Carjacker

At the Man from Snowy River festival yesterday I competed in a one-minute poem competition. The results were varied and generally humorous. They had to include the words 'but a final glimpse reveals'. I didn't get a guernsey but was happy with my presentation.

I slow at the intersection,
Well, I ooze through a red light.
It is a very small town,
No cops or cars in sight.

Now I realise I have a carjacker
Who had jumped aboard as I slowed.
He clings to the ridge of the bonnet
Right between me and the road.

He grins at me through the windscreen
And winks with his big evil eyes
And give a bow as a kind of a tribute
With all the panache of his size.

I am not a competitive driver
But I like to choose who can ride.
So I turn on the windscreen wipers
And flip him off to the side.

He gives me a look of reproach
As he gets washed and flung into flight
But a final glimpse reveals to me,
No carjacker, just a hitchhiking fly in the night.

Once Bitten

My husband and I didn't know it
The first twenty-five years the best yet.
But at age twenty-six, the tide turned
Because that was the year that we met.

If love is an orchestra playing
Under a romantic full moon,
Then right from the start we were two violins
Always just out of tune.

A wishing well guards our secrets
But I regret those hidden quirks.
When he disappeared in a flash,
Was it his wish or mine that worked?

Life's tough when you're single at forty
With three little kids still in school.
There's no time to think of yourself
In tuck shop rosters and car pools.

When the kids had flown the nest
Leaving a great space where they'd been
I decided to test my courage
And check out the dating scene.

I put on the pneumonia neckline
And the slinky little black dress
And went off to a solos' dance
The right age, more or less.

The women were quite impeccable,
Gleaming with powder, paint and perfume
Out to enjoy their moment of glory
And impress every male in the room.

Some men rose to the challenge
And dressed in the neatest of styles.
Others went as everyday heroes
And misread the occasion by miles.

In a heartbeat I knew it was wrong.
I didn't fit in with this crowd.
I beat a hasty, high-heeled retreat
Already bested and beaten and cowed.

Yes, sometimes it gets a bit lonely
And book clubs don't fill the bill.
But there's life in this old biddy yet
And I'm not quite over the hill.

Sometimes I send out for a pizza -
The works with onion and soy.
Then I drop it into the garbage
And keep the delivery boy.

For years now I’m travelling solo

With adventures and stories to tell

But I make sure my journeys don’t take me

Near dance halls and wishing wells

Bully Boy 2

I was not happy with the rhythm of this poem earlier but I still loved the story so if it feels familiar, that's the reason.

BULLY BOY 

BLAARP! The air horn blasted from at least a k behind –

Nice to get the warning but there’s no passing spot to find.

The narrow verge is wet and the bull dust’s turned to slime

I know I can pull over if he gives me space and time.

I sit on the speed limit, hardly daring to look back.

BLAARP!  This feels like flack in an enemy attack

But the monster there behind me is catching up I’m sure.

BLAARP! Not a friendly toot but an intimidating roar.

I’m travelling faster than I ever think is right.

I watch him bearing down on me, a terrifying sight.

I’m way above the limit – but he’s huge with towering load

I’m so focused on him, hardly looking at the road.

Damn! I missed a driveway. I’m far too fast to turn

But in this highway nightmare I’ve still a lot to learn.

I put my blinkers on to let him know I’m pulling over

It’s like a deadly version of the children's game Red Rover.

At last I see a gravel pit with space to turn and hide

I brake and leave the road with a dramatic sideways slide.

I sit there trembling with my nerves all shot to hell

I think, now that I’ve survived, I’ll have a tale to tell.

One last blast and he thunders past then begins to brake.

After all that blatant aggro, he dares me to overtake.

He’s watching me in the mirror and sends a quick salute

A middle-finger greeting from a bully and a brute.

I edge in there behind him and slow to match his pace

Never game to pass him now he’s made this into a race.

I know he’d sit behind me and blast his rotten horn

I lift my head with purpose and hope he can feel my scorn.

So I try to feel complacent and hope I look the same

As I sit there in the roadway trying not to play his game.

But closer, ever closer I allow myself to creep

Then I summon all my courage and give a small defiant ...BEEP

Summer in the Mountains

My Canadian friends are waiting for snow
As the Winter falls are unseasonably slow.
In the streets of London it would seem
That a white Christmas is just a dream.

My kids in Brissie are starting to wilt
As the heat of Summer hits to the hilt
And the tree already looks old and weak
Though Christmas is not until next week.

But I've been driving the Alpine Way
With chilly nights and glorious days.
I woke today to a beautiful show -
Sunshine on a dusting of pristine snow.

When I talk to others about their reasons
They often say they follow the seasons.
For most that means they follow the sun -
They head north before Winter's begun.

But people like me who dislike the heat
We march (or drive) to a different beat.

If we stay in the north, we know the score –

Heat, cyclones, floods, and fires galore.

If we go south, it’s a whole new game

We may have heat and fires, just the same.

