Friday, September 30, 2011



asks us to write about a Taboo subject.

Originally Posted by Intricate Mystic 
The world would be a terrible place if everyone was an atheist. The contemporary world has been taken over by atheists resulting in work being produced that celebrates ugliness, hopelessness, denies our humanity, and denies the mystery that is present in the universe. ... It would be a bleak, hopeless world full of despair and longing for that "something" that people would know is missing in their lives.


I wish to judge the above critique.
The arguments are utterly weak!
(The words in bold are not my idea;
I would like to make that clear.)
I've been an atheist since my youth,
I've had my own idea of truth;
But I've not lived in a 'terrible place'!
I've loved my time with the human race!
All the atheists that I know
Are reasonable people, so
If people like them are multiplied
It seems to me there'd be peace world-wide!
Religious fanatics cause the wars,
Not atheists without a cause.
Not only that but with 'just this life'
One rejects all forms of strife!
With no hope of Heaven and all that jazz
One makes the best of the heaven one has.
Do I 'celebrate ugliness'? What a suggestion!
Utterly stupid! Out of the question!
I celebrate beauty every day,
But not in a religious way.
Maybe because my parents said 
'Look! A sunset! A pretty red'
I was influenced to judge a scene,
A sky of blue, a field of green,
As being 'beautiful'. Who knows?
But when I see a lovely rose
'What a beautiful rose!' I say.
I'm 'celebrating' in a way.
As for ugliness it offends;
I hate some 'ugly' modern trends;
Injustice brings me close to tears
And ugly language scalds my ears.
Am I 'hopeless' a way;
I think I only have today.
I have no hope of eternity
The future wont mean a thing to me.
I'll go to sleep, and I wont dream;
Blackness will be my colour-scheme.
But I have my little human hopes;
That's how anybody copes.
Hopes for fine weather or good health,
Hopes for more pleasure and more wealth.
But I am, not consumed by these,
So don't accuse me of avarice, please!
I'm sure the religious also yearn
For a little more earthly cash to burn.
But Hope itself, on a grander scale
Is certainly not my Holy Grail.
An atheist denying humanity!
A contradiction, it seems to me!
The miracle of evolution
That brought about our contribution
Is an accidental wonder!
What misconception are you under?
'Humanism' has appeal;
For human beings are much more real
Than angels and spirits in the sky,
And that's a fact you can't deny.
You'll pick-on 'miracle', (written before),
And say 'Well, that's from God' for sure!
But miracles indeed exist
Even for an atheist.
I'm full of wonder, as you are,
When I view a miraculous star.
But I don't feel the mystery's solved
By saying there's a god involved.
'Denying a mystery' could I 
Say I understand the 'where' and 'why'.
The universes are so vast,
Mankind's brief tenure will be past
Before we learn the why and wherefore 
Of this Paradise we care for.
And maybe there is no mystery;
Maybe 'What was to be would be'.
You say with frequency and persistence
'God brought life into existence.'
I say 'If things must be 'created'
By a God, as you have stated
How did God himself appear
Out of nothing? To me it's clear.
God is a man-made fabrication,
Thought-up to explain a situation
Which is a mystery, I agree
But doesn't involve a deity.
'Bleak'..... now that's a deadly word;
One of the worst I've ever heard.
Has it been proved without a doubt
That atheists have to live without
Kindness, joy and imagination
And every pleasurable sensation?
Do they wake and think ' Oh no!
Another day of grief and woe!'
Of course, they're sad at times, not jolly,
Feeling a sense of melancholy.
Of course they feel regret and shame
And every horror one can name.
Of course they're living with bad debts
Consumed with bitterness and regrets.
But many a man who's praised the Lord,
Has subsequently gone overboard,
And many a Man of God has been
A child-molester and obscene!
No better and no worse are we
Than students of theology.
As for 'bleak', it's just not true;
We are as full of life as you.
'Despair and longing' complete the list
Of things endured by the atheist.
Yes, we do feel both emotions,
But one of the writer's oddest notions
Is that Believers are immune,
And that life is one long honeymoon!
'Despair' for my part I feel rarely,
So I am being judged unfairly,
But 'longing' I feel and introspection 
When thoughts are turned in that direction.
I love my life so much that I
Long for never having to die.
But Heaven, as it is depicted,
Sounds very boring and restricted
And everlasting life 'down here'
Means an endless round, year after year,
Of same old same for evermore,
So even that might prove a bore.
The lesser of all evils, death,
A swift cessation of my breath
Seems a choice that I would make.
But I still do feel a little ache
That all this glory will go on
When I am gone, when I am gone.
So I state my atheistic case
It's not Taboo or out of place.
I know that we are viewed askance
By people  who hate the thought of Chance.
But I belong to a silent band
Of atheists in every land,
And I hope for a world at last at peace
When all the world religions cease.


