so the Left
Are guilty of theft.
That’s par for the course
For Labor’s workhorse.
And usually friends
For that make amends.
But that’s true no more.
Seems everyone’s sore.
Look at the Greens
All crying ‘Unclean!’
In every fight
They side with the right.
Even here at LP
So many will see
Whatever is wrong
And join the singsong
Of plaint and surmise.
You love to chastise!
Yes, that’s how it looks.
But check betting books.
Let’s all stop the sweat.
Rudd’’s still a good bet.
Two to one he’ll win.
He’ll still romp it in!
Won’t he?

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Maintaining Rage

Malcom Fraser –
Once you were
“Kerr’s cur”
And still are so for me,
Notorious
In Australian history
For destroying
Our democracy.
Softer now and
Old and grey,
Elder statesman,
All that evil
Gone away?
Still you represent
For me
The worst
By which
Society is cursed:
Patriarchy,
Patronage,
Benovolence
Of a by-gone age,
Once denier of
My suffrage.
Many have forgot
Those things.
I have not.
Even Gough may
Have forgiven you
Again I say
That I have not.

COMMENTS

Ad Astra, 07/01/11, Patricia WA What a fine addition to TT’s piece you have penned – simple but powerful.

Talk Turkey,
08/01/11, Patricia WA, Thank you for your staunch poem “Maintaining Rage”. When I see Malcolm Fraser I still seethe with rage and contempt, remembering always his duplicity and low cunning, his treachery and betrayal of the best traditions of Parliament, his supercilious imperious born-to-rule manner while in power, his blubbering self-pity when we got the bastard out, and his sanctimonious self-justification ever since. He broke the heart of the greatest social reformer this nation ever saw, in the giant person of Gough Whitlam, and derailed programs which if they had been seen through would have seen this country at the forefront of Every-Thing.

I could go on………compared to Howard and Abbortt who have no decency at all. It would seem he really was raised with a sort of noblesse oblige attitude, very much like Shakespeare’s characterisation of Brutus in Shakespeare’s (historically inventive) play, “Julius Caesar”. You like parallels Patois, well yeah, in that telling the high-minded but naive patrician Brutus (yes patrician, Patricia!) Anyway that’s how Fraser is trying to portray himself, and while it might be true to an extent . . . .. . .. .. . NO! NO ! NO-NO-NO-NO-NO ! Not until and unless he apologises, and I want to see copious sad blubbering truly sorry tears. Given that, IF he specifically apologised to Gough, well then alone could I forgive him. And then I could. Grudgingly maybe, but yes.

You did include benevolence as one of Fraser’s attitudes. Would that Abbortt had some!

Oh yes, Patricia WA, I meant to ask, what meanest thou about ‘denier of my suffrage’?

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Julie Bishop – Special Envoy to the Middle East

Julie Bishop seems born to be
A latter day Mata Hari.
She’s in the wrong vocation
In that Canberra location.
Just look at those eyes.
Someone should advise
Her to don the burqa,
Become an undercover worker.
If she were in Israel
She would not fail
To get a job
With the Mossad mob.
They are in need of spies
Willing to wear disguise,
Provided they have brought
With them an Oz passport.
Then she could go to Pakistan
Where they suspect this man,
The dread unspeakable Osama,
Posing as a quasi Dalai Lama,
Is plotting Judaism’s demise
With every evil plan he can devise,
While hiding out in caves
With followers and slaves.
Although undoubtedly Caucasian
Julie’s Aussie tan looks somewhat Asian.
Easy for her to infiltrate
That camp and captivate
With piercing glances and heartfelt sighs
And that talent of hers to mesmerize.
No need for lewd or crude undress
For the plot to end in ultimate success.
If success is measured
By what is treasured
And what is learned
By all concerned
Could be that Julie Bishop’s legendary eyes
Will achieve for her that glittering prize
Of happiness, after leaving all our Western lies
To live behind the veil where eyes are valued more than thighs.

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Come on! Tony’s No Phony! Is He?

Surely not deflowered
Just because Mr. Howard
Once made a great favourite of him?

This man was unfrocked
But should not be mocked
For he has confessed to his sin.

Like other abbotts
He’s got bad habits
To which he admits with a grin.

But Senator Joyce
Of late gave some voice
To issues that go beyond spin.

Is Tony on rations?
Or does he have passions
For ‘others’ – or only for liberal wimmin?

Let’s give due deference
To sexual preference
With respect for the man within.

In political life
He’s often in strife,
But always at ease showing skin.

Looming elections
May show predilections,
Especially if he has a win.

But like Gordon Brown
He’ll know how to go down,
Taking the outcome on the chin.

With Australia the prize,
Soon all will be wise.
Then we’ll see judgements begin.

Is he like the rodent?
Let’s pray he’s impotent,
And can’t get it up to get in!

COMMENTS


Cud Chewer,     10/11/10,     Thanks,    Patricia,

PatriciaWAPermalink

Smithe and TLBD – elections and ejections bring to mind erections

Posted Thursday, November 10, 2011 at 2:09 am |

……….and other rhymes.


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How low does Joe have to go?

When will polls get so low
They can deal a death blow
To this lumbering dumbo?

Look, his budget address
Really failed to impress
As he tried to suppress
Poor economic prowess.
Even dour Andrew Robb
An old hand with their mob
Although hiding a sob
Couldn’t do a good job.
By being explicit
How they’d fix the de – ficit
So fast we might miss it
He failed to elicit
Praise from reporters.
But mining supporters
And mineral exporters
Just loved all that slaughter
Of programs for new schools
For broadband and hospitals.
They had seen likely stools
In these Liberal fools
And given cash on condition
The whole Coalition
Would promise revision
Of Swan’s new provision
For all mines to pay tax
To a reasonable max.
It was knowing these facts
Made pal Joey relax
And fail to give data
To journos their starter
And made him ‘non grata’
A Red Kezza martyr.
But he’s out there today
And still waffling away
With his old debt cliches
Nothing useful to say

How much further to go
Before sloppy old Joe
Gets his final K.O.
Leaving me with a warm inner glow?

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Where is Abbott’s Confessor, Anyway?

Mr. Tony Abbott’s confessor
Must surely advise
That telling these lies
Makes him a serial transgressor.

Shouldn’t he counsel how sinister,
Is this worldly goal?
It’s risking his soul,
Striving to be Prime Minister.

Please intervene, Monsignor Pell.
Appoint him to Rome,
His natural home,
Save him (and Australia) from hell.

COMMENTS:

Ad Astra,      19/09/10,      I see you’re another poet. Forgiveness for lies seems always to be available to Tony, or at least he believes so.

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Entitlement – Mrs, Miss or Ms?

Why do people get in such a tizz
When I ask to be addressed as Ms?
Use of the term in conversation
Made sense before emancipation.
No hint of sexual revolution
In trying to avoid confusion
And the considerable distress
Caused by inappropriate address.

True in the 20th century
The domestic penitentiary
Has opened wide its confining gates.
Women are no longer seen as mates
Of men who needed to be labeled.
Instead we all of us have been enabled
To choose between Miss, Mrs or Ms,
Which makes it clear – It’s my name! Not his!

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