You Go, Girl

I took my sister to the hospital last night
She was drawn with pain and she looked a sight.
She thought her head was about to burst
And  severe chest pain made us fear the worst.

Emergency departments are always very busy
But we went right in because she was feeling dizzy.
They put her on a trolley and took her to a room
Because dying in the foyer really casts some gloom.

She saw doctors and nurses in a steady steam
We couldn't fault the professional team.
Her pulse was racing and blood pressure so highw
That  she said she almost wished she could die.

They put a needle in her arm and attached her to a drip
And started pumping pain killers to slow things down a bit.
They booked her in for X-rays and arranged for a scan
And ticked off on a list all the tests they ran.

They couldn't get a wheelchair so they asked if she could walk
As she headed down the corridor, they watched her like a hawk.
She was still in dreadful pain and swerved from wall to wall.
Still feeling very wobbly, she staggered along the hall.

I watched her going down the corridor, heading for X-ray
In that dreadful gown, with her bottom on display.
Much as I love her, I can say with honesty
That hospital gowns do nothing for your pride and modesty.

She held the the gown closed behind her with one shaky hand
Steering with the other the ungainly wheeled drip stand.
They ruled the 'nasties' out with a dozen tests that night
Apparently there was nothing likely to kill her outright.

They had checked her heart and lungs and chest and brain
There were no lumps or tumours to explain the awful pain.
She was not at risk of a stroke or heart attack or death
They couldn't find a reason why it hurt with every breath.

So once again they spiked her drip with even stronger stuff
I guess they thought they still hadn't given her enough
I'm not sure what they put in it but it worked like a dream
The headaches and the chest pains disappeared it seemed.

She gave a cheery wave and took a determined grip
Of the tall stand that held the tubes and bags and drip
She put her foot on the cross piece and scooted down the hall
Zipping in and out and making chairs and trolleys fall.

She scooted through the foyer dodging people's feet
And through the canteen where the staff members eat.
She fended off a kid with a plastic shield and sword
As she took a shortcut through the little children's ward.

A dozen security guys were skidding across the floor
Trying to head her off before she reached the door.
But she put on a burst of speed, reaching about fifty-five
As she really hit her stride and raced off down the drive.

Her gown swing wide around her. It was not a pretty sight
Covering not a skerrick of her bottom gleaming white.
The doctor shook her head: We'll soon see her again
But I can say that for the moment she's not feeling any pain.


(I am lucky enough to have four sisters, so each can point to another as the heroine of the poem.)

I Did Not have a Fall

Believe me, I did not have a fall.
That only happens when you're old.
Sure, I tripped and and yes I fell
But that is not what you'll be told.

I might have come a cropper
And nosedived near the door.
I maybe even took a tumble,
Measuring my length on the floor.

I went end over end and head over heels,
A over T, and bum over brain.
I took a quick landbased dive
And faceplanted near the laundry drain.

Perhaps I had a topple, tumble or trip
I certainly turned base up over apex.
I went arse over tea kettle too
And definitely went for a six

I plummeted to the ground
I bit the dust and took a spill
What ever words you want to use
Call it what you will -
I did not have a fall.

(And it wouldn't have been half so bad if I hadn't  lost my towel in the process and had to be helped up wet and naked by my host)

Carpet Bindies

There should be a special kind of hell
Fire, brimstone and torture as well
For all those little girls and boys
Who don't pick up their games and toys.

It is easy enough to avoid a bike
Left around by some little tyke
And cars and trucks left out on a mat
Are a nuisance but no more than that.

Skipping ropes are a booby trap
And little toys are so much crap
I'm sure you'll agree when I confess
Monopoly money makes a mess.

But Lego pieces make you aware
If your toes are tender and feet are bare
The edges are sharp and the surfaces rough
When kids are playing, they look innocent enough.

But if you're walking around in the night
Not disturbing others by using a light
And just one piece of Lego is left on the floor
That's where you step, for certain and sure.

It embeds itself in your vulnerable sole,
The smaller the piece the bigger the hole.
It won't fall off, no matter how you stand

Lego's solution - padded Lego slippers

You'll simply have to remove it by hand.