We will never know
What is going on
Under his hat.
And he will not remember.
He slashes at the sand
With his stick.
Is he angry,
Yet still unused to the sensation?
Has someone said
'Time to go home!'
And he cannot explain
Why he suddenly feels
In a turmoil,
Frustrated, seething, ready to cry?
Slash! Slash!
Is he imagining a scene?
Is there a great dinosaur
Writhing in front of him?
Is the boy all-powerful, majestic and in control?
Slash! Slash!
Or does he just like the sound?
Slash! Slash!
We will never know.
And he will not remember.
But a lot is going on
Under his hat.

Black Gold

presents us with this book-cover

Would this blurb attract you to this book?

 Crystal Crackington-Jones

Myrtle bought it on the Internet.
Myrtle should have known better.
'Caribbean Island for Sale'  said the advertisement.
' Magnificent sunsets' it went on.
'$20' it quoted.
Myrtle bought it sight unseen!
She had forgotten the sinking of the oil-tanker 'Black Gold'!
She had forgotten the world's greatest oil spill!
Yes, the sunsets were magnificent.
But the beaches were uniformly black and sticky.
But all is not lost!
Who is the handsome stranger arriving in his kayak?
Pure romance from start to finish.

'Fairy-Tale Romances' publication comments ; Forget pollution! Love still conquors all!



Green plus blue
Makes a turquoise hue
And that's my favourite colour,
Without those two
What would we do?
 The world would be much duller.
I took this shot
From a favourite spot
On a ship when we were sailing.
The sky was grey
On a rainy day
But turquoise is never-failing.
The swimming-pool,
Thronged as a rule,
Was lying unattended,
The blue surround
And green sea, I found,
Were cleverly, subtly blending.
The sea's grey-green
Added to the scene,
And the dull sky threatened thunder.
But the turquoise hue,
Made of green and blue,
Was still a colourful wonder.

Look Out!

                                  Local Press Photograph


Out of a blue non-threatening sky a Springtime bird descends.
And he isn't coming your way because he thinks you're friends!
A chicky little garden bird that hops among the flowers?
No! A magpie is a creature with very martial powers!
In Springtime he's the scourge of all who come within his reach
Descending like an eagle with a very scary screech.
First, he's after human hair to line his little nest.
Later on it's parenthood that puts us to the test. 
He or she guards precious eggs with hovering ill-will;
Suspecting every passer-by and swooping to the kill.
The beak is long and razor-sharp  delivering injuries
That sometimes need a stitch or two! That's just the way it is.
Bike-riders wearing helmets are protected from the swoop
But walkers have to cower when a magpie loops the loop.
Some wear empty ice-cream cartons upside-down in case
A magpie should decide to dive and disfigure a face.
Australia's full of nasties......take snakes, and then take sharks.
But as an angry predator the magpie gets top marks.


Oh what a trap for the unwary!
A thought that's positively scary!
The fact that millions of years ahead,
After you and I are dead,
The sun will engulf the earth! It's true!
That is what it's going to do!
As it dies the sun will expand!
(Yes, I know it's hard to understand).
The earth will be swallowed-up by heat
And we will all admit defeat.
If mankind is still around
Into the oven we'll be bound!
This isn't imminent, of course;
Life is still a powerful force
And, in the event, should we survive,
It could be that we'll contrive
To tamper with an asteroid,
To spin us into a cooler void.
That would not exactly be a boon,
As we'd have to leave behind the moon!
Let's leave that worry to generations
Who'll have to deal with such situations!
Let us just enjoy our privileged place,
On earth, right heat, right time, right place!

