Maybe you recall an earlier post - Maggie comes to Town.

Some stayed !!

Magpie Melody.

A melody of magpies just greeted me,

whilst taking a rest, also a beaut cup of tea.

It may have been thank you for  the freshened bird bath.

No sound from a kooka, so it wasn’t just a laugh.

They chortled and carolled , perched on fence and gum tree,

I’m sure it was composed - by them - just  for me.

Some young, a few old; and more is the pity

the young have been reared here; in my smoky city.

Their joyous musicallity is heard every morn

from down by the river just after new dawn.

As the sun rises further, when they know I’m about

they give me their marvellous melody shout.

Will they one day, return to the old town of Bourke

where fossicking for food is much harder work,

competing with kestrels and hawks with their might

or  watching for eagles , perhaps even a kite.

Well, that will be my loss.

No nearby refrain.

It will be swallowed by the thunder

of  a hurtling cattle train.

©. Rimeriter. 9/2012.

Humble Habitat.

Prologue -                    Gum Tree Reserve, Guildford NSW.

An environmental activist, known hereabouts as

Banjo Hayes,

were it not for his intervention

this habitat,

would now be lost

in haze.

Humble Habitat.

This symbol in a  city, a little west of Sydney Town,

in Guildford a small suburb, deserving just renown.

Gum Tree Reserve is extant.               A piece of Heritage.

This piece of nature’s wonders must be written on a page,

of histories that have lasted long, through trouble and through strife.

A piece of nature’s wonders that have been granted longer life.

Turpentines stand stoutly.                              So does some Ironbark.

It’s trees now number forty, they have made their modern mark

for they are remnant regrowth, from a time when world was new.

They must - yes MUST - be protected, for you- and you- and you.            

Come, see the natural grasses, climbers, herbs and shrubs as well.

A reserve for native creatures, where they can come to dwell.

This wellspring of hope eternal to be nurtured  -  kept alive.

To give some hope for human nature - becoming humble, to survive.

(c). Rimeriter.

19/3/05.

item no.13

Competition.

Blog Viewers.

I have decided upon my own personal competition.


As you will notice, there soon will be the ONE HUNDREDTH American viewer of my postings.


Now, 'listen up' - whomever you may be, a surprise gift awaits.


You will have to immediately send an email to me to claim your gift.


Now do not be too over excited.

It isn't very expensive, but it is very valuable !!!!!


I await in anticipation.
Jim.

Psycus Pete.

Psycus Pete.

Now Psycus Pete and his purple van

should be seen by every man,

of course by every woman too.

Be seen by me. Be seen by you.

What is that colour named aubergine ?

Perhaps auberguine should never be seen

except way out in the far, far west

where red dust rises and covers the rest,

would obscure the colour and bullet holes

while Psycus Pete performs and cajoles,

entertains as only he can

should be seen by every man,

of course by every woman too.

Be seen by me. Be seen by you.

So goodness sake seek the Pukka Truka,

before you run out of that thing called lucka,

head out you must to the Terratry

from wherever you happen to be

say

“G’day“

to Psycus Pete, before he spreads his wings

then finds those bigger and better things

"It's going to be sad to say goodbye"

to him and of course his purple van

which should be seen by every man,

of course by every woman too.

Be seen by me. Be seen by you.

© Rimeriter 2/12/11

Monday, 21 November  2011

Psycus Pete farewells his Pukka Trucka

By Caddie Brain - ABC Rural.

Note : an internet item specified above encouraged me to put these few words together. 

Linguistics.

An Extraction. In the June issue of Writers Voice, the quarterly magazine of the NSW Fellowship of Australian Writers, the Poetry Editor, David Berger, wrote the following: “A good poem should show something and not tell it. Ballads were fine for earlier cultures, but a modern poem is a reaction to an emotion which is then linguistically encrypted and transmitted through time. When this poem is unpacked, the reader should be able to feel that original emotion: the anger, the fear, the joy.”

***

Well, David -

linguistic encrytion is code for making it impossible to understand without a code breaker, then it has to be unpacked.

Blimey, far too much work for we average readers.

To ‘see’ the images.

To ‘feel’ the emotion.

To ‘enjoy’ the easily written, easily understood writers work,

 is far superior to having to decode it.

Understandably, linguistic encrytion is vital to an item which is to be a limited publication, then cloistered in the bowls of academia,

rarely if ever to see the light of day.

Writers will earn a much more handsome income, writing to suit a larger, wider, understanding and appreciative audience.

***

Jim Spain – the Rimeriter.

A Writer of Rhyme.

A backward poet who writes inverse.