You're still half asleep and your balance is zip
If you bend down to shift it, you're likely to tip
Going base over apex won't be much fun
And on top of that, will wake everyone.

So you scrape your foot across the mat
Trying hard to flick it off like that
You rub your foot against the wall
And try to make the Lego fall.

Eventually you know you'll sit on the floor
And dig it out before it gets too sore.
And you mutter words of rainbow hues
And phrases you say that you never use.

I'd like to hear Lego's explanations
How they've survived three generations
When every parent has survived the drastic
Midnight tussle with that deadly plastic.

(Thanks to Tanya for the title - a term for Lego that I hadn't heard before.)

Oh Rats!

I went to a meeting last night with a friend
Close to the Chinese New Year
The Year of the Monkey is starting now
But only one Monkey was there.

The place was over-run with Rats
More than half the room had that sign.
There were also two Tigers, three Dogs and a Snake,
The only year with a Monkey was mine.

To most of us the Rat is not exciting
But for the Chinese, the Rat's at the top.
It symbolises flexibility, spirit and wit
Alertness, vitality and energy non-stop.

When all or any of those traits are displayed
I can no longer think of rodents as squeaking
They'd have to be the movers and shakers
In Toastmasters clubs for public speaking.

I was the single Monkey last night
Out-numbered by far but never out-smarted.
Clever and wily, not necessarily nice -
But up-beat always and never down-hearted.

I'm not sure about the zodiac signs
But I'd like to learn more about that
To see why the club had a limited range
And most of them were Rats.

Monica Monkey 16 January 2016

Foxy Mudllark Paperclip - Reflections on Celebrity Names

Is being a celebrity a reason to choose
A name for their offspring that no one would use?
Their poor little kids bear the brunt of the shame
While the ridiculous parents are totally to blame.

Would you call your girl North, if your surname was West?
Is Tu a good name if Morrow forms the rest
Mars Merkarba is a girl and Royal Reign too

And Cricket and Birdie and Daisy Boo.

If Prince is the name of your eldest son
Why use the same name for the younger one?
There are thousands of perfectly good names to use
There must be something individual to choose.

Dakota, Killarney and Texas have become almost common
So why raise an eyebrow at Egypt and Moroccan?
Moxie Crimefighter may join the police force
For Pilot Inspektor - a flight instructor, of course

Sparrow James Midnight sounds very cool
But how will Audio Science cope at school?
Do you think Zuma Nesta Rock would ever be seen
Out in public with Diva Thin Muffin Pigeen?

I wonder if Makoa-Wolf  will think it funny
To terrorise young Mirabella Bunny..
And is it likely that  Moses Amadeus
Will share his lunch with Satchel Seamus?

Some of these kids may be spared some pain
When one half of their name is relatively sane.
Bluebelle Madonna and Elsie Otter may conform
To what most of us consider to be the norm.

But perhaps each of us thinks our name is good
And probably wouldn't change it if we could.
I look at old Uncles, Aunts and Grans
And wonder how they could bear their names -

Blanche and Mildred, Maud and Flora
Myrtle and Enid, Gertrude and Norah
Henry and Harvey, Maurice and Ned
Leonard, Lawrence, Bartholomew and Fred.

When I consider the views of the generation ahead
I wonder if they muttered and shook their head
At plain Margaret and Betty, Mary and Anne
Brian and Denis, Terry and Dan.

However some parents are way over the top
And really don't know when to stop.
The nickname Luna seems just fine
But her whole name won't fit on a line.

Don't you feel sorry for Rosalind Arusha Arkadina Altalune Florence Thurman-Busson 

Some names are heavy loads for kids to carry

Christmas in January, February, March ...

By Boxing Day or New Years Day
Or sometimes a few weeks on
Most Christmas gifts have lost their gloss
And some are  already gone.
But some things last for months or years
And some may never leave
All those sweet indulgences
Beginning on Christmas Eve.

We've filled a glass and drunk a toast
In champagne, punch or beer
Wishing all our friends the best
For Christmas and New Year.
We've built our own traditions
And some treats we always have
Because Christmas isn't Christmas
Without ice-cream, cream and pav.

