THE FLAME..

[reefer]

There was a flame lit years ago that never quite went out
Despite the efforts of those in power and wealthy layabouts.
That light I mean burns from within it's not a thing you see
It's light shines on the True Blue hope, for rights and liberty.

Now I'm not talking of the vote or going on some tour
We are all bound to attend the poll I think you know the score
We are a land of many flags it makes me scratch my pate
Why have we not a True Blue flag and an Australian Head of State.

The one we have is not from here she's from a foreign land
She rides a golden carriage there and waves her Royal hand
She lives a life of privilege her subjects stoop and bow
Some people think it's very nice but it's not what we need now.

Our flame was lit those years ago by the men of '54
Oh would!... that I was born in those heady days of yore
When those brave men flew a rebel flag and sung in rebel chorus
The flame yet burns within our hearts and lights the way before us
Copyright.2017 R.Langlands.

 

[silver]

Oh would that I could let you know
that men of yore were now
but we all know the wretches
and what they'd like to do
they'd take away that liberty
that's here for me and you
for they want your trust and work quite hard
to get it off of you
it's in our constitution written bright and bold
that gives us all our freedoms
that lets you find that gold
but give them even half the chance
they'll take that off of you
with smiles on their faces
and tales of it's good for you
they'll write their rules again anew
and they'll do it real good too
but they wont give you freedom
they won't care at all
for if they were gunna do that
they'd have done it now before
they've had their chance at steering
this great big golden land
but do you see just what they've done
and where they've made their stand
it mattered not who held the flame
and waved it way up high
they've taken one path forwards
not one for you or I
it mattered not we told them
or just how loud we screamed
they walked onwards above us all
and shattered all our dreams
if we were now to let them
these very ones the same
to write the rules anew again
they'd shaft us just the same
I say that we don't let them
for they can not change a letter...
without our say so gained.
copywrite 2017
Silver

 

[LONEWOLF]

:Y: :Y: :Y: :Y: :Y: Very well Done...and Said...

LW...

 

[Ridge Runner]

So is poetry the only way to disguise political speech's. :Y:

John.

 

[silver]

I just thought it needed poetic balance RR.

 

[Ridge Runner]

I just thought it needed poetic balance RR.

Absolutely Mate, I totally agree and both are worded perfectly and they are a Joy to see, But the best part is that they are thought provoking in a constructive way,

John.

 

[reefer]

Ridge Runner! I do not pretend to disguise anything. I wear my heart on my sleeve and anyone who knows me will tell you that I am a committed republican.
At the same time, as an author, I exercise a degree of 'poetic licence' and at the same time open myself to criticism from people such as yourself.
In the sharing of this poem 'the flame'..from a collection of my works, I would have hoped that fair-minded people would see it for what it is rather then what is my intent.
That 'intent' was to entertain rather than 'rant'. However, if my verse offends your sensitive nature..then I suggest you don't read my work.! and if the moderators deem it as being 'political' per say then I'm sure they will exercise their right to censure my work.
What buoys me immensely is that it created a reaction from you. It made you think, however negative that may have been to me personally, I guess that say's more about me than I would dare to say myself.
Kind Regards..Rossco

 

[reefer]

Silver! It seems 'the flame' burns in both our hearts. :Y:

 

[Ramjet]

Ridge Runner! I do not pretend to disguise anything. I wear my heart on my sleeve and anyone who knows me will tell you that I am a committed republican.
At the same time, as an author, I exercise a degree of 'poetic licence' and at the same time open myself to criticism from people such as yourself.
In the sharing of this poem 'the flame'..from a collection of my works, I would have hoped that fair-minded people would see it for what it is rather then what is my intent.
That 'intent' was to entertain rather than 'rant'. However, if my verse offends your sensitive nature..then I suggest you don't read my work.! and if the moderators deem it as being 'political' per say then I'm sure they will exercise their right to censure my work.
What buoys me immensely is that it created a reaction from you. It made you think, however negative that may have been to me personally, I guess that say's more about me than I would dare to say myself.
Kind Regards..Rossco

I don't believe you offended Ridge Runner's "sensitive" nature. He has posted a few topics of a political nature and they have been deleted. Your poetry is lovely but please can we not turn this into a political discussion. Thanks.