But there’s always the chance, you never know

That even in Summer, there’ll be glorious snow

And the campervan rocked

It's been a while since my campervan rocked
At night it's always securely locked
It's designed for one, night or day
And certainly no room for play.

But tonight my campervan rocks
Almost bouncing off its chocks.
Checking the security of things
Unintentionally testing the springs

When I've seen other vans rocking and shaking
It's because of enthusiastic love making
I'd like to say that's what happened to me
But imagination outstrips the reality.

The clouds had gathered all through the day
And the wind had come in over the bay.
Those who were camping felt it the most
Especially those of us close to the coast

The camp site was shaded with ancient trees
Not the best place in an Antarctic Breeze
I steered clear of  where the foliage was dense
And hunkered down close in to a fence.

Thunder and lightning came again and again
The metal roof was hammered with rain
The campervan huddled down into the hedge
With not much protection there at the edge.

But the rain on the roof

It's been a while since my campervan rocked

At night it's always securely locked

It's designed for one, night or day

And certainly no room for play.

But tonight my campervan rocks

Almost bouncing off its chocks.

Checking the security of things

Unintentionally testing the springs

When I've seen other vans rocking and shaking

It's because of enthusiastic love making

I'd like to say that's what happened to me

But imagination outstrips the reality.

The clouds had gathered all through the day

And the wind had come in over the bay.

Those who were camping felt it the most

Especially those of us close to the coast

The camp site was shaded with ancient trees

Not the best place in an Antarctic breeze.

I steered clear of where the foliage was dense

And hunkered down close in to a fence.

Thunder and lightning came again and again

The metal roof was hammered with rain

The campervan huddled down into the hedge

With not much protection there at the edge.

It reminds me of childhood and sleeping at night

Relishing the sound of rain in the fading light,

Knowing the thunder will ease by and by

While the rain sings a natural lullaby.

So, although my van rocked madly that night,

I remained calm and tucked in tight

Other vans rocking might mean more fun

But I was asleep before the rain had begun.

Broken Windows

Your windows are broken said the voice on the phone.
I hadn't noticed I said and I am here at home.
No, Windows 10 he persisted. I'm referring to that
I don't have ten windows. This is a very small flat.
I can see that the kitchen and lounge windows are intact
I would have heard if others were broken  - in fact
There's no movement in the blinds or in the curtains.
This close to the beach, sea breezes are certain.

Your computer, he said. That's windows 10.
I can see it's causing you trouble again.
Let's see if we can fix it just over the phone.
If you give me your password, I can do it alone.
The first thing to do is to move your mouse.
I screamed, I don't have mice in the house.
If you are from the office of safety and health
You're wasting your time. I check it myself.

Which of my neighbours has made a call?
They're all so nosy. I'm sick of them all.
They ring the council if there's noise at night,
If the bin's left out or the parking's not right.
And now they're saying my house has mice.
Next thing they'll say is my kids have lice.
I got up one day and my hose had been slashed
And now you tell me my windows are smashed.

I sorry you have neighbours who are not so nice
But I'd like to check details of your device
If you can find on the back a metal label strip
It will have the make and model on it.
That's easy I say, I can read it from here.
The computer is battered but  the label is clear.
You probably think I haven't a clue
But I can give all the information to you.

I've had it a while but it's still going well.
There's nothing wrong with it, I can tell.
It's a Commodore 64 with an upgrade from 20.
There are dozens of disks, I've always had plenty.
The box is a bit faded but can be read at a pinch,
They are floppy disks sized 5 point 2 5 inch.
I 'm not sure they had those mouse things then
And I can't see anything like windows 10

I'm sorry Madam I have made a mistake
Your computer is quite a different make.
I have never actually seen one, even on show
But I know it was popular five decades ago.
Technology has moved on quite a bit
And you may not have kept up with it.
If I was you, I'd go to an antique fair
You might get a fortune from a collector there.

Cabin Fever

All my Solo friends are getting around
While my feet seem nailed to the ground
I faithfully follow their Facebook pages
And track their travels though all the stages.

I know where they stop and when they roam
While I'm stuck here, sick, at home.
I torture myself now every day
Checking to see where next they stay.

Camping at Mother of Ducks Lagoon
A magical place to be marooned.
Or on Kosciuszko's alpine track
Cool or cold with the wind at your back.

Heading off to yet another rally
Or exploring the lovely Hunter valley.
You can take off with the lift of a finger
Or settle down in a spot and linger.

The winter winds will make you shiver
Along the Murrumbidgee River.
Those in South Australia may stay
At Stony or Sandy or Streaky Bay

Camping by rivers and creeks and lakes,
A couple of days is all it takes
To establish yourself in the rustic peace
And settle again to a life of ease.

Then if the winds pick up or the sun's too hot
Your mobile home is all you've got.
Fold your table, toss your chair in the back
And once again, you hit the track.

The colourful names roll off your tongue
And memories of stories and tall tales spun.
Your visit here may be your last
Or you may be back when only days have passed.

So until I load the van and fire up the power
I get more envious by the hour.
Cabin Fever is almost impossible to treat.
It won't be cured till I drive off down the street.