My good friend, Pam (I have to call her that because she's giving me a lift next week!) has, at last, found her way to my blog. And, straight-away, she's complaining! 'Where are the photos of today?' she says! She's nagging already. She'll have to learn that I'm always a day behind with photos. 

Next week about forty of us are heading down to the South Coast to a place called Merimbula for about five days holiday. Shirley, our very efficient organiser, had a get-together for us all at her house today and I took a few photos, when I could spare the time from eating and drinking. 

This was just one end of the room. There were more men at the other end but this was the best photo.
The men will be outnumbered on the trip but at least there will be enough of them to gang-up on the ladies. Pam, the complainer, is in the pink scarf. Unfortunately, she's not coming on the trip as she's having visitors. She'll be missed.

And don't expect a personal message every day, Pam!

Thursday, September 29, 2011

The Noses Have It

asks for a poem about Smells


They tell me that an Eskimo
Has hundreds of words with the meaning 'Snow'
And that seems just a little bit excessive.
But you and I have quite a few
Connected to what our nose can do;
Our playfulness with 'smell' is quite impressive.

Let's take 'smell,' itself, to start;
We can smell an apple tart,
But, also, something not at all delicious.
We can smell that doggy-do
On the bottom of our shoe,
And that's a smell that really is pernicious.

So 'smell', the word, is good or bad,
Making us either mad or glad,
According to the type of smell referred to.
The sense of 'smell' is simply bland
Accepting whatever is on hand;
It's simply something we've attached a word to.

But take a little word like 'stink'!
The thought of it can make us shrink,
Rejecting the foul experience completely.
It conjours up some ghastly mess,
Emitting foul unpleasantness,
Certainly nothing to smell at all like sweetly.

'Odor' is next on the smelly scale;
Think of old socks (from a male),
Think of food that's left refrigerating.
This will make us hold our noses;
Even shout out 'Holy Moses!'
It often leads to things incriminating.

Then there's 'aroma', a cooking smell
Which often casts a delicious spell
As it wafts noseward from the kitchen stove.
Aroma speaks of warmth and food,
And puts us in a pleasant mood,
As though we've found an edible treasure-trove.

Then we come to a neutral term;
Some 'scent' can make a human squirm
While being to a dog quite fascinating.
Meanwhile the scent of a pretty flower,
Not designed to overpower,
Can be both gentle and exhilarating.

Finally, there's 'perfume' ; well,
It is so much more than 'smell';
It has the power to drive us to distraction.
Sprayed behind a lady's ears,
It can reduce a man to tears,
As it adds so much to sexual attraction.

That word 'perfume' is so erotic,
Making human love exotic,
Casting a crazy and romantic spell;
'Stink' and 'perfume are poles apart;
One is gross, one from the heart.
And both of them are, very simply, 'smell'.


That one so large and one so small
Can walk in harmony at all,
Is miracle enough for me!
That one built sturdy as a tree,
So huge, so wide, so vast and high,
And reaching almost to the sky,
With ears that flap and feet that pound
Making an almost thunderous sound,
Can be so gentle! Contemplate
The baby with its awkward gait!
See how it plods with infant strides
Keeping close to mother's sides!
Her vast feet could eliminate it!
Yet see how softly she'll placate it!
The coiling trunk gives a gentle nudge,
Indicating 'Stay!' or 'Budge!'
Her trumpet sounds a 'Yea' or 'Nay'
And her offspring knows to go or stay!
'The fruits will ripen soon and so
This is the way we have to go.'
He heeds the looming beast above
Revelling in his Mother's love.
What makes me stop and marvel so?
He was only born an hour ago!




Do what you think right.
Dare to choose the other road,
If need be, alone.