 

[Ramjet]

I like to learn Aussie poems to recite around the camp fire. I recently learned this one...

Skew Wiff Kelly

His name was Skew Wiff Kelly
And everything he built
Was either at an angle
Or leaning on a tilt!

On all of his construction jobs
He used the rule of thumb.
Hed close one eye and line it up
And reckon it was plumb.

He would use the best of timber
And take a lot of care,
But every job completed
Was a little bit off-square.

His reputation grew and grew
As Skew Wiff moved around
The cockies overlooked his faults
For his workmanship was sound!

So as you travel round the place
You can see where Skew Wiffs been.
The hayshed leaning sideways,
That verandah with a lean.

Youve seen his good old tankstands,
Theyve a wind-blown look with time.
His fences have a stagger,
And wander just off line.

Youve seen a Skew Wiff chimney
And youve seen a Skew Wiff door.
His buildings stand defiant
Of the gravitation law.

Yet a funny thing about it,
Though the buildings arent quite straight,
They always look so comfortable
As if theyd time to wait!

Now Skew Wiff died some years ago,
But I reckon hed be pleased
For his tombstones got a lean on
At forty-five degrees!

Grahame Watt

 

[Ridge Runner]

I like to learn Aussie poems to recite around the camp fire. I recently learned this one...

Skew Wiff Kelly

His name was Skew Wiff Kelly
And everything he built
Was either at an angle
Or leaning on a tilt!

On all of his construction jobs
He used the rule of thumb.
Hed close one eye and line it up
And reckon it was plumb.

He would use the best of timber
And take a lot of care,
But every job completed
Was a little bit off-square.

His reputation grew and grew
As Skew Wiff moved around
The cockies overlooked his faults
For his workmanship was sound!

So as you travel round the place
You can see where Skew Wiffs been.
The hayshed leaning sideways,
That verandah with a lean.

Youve seen his good old tankstands,
Theyve a wind-blown look with time.
His fences have a stagger,
And wander just off line.

Youve seen a Skew Wiff chimney
And youve seen a Skew Wiff door.
His buildings stand defiant
Of the gravitation law.

Yet a funny thing about it,
Though the buildings arent quite straight,
They always look so comfortable
As if theyd time to wait!

Now Skew Wiff died some years ago,
But I reckon hed be pleased
For his tombstones got a lean on
At forty-five degrees!

Grahame Watt

Brilliant words RJ thanks for posting it, I think when we read that we can all think of someone who fits the bill.

Thanks Mate.

John.

 

[reefer]

Ramjet thank you for your words of guidance in relation to this post. The last thing I intended was to offend anyone and I will carefully select my subject matter in the future. I was especially taken with the poem of Graham Watt. In reading it I could totally identify with the character;'Skew Wiff Kelly'... hehe. I sorely hope that I get to hear you recite it by a campfire someday.Regards Rossco.

 

[Ramjet]

Thanks Reefer.
I do like tge humorous poetry
I would be happy to sit by the fire and recite a few with you.

 

[The Green Wanderer]

Nice one Reefer, t'has a whiff of "Mulga Bills Bicycle" about it. And yes we all know or are ? one of those skew whiff builders!

 

[silver]

My Dad used to build skew wiff scaffolds with a rickety air about them, then say cmon son, it'll be all roit (ha ,... mostly ,.... but sometimes they'd fall lol)

 

[Ramjet]

I first started learning Aussie poems when we used to go fishing, hunting and camping as a youngster. This was the 2nd poem I ever learnt after The Man from Snowy river. I have actually used this poem as a source for a question in our Australian History topic.

It has a bit of humour about it.

Scotty's Wild Stuff Stew

by Francis H. Brown

The cause of all the trouble
Was McCabe, the jackeroo,
Who had ordered what, facetiously,
Hed christened Wild Stuff Stew
He had shot a brace of pigeons
And had brought them home unplucked;
It was not the first occasion,
And no wonder Scotty bucked
As aside he threw the pigeons
And addressed the jackeroo:
Yell pluck those blinded pigeons,
Or yell get no blinded stoo.
But the jackeroo objected,
And objected strongly, too.
But Scotty didnt argue much,
He winked across at Blue
And, turning to the slushy, said,
Ill give him Wild Stuff Stoo.
The next day it was Sunday, and,
Not having much to do,
We all assisted Scotty
In the making of a stoo.

