Sometimes

Sometimes things don't go, after all,

from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel

faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail.

Sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war,

elect an honest man, decide they care

enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.

Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best intentions do not go

amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.

The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow

that seemed hard frozen; may it happen for you.

-- Sheenagh Pugh

To the uninitiated the myth is that all the animals of the field kneel and pray on Christmas Eve, their own midnight mass. 

May you all get the Christmas you deserve.

The Oxen by Thomas Hardy

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
“Now they are all on their knees,”
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
“Come; see the oxen kneel

“In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,”
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.

I can’t just believe that it’s over 

We were chillin’ down on the sofa 

Thinkin’ how the magic goes 

When you loose someone you know 

Did you write that speech yourself 

Just to give the others hell 

Does Kevin have a different take 

Does he seem real and you seem fake 

Does everyone get hypnotised 

By his lies 

So long Johnny, so long 

When you gave us IR laws 

We all knew your time had come 

Singing 

So long Johnny, so long 

Kevin gained from your experience 

Now he’s here and now you’re gone 

We’d love to see you reach you goal 

Cause we all wish that you’d stayed on 

Life goes on 

I’m just so relieved that it’s over 

You were hanging out going nowhere 

Thinking where will the policy go 

When you hand it over to Costello 

Will you miss your morning walks 

And all those diplomatic talks 

Does Kevin have a different take 

Does he seem cool and you seem fake 

Does everyone get mesmerised 

By his lies 

So long Johnny, so long 

When you stayed eleven years 

We all thought you were the one 

Singing 

So long Johnny, so long 

You had so much more experience 

We miss you now you’re gone 

We are dreadin’ Kevin’s rule 

‘Cause we all wish that you’d stayed on 

Life goes on

In Flanders Fields the poppies grow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark their place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
And, now, not hear the guns below.

The rows of dead; long years ago
They lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow.
Loved and were loved; and now they lie
Beneath a peaceful, azure sky
In Flanders Fields

Wherever right must take a stand,
From jungles green to desert sands,
From Long Tan to Afghanistan,
In near or distant foreign lands

We took the quarrel to the foe;
From failing hands we caught the torch.
We hold it high so they might know
In peace they rest, whilst poppies blow
In Flanders Fields

We hope our children never know
The pain, the misery and the woe
Of losing family, sons and daughters
Amidst the bombs, the shells, the slaughter
Of Flanders Fields

We cherish still the poppy red
That grows again where heroes bled.
We keep the faith with those who died,
Who now with former comrades bide
In Flanders Fields

For all who paid the greatest price,
Who made the final sacrifice.
This day, with pride, the poppy red
We wear in honour of all our dead.

That falling gamely on his sword is really not too much.

He earned the nickname ‘Bomber’ whilst standing by Hawke’s side

Now history will tell his tale; twice bridesmaid, never bride.

From Fremantle to Canberra, obscurity to fame,

Farewell a local boy made good, Kim Beazley is the name.

Sayonara, Shinzo Abe,

Less than one year number one.

Now your rivals (and Osama)

See the rabbit, see it run.

One last word before you leave us,

One last glass of Asahi,

One last sushi, one last lotus.

Domo arigato.  Kampai !

Farewell to Premier Peter Beattie

Nine years he led the sunshine state

Now he’s gone, and just like Bracksy

We don’t know why, we’ll have to wait.

Through floods and parching droughts

Whenever things were grim, sure

You’d see him laugh on Channel 9

Romancing Tracey Grimshaw

At fifty-four he’s bowing out,

His thongs replacing polished shoes.

As he hands the con to Anna Bligh,

Lets hope no mutiny ensues.

If countries are said to get the police forces they deserve then perhaps it could be said that communities get the local councils they deserve.  After all, as I said earlier, it is you, your peers and your neighbours who voted these people in.

I don’t expect this is the popular view but, naturally, I believe popularity is overrated.

dark is my mood though the daylight is bright

dark is the gloom, long after the night

dark is the morn when sleep brings no rest

dark is the worm that gnaws at her breast

dark is my sorrow, wailing out loud

dark is my anger, pale is her shroud.