I'm probably talking through my hat
And, no doubt, I'll be knocked flat;
High Finance is a mystery
For elderly grannies such as me.
But financial affairs are in such a mess
That the whole world is suffering stress
And just another hair-brained idea
Doesn't matter there or here.
If Country A owes to Country B
And the debt's moved on to country C,
And Country D is then in line
To pay up or receive a fine,
And Country E is getting fretful,
Because some countries are forgetful,
And Country F points at C and D
And says 'That cash belongs to me!'
And Country Z, right at the end
Thinks 'Shall I borrow or shall I lend?'
And everyone's getting in a huddle
Sorting-out the dreadful muddle....
Why can't we simply wipe the slate,
Return things to an earlier date
When a country's finances were its own
And all this rigmarole unknown.
Let's just say ' Forgive the lot!
Every Country keep what it's got!
At the stroke of twelve (or ten or two)
What you've got belongs to you.'
Of course my system would be unfair.
 There'd be winners and losers, but I don't care.
Some would benefit, some would lose
And nobody could pick and choose.
OK The Books would be in a mess;
OK there'd be unhappiness.
But everybody is going to suffer
If this 'rough patch' gets any rougher!
With things as they are for one and all
We're robbing Peter and paying Paul,
But Peter and Paul are one and the same,
Both are guilty, both to blame;
The ribbons are tangled in the Maypole Dance.....
Ireland, America, Russia, France.
Let's cancel it all and start again,
Making up our minds that the present pain
Is too unbearable to repeat!
Or else we'll ALL be admitting defeat.

The Non-Existent Cat



Do you see a shadow-cat
Sitting in the tree?
I promise you it wasn't there!
It's a mirage! Trust me!



I am sure Maxine, like many old dears
Has to cover up her ancient ears
When she hears the really terrible noise
Called 'music' by young girls and boys!
Does she cower down inside her room
As their cars drive by with their 'Boom boom boom'?
Every 'song' sounds just the same
To the ears of this so past-it dame!
As for tattoos, they're quite obscene!
And yet the 'wearers' seem to preen!
They seem quite proud of the inky scrawls
That are like graffiti on city walls!
Even a rosebud on a shoulder
Is going to look strange when a girl grows older.
Then there's the all-over sort.....
I cannot think of a retort
To express my positive dismay!
I simply turn my head away.
True, when the time comes for confessions,
I admit to youthful indiscretions
But mine have died the death discretely;
Now they've disappeared completely!
Tattoos are something made to last!
They'll still be there as time goes past!
Imagine the ink in all the crinkles!
Tattoos overlaid with wrinkles!
As for the hearing! All that din
From songs about sex and lust and sin
Will have brought on deafness with the years.
As mother said 'It will end in tears.'
Oh well! As the Bible says 'So be it!'
At least I wont be around to see it!

It's Tulip Time in the Eastern Highlands, so we joined the devotees and journeyed there yesterday. The journey was long , but the coach was extremely comfortable and I had the pleasure of Bev's company most of the way. Here she is on our arrival.

The climate in the area is very un-Australian and our day was made even more 'English' by drizzle and chilly winds. The greyness was not good for photography but it was very atmospheric and we were all quite happy with it. We all oohed and aahed over exotic flowers such as bluebells, tulips, daffodils and forgetmenots!

Bev took this when we first arrived.

We visited some lovely old homesteads with beautifully manicured gardens, which were, even so, quite woodlandy. 

The bluebells were a nice surprise. They were in clumps everywhere.

Everything was very misty-moisty and lush. 

The gardens were lovely. Here I am wrestling with a bag, a wrap and a camera case, with the drizzle threatening any minute.

One could have imagined one was in an English Park.

The weather made us quite homesick for the UK. Here's Malcolm under his brolly. 

The parrots prevented the complete Anglification.

Even in the town there was a profusion of flowers. This wisteria was lovely outside a shopping centre. (But that also grows on the coast.)

All in all a great excursion, marred by the lunch arrangements. We went to a Club which was catering for multiple tulip-watching coaches and it was rather a bun-fight!

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Self Gratification



Clearly, everything you write
Will not be greeted with delight.
Some may find it balderdash,
Some may say you have panache.
Fate cannot ever guarantee
Everyone liking what they see.
Some readers may be nauseated
And think your words are over-stated.
Others may cherish every word
And say the critics are absurd.
Write for yourself! You're sure to find
One or two of a similar mind.
You can't please everyone, that's true
So make a point of pleasing YOU!