We raked along the wool-sheds,
In the pens and round about
It was marvellous, all the wild things
That us rousies fossicked out;
There was Ginger found a lizard,
Which they reckoned was a Jew
It was rather rough to handle,
But it softened in the stew
Then Snowy found some hairy things
Inside a musterers tent;
And Splinter found a lady frog
And in the lady went.
From McGregor, whod been foxing,
We obtained a skin or two,
It should have gone to bootlace
But it went into the stoo.
Then someone found a Kelly
That the boundary-rider shot
It was more or less fermented,
Still, it went inside the pot
And Scotty found some insects
With an overpowering scent,
And the slushy trapped a mother mouse
And in poor mother went.

There was some hesitation
bout a spider in a tin:
We didnt like the small red spot,
But Scotty dumped it in.
There were a host of other things
I cant recall the lot
That were cast into eternity
Per medium of the pot.
Those strange and weird concoctions
That the Abos sometimes brew
Would be as mild potations
If compared with Scottys stew
And when the jackeroo arrived
A happy man was he
To find that Scotty, after all,
Had cooked a stoo for tea.
He rolled his eyes, and snuffed the fumes,
twas dinkum stuff he swore;
He complimented Scotty, and
He passed his plate for more.
And when wed let him have his fill,
We took him round to view
A list of what had left this world
To enter Scottys stew.

I grant you there were wild things
Connected with that stoo,
But there was nothing wilder
Than McCabe the jackeroo.
He got the dries and then the shakes,
And we felt shaky too;
We were thinking of the spider
With the red spot in the stoo.
We rushed him to the homestead,
They told him there twas flu,
But us rousies, we knew better
It was Scottys Wild Stuff Stoo.

But Scotty isnt cooking now,
For Scotty is long dead;
They say he turned it in through booze
At Thurlagoona shed;
And away across the border
Theres a certain jackeroo,
Who for years has never tasted
What he christened Wild Stuff Stoo.

 

[reefer]

Haha.. if we do get together around the campfire, there's no way I'm gonna trust you with the cooking Ramjet!

 

[DrDuck]

This would be a good one to learn for the campfire:

Trevor's on a mission to Consumer Affairs,
Trying to get a total ban on plastic, stacker chairs.
He reckons that they're dangerous, a serious threat to life,
'Cause it was through a plastic chair that he got into strife.
It was at the Tamworth Festival, a concert in the park,
Ken & Trev were there with gear to last them until dark.
An esky full of coldies, Trevor was without a care,
His stubbies, thongs and t-shirt on his plastic stacker chair.
But as he stretched his legs out, his left crown jewel rolled free,
And dropped straight through the chair seat - a real catastrophe.
But Trevor remained unaware of his dire situation,
Until they gave the singer a big, standing ovation.
As Trevor came up to his feet, he gave a fearsome yell,
'Cause tethered to his testicle the chair came up as well.
He grabbed the chair with both hands as they crashed back to the ground,
But the errant family jewel was firmly stuck, he quickly found.
Well, he tried to extract the enclosed cod but he began to curse,
'Cause nothing he did seemed to work, it only made things worse.
Well, Trev's mate Ken was laughing fit to go right off his brain,
Ken's tears were from laughter but Trevor's were from pain.
Ken produced a Stanley knife, Trevor's mouth went dry;
Ken said "I'll only cut the chair" but Trevor wouldn't let him try.
Well Ken climbed underneath the chair and tried to poke things through,
It's times like this you find out what your mates will really do!
Well, they pulled, pushed and prodded but all efforts were in vain,
Trevor's nut was red raw and giving heaps of pain.
All this unwanted attention was no good, you realise;
'Cause Trevor's tortured testicle swelled up to twice its size.
Well, the word spread quickly through the park about the situation,
People tried to get a glimpse of Trev's threatened castration.
Mums and dads and kids and dogs of every shape and age,
Trev got more attention than the singer on the stage!
Little kids were pointing, dogs were trying to have a smell;
Trevor trying to cover up said "Go to bloody hell!"
"Poor bloke needs an ice pack", was the only good advice,
So they sat Trevor over his Esky with his egg in the ice.
Well, someone called an ambulance and they drove through the crowd,
Trev was drinking Bundy rum and swearing very loud.
For when they both stopped laughing they carted Trev away
To the hospital where he became the highlight of the day.
But Trevor's now recovered with both crown jewels in place,
Don't offer him a plastic chair if you value your face.
But next year at the festival, Trevor will be there,
Wearing tight undies, long trousers on his canvas fold-out chair.

