CLXX - My Barbie

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Australian poet, Dorothea Mackellar, wrote the poem "My Country".
It is something of an Australian icon and most Australians know a bit of it,
especially the line that reads "I love a sunburnt country".

This Australia Day, it seemed to me to be in need of modernizing.


My Barbie

The love of stew and couscous
Of rice and sushi-ed fish;
Or orange sauce with duckling
May be your favourite dish.
Strong love of stir-fried chicken
Noodles or gourmet pies -
I know but cannot share it
My love is otherwise.

I love a gas-fired barbie
With tongs and forks and things,
To carbonise some lamb chops
Or steaks and onion rings.
I love her cast iron hot-plate
I love her spacious grill,
For family or for parties,
My barbie fits the bill.

Standing tall with manly pride,
(Clutching a beer, of course)
You char-grill anything that walks
Then top it off with sauce.
It doesn't matter what you cook,
Snags or chops or game,
Dose them well with tomato sauce
And they all will taste the same.

Core of my heart, my barbie!
She shows that I'm a man
Who can do his share of housework,
Drinking lager from a can.
When the little woman's fuming
At the mess around the bath,
I can stick my manly chest out
And boast I do my half.

Core of my heart, my barbie!
I polish you like gold
The centre of my manhood
To cherish and to hold.
Under the plastic awning
Beside the wheelie bin
You are my pride and joy,
I gaze at you and grin.

A twelve ring gas fired barbie
Is a vision truly grand! -
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand –
A kitchen holds many splendours,
With rice cookers and woks
But I know my gas-fired barbie
Can incinerate an ox.

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© J Cosmo Newbery
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CLXIX - Roses are roses.

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Seven Days Seven Answers
had a prompt based on the old rhyme:
Roses are red, violets are blue
Sugar is sweet and so are you.

I beg to differ...


Roses are roses, violets are not.

"Roses are red, violets are blue",
Overused twaddle and clearly untrue.
Some roses are white, others are pink,
In Texas they're yellow, the worlds biggest, I think.

Violets are odd, with their own special hue,
Violets are violet and definitely not blue.

That sugar is sweet, I have to agree,
But that's where it ends, it seems to me.
The thinking is flawed, the analogy faulty:
Sugar is sweet but you are quite salty.

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© J Cosmo Newbery
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CLXIII - A New Leaf

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Sunday Scribblings had a topic called 'A New Leaf'.

A New Leaf

Turning a leaf to reveal new pages
Is a ritual passed on through the ages.
But it has no effect on
Most live's direction
As people feel safest in their cages.

◊◊◊

My New Year's resolution's a bold one,
As I know that my leaf is a gold one.
It beggars belief
To turn a new leaf
When I'm still quite enjoying the old one.

◊◊◊

Adam's wardrobe was very brief
It gave poor Eve no end of grief.
She used to say,
In her feminine way,
That he really should get a new leaf.

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© J Cosmo Newbery
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CLXII - Train of thought

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Train of thought

The station's lit with pools of light
As people assemble from the night
The train, serpentine but uncurled,
Swallows us into a different world.
I quickly move to an empty seat
Beside me throbs an earphone beat.
Young girls giggle as young girls do
While the elderly just tut-tut and stew.
Men in suits consult their brokers
Others twitch (they're frustrated smokers)
Some retreat to an inner zone
While others commentate on the phone.
"I like Damien, he's a spunk, like, you know..."
"I should be home in ten minutes or so..."
"When I was a girl I would never try..."
"If they rise above five ten then buy..."
"We just passed through Box Hill West..."
"You can't believe the way she dressed..."
"Well, what else would you expect then...?"
"Please show your tickets for inspection!"
The clacking train makes it way as
A strange operetta for twenty players.
I reach my stop and gladly alight
To wander off into the night.

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© J Cosmo Newbery
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CLXI - The Year of Enough

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City skyline with fireworks, circa 2050.

The Year of Enough

The fireworks, we are reliably told,
Were larger than any displayed before.
It seems symbolic, the future foretold,
Of mankind's foolish love of 'more'.

Everything must be bigger and better,
The previous guy's efforts puny and rough.
Every occasion must be a trend setter
Is it ever possible to just have enough?

Why must every Mk 2 exceed Mk 1?
Can we be happy with what we have got?
Or, like Lemmings, must we forever run?
Last year's is so passé, this one's so hot.

Like a midnight fireworks display,
We accelerate through our planet's resources
Until a final bang and then fizzle away,
Returning once more to carts and horses.

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© J Cosmo Newbery
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