Acqua di Parma! Surely that's ham!
(Which shows how ignorant I am!)
Who would want to smell of bacon!
(Surely you'd find yourself forsaken!)
Parma Ham! Not too alluring!
Even if the ham's been curing!
Imagine the man of your dreams, my dear,
Looking keen and hovering near!
Imagine him sniffing behind your ears
And suddenly bursting into tears!
'I hoped for carnation or, maybe, rose!
But now you see I'm holding my nose!
What next, I ask, have you in mind?
What other perfume will you find?
Rotten eggs? Or creosote?
Scent from the droppings of a goat?
I'm not prepared to take the chance!
This is the end of our great romance!'
But then I Googled and I found out
What Acqua di Parma is all about!
It's a perfume that's unisexed!
(Goodness! What will they think of next?)
Ladies wear it, so do men!
Good for the cockerel, good for the hen!
They say it's fresh, a sort of Cologne,
Something I really should have known!
So you're safe to dab it behind your ears
When George Clooney arrives! Three cheers!
Though, of course, he might get vexed
When he finds out you are unisexed!

cherish guarantee nausea


Behold a knick-knackatory!
Shown here in all its glory.
Part of a great collection,
Spreading in each direction.
If knick-knacks do it for you
And never, never bore you,
A room like this must delight you,
And other like-minds must fight you
For every piece of china
From every obscure designer.
Lots of this memorabilia
Simply could not be sillier
But sometimes there's a find
Which simply blows your mind.
You scour the markets daily,
Wasting your money gaily,
Hoping to find a knick or knack
That makes you the leader of the pack.
You'll build a knick-knackatory
And bask in reflected glory.

                                            Gerald Gee


Half-way between the mountains
Half-way to the sky,
The centre-piece stands proudly.
And watches the world go by.

It being the School Holidays at present (the end of Term Three), grandparenting is on the go. We had Greg's two little boys for a Sleepover on Monday night, and Rebecca brought Blake over, because she doesn't see as much of her nephews as she'd like to these days. The boys and Rebecca all enjoyed a game of 'Bother' and then we all had supper together. Here they all are enjoying a colouring session.At the appointed time both little boys went to bed like lambs and slept right through till 6.45 am. I'd expected to have to get up at dawn!

Next day we went into the Museum, by bus. I love this shot of the two cousins. Blake and Max, sitting together on the bus. Max apes Blake's every move!

And here they are enjoying one of our new Museum's child-friendly experiments. The mother and daughter on the right were not with us.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Beauty at Any Price

supplied the illustration


Beauty at any price!
Some treatment isn't nice.
You are left with lots of bruises
Just to look good on your cruises.
There have been many hitches
Due to some faulty stitches.
Botoxed lips are just protrusions
Scarred by some pointless new contusions.
Bits cut from chubby cheeks
May not heal for weeks and weeks.
You wont like your bloodshot eyes
And no-one will sympathise.
You will get some funny stares
And spend a fortune on repairs.
Cheek and forehead, nose and lips;
As one bit firms, another slips.
Though you may try lots of patching
You'll end up with nothing matching.
Beauty at any price!
Let the face you've got suffice!


There we are, 'foetal', lying in bed,
With the sheet and blanket over our head.
With our breath all blah and our nose all glug
And the bedroom full of that night-time fug.
Our blood runs slowly, our heart tick-tocks
With the sluggish precision of ancient clocks.
Our mind is dull and our eyes are shut;
There's a flopsish feeling in our gut.
The morning's come but we wish we were dead.
The very idea of quitting our bed!
The sun's too bright, the day before us,
Is horribly, terribly too much for us!
We wish the tweeting birds would expire,
Falling dead from that overhead wire!
It's all to much!
But Nature's cure;
That's destined to put us right for sure
Is the instinct to s-t-r-e-t-c-h!
At first it's slow,
But a little stretch very soon will grow.
The toes will extend to the cool, cool sheet,
The heart will spry-up with a lively beat.
The arms, as they stretch will appear to lengthen!
The fingers will flex and suddenly strengthen!
New life will flow through our willing veins,
Flushing away the night's remains!
We'll have a scratch and maybe grimace
And joy will spread all over our face!
The Stretch, my friends, is Nature's way
Of preparing us for a brand new day.