Here the video of Bill Kearns reciting it...

[video=480,360]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kpjnGWPmj0[/video]

 

[Ramjet]

This would be a good one to learn for the campfire:

Trevor's on a mission to Consumer Affairs,
Trying to get a total ban on plastic, stacker chairs.
He reckons that they're dangerous, a serious threat to life,
'Cause it was through a plastic chair that he got into strife.
It was at the Tamworth Festival, a concert in the park,
Ken & Trev were there with gear to last them until dark.
An esky full of coldies, Trevor was without a care,
His stubbies, thongs and t-shirt on his plastic stacker chair.
But as he stretched his legs out, his left crown jewel rolled free,
And dropped straight through the chair seat - a real catastrophe.
But Trevor remained unaware of his dire situation,
Until they gave the singer a big, standing ovation.
As Trevor came up to his feet, he gave a fearsome yell,
'Cause tethered to his testicle the chair came up as well.
He grabbed the chair with both hands as they crashed back to the ground,
But the errant family jewel was firmly stuck, he quickly found.
Well, he tried to extract the enclosed cod but he began to curse,
'Cause nothing he did seemed to work, it only made things worse.
Well, Trev's mate Ken was laughing fit to go right off his brain,
Ken's tears were from laughter but Trevor's were from pain.
Ken produced a Stanley knife, Trevor's mouth went dry;
Ken said "I'll only cut the chair" but Trevor wouldn't let him try.
Well Ken climbed underneath the chair and tried to poke things through,
It's times like this you find out what your mates will really do!
Well, they pulled, pushed and prodded but all efforts were in vain,
Trevor's nut was red raw and giving heaps of pain.
All this unwanted attention was no good, you realise;
'Cause Trevor's tortured testicle swelled up to twice its size.
Well, the word spread quickly through the park about the situation,
People tried to get a glimpse of Trev's threatened castration.
Mums and dads and kids and dogs of every shape and age,
Trev got more attention than the singer on the stage!
Little kids were pointing, dogs were trying to have a smell;
Trevor trying to cover up said "Go to bloody hell!"
"Poor bloke needs an ice pack", was the only good advice,
So they sat Trevor over his Esky with his egg in the ice.
Well, someone called an ambulance and they drove through the crowd,
Trev was drinking Bundy rum and swearing very loud.
For when they both stopped laughing they carted Trev away
To the hospital where he became the highlight of the day.
But Trevor's now recovered with both crown jewels in place,
Don't offer him a plastic chair if you value your face.
But next year at the festival, Trevor will be there,
Wearing tight undies, long trousers on his canvas fold-out chair.

Here the video of Bill Kearns reciting it...

[video=480,360]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kpjnGWPmj0[/video]

Awesome Doc. I can also recite this one. Bloody funny. Please guys, if you have any more I would love to see them. Always looking for new poems to learn. I actually use them to help me sleep. We all have those nights when the brain just will not shut down, with random thoughts keeping us awake. I just start reciting poems in my mind and it works a treat to help me fall asleep.

 

[Ramjet]

Haha.. if we do get together around the campfire, there's no way I'm gonna trust you with the cooking Ramjet!

Haha. Sorry to hear the Reefer. Cooking is another of my passions and if I do say so myself, I can punch out some pretty good camp food.
Some of my efforts can be seen in out "Today I cooked" topic. https://www.prospectingaustralia.com/forum/viewtopic.php?id=2320 ]