But we wonder if it's worth it
Though everything tastes good
When New Year padding is what's left
Of the delicious Christmas pud.
And all those sweets and savouries
That we really had to taste
Are the longest lasting Christmas gifts
Around our hips and waist.

A Blue Christmas

The sky was an Aussie midnight blue
And so was the language which freely flew
And we learned words never heard before
When Santa stubbed his toe at our front door.

All was quiet in our part of the town
And we kids had finally settled down
The sacks we chose were big enough
When Santa came with toys and stuff.

The sounds in the street had all gone quiet
There was an air of expectancy in the night.
The doors were open to catch the breeze
And lights still twinkled in Christmas trees.

All this week we'd been so good
We knew exactly where we stood.
Whether Santa checked once or twice
We weren't naughty. We were nice.

We'd left out carrots and biscuits and Fanta
To refresh the reindeer and poor tired Santa.
He always came with never a sound
Leaving hoof-prints on the ground.

But last night we heard this terrible roar,
A great commotion at the front door
It didn't sound like words for Santa to choose,
 Language we weren't allowed to use.

We scurried out and peeked around the door
We were horrified by what we saw
Santa has hopping and stomping around
Toys were scattered on the ground.

Mum said, 'Santa, please, tone it down
You'll wake everyone in the town
And families don't expect from you
Language that I describe as blue.'

We soon got hustled back to bed
'It's a stressful time for Santa,' Mum said
'He'll have to hobble back to the sleigh
And, bad words and all, be on his way.'

But there must be a problem with our front door
Because next day Dad's foot was also sore
Would you believe Dad stubbed his toe
Exactly as Santa had. Ho, ho, ho!

Roo on the Road

A tourist sees a kangaroo and says 'how very cute'.
A driver sees the self same one and curses the brute.
We've seen headlights broken, battered panels on the car
We know we can't rely on our reinforced bull bar.

We shouldn't try to drive at dawn as wild life is out then
That's not a problem for me because I don't get up till ten.
The other danger time is dusk and even that is fine.
It's happy hour. I'm already parked and drinking wine.

But I come across a kangaroo who doesn't know the rule
He's on the road at midday and takes me for a fool
Instead of resting in the bush and watching from afar
He's playing Russian Roulette with traffic on the tar.

He looks so quick and graceful with long and powerful hops
Then in the middle of the road the stupid creature stops.
Our country roads are not so good but still I've reached the ton.
I know I'm going to hit him if the bugger doesn't run.

I will him to get moving, not because I care
But you know the damage bill if you hit him fair and square.
You swerve a bit to miss him and he seems to read your mind.
He doesn't even graze you  - but wipes out the bloke behind.

Gourmets

I love to see the campfires

And watch how people cook

With heavy pot suspended

On a tripod with a hook.

Some even use a recipe

And mix in lots of herbs

It smells like Friday dinner

In houses in the burbs.

Sure I don’t begrudge them

The challenge of their meals

But I’ll stick with quick and easy

And eat my milk and cereals.

Bully Boy

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

Nice to get the warning but there’s not much I can do.

The road ahead is single lane with trees close on either side.

The narrow verge is wet and mucky like pools of filthy glue.

I sit on the speed limit and hold tightly to the wheel

But the monster there behind me is catching up for sure.

BLAARP! He nearly scared the life from my racing heart.

BLAARP! Not a friendly toot but an intimidating roar.

I’m travelling faster than I ever like to do

Way above the limit – but he’s huge with towering load

I watch him bearing down on me, a terrifying sight

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

Oops I missed a driveway. I’m too fast to stop

I put my blinkers on to show I’m pulling over

But there’s nowhere to escape this nightmare

A deadly version of the children's game Red Rover

At last I see a gravel pit with space enough to turn

I spin the wheel, with beating heart and nerves all shot to hell

And leave the road in a spray of mud and stones and fear

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

One last blast and he thunders past then sits there on the road

After all that bullying, he slows down to a crawl.

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

A middle-finger greeting  that’s understood by all

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 look complacent and show I don’t give a damn

But closer, ever closer I slowly forward creep

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

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