In the pub I take refuge (and libation)
How then can Merv say unto me
“Jump in your Zephyr and hit the road
Until you payeth off your tab”
For wicked are the car park youths
And afeared I am of going home hungry and thirsty.
For although broke most of the time I am,
In my heart is the optimism of the debtor
That el Dorado is just over the next hill if
Only this trusty steed of the Ford Motor Company
Shall carry me in fourth (or third for hills).
Merv’s generosity is great
And this inconvenience soon he will overcome.
And in the land of refreshing foamy ale and wafting wedges shall I dwell
Now and in the later evening.
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 
That looks unbelievably delicious.
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The psalmsist works on at night
the dripping wax his only light
his quill dipped in deep black
but hale and hearty, he needs a break
goes down the stairs,
to night’s remnants of
pig’s crackle from the rack
restored his vigour once again
hale and hearty he still feels
where to now; to dip his wick?
oh, how cruel this recurring pain
forever subject to his lusting dick
He takes matters in own hand
our psalmist now goes back
to lonely quill and dripping wax
And that’s how psalms so often end.
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So THAT’S what they mean by “A Friend in Hand” !
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…he’s such a guru, our Gez, isn’t he… By the way,where’s our other wise man, our music man, Waz? Visiting a Billabong ?
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Give it a rest, mate!
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Gez, you’ve converted a soothing psalm into a solacious sonnet!
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Oh solo mio.
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…conducting the solo symphony?
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With the piccolo?
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Wedding flute.
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Wasn’t a soothing psalm, more a soothing palm.
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Most poets’ faces show deep lines, can one say the same for all poetry?
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Clearly not !
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Emm’s wedges, or are they Gran’s, have made me hungry for pub food, instead of Friday, we’ll go to the Royal tonight, who wants to cook in the heat…
I like the psalm 10, and see the competition is not over yet.
Maybe we can put them under one (or two) headings one day.
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Does the Royal still have the tables out the front H? Used to drink there when doing study blocks at Bowral Hospital.
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The Royal has tables at the back outside and inside at the front.
The rump steak with chips and salad reigns supreme there. A Royal feast!
There is an Irish bloke inside every time we go there. He is a permanent feature at the Royal, swaggering about with a $ 20.- note forever clutched in his hand. He is the most affable man you could possibly meet, always inebriated somewhat but never pesty. Greets Helvi with an Irish accent as brogue and thick as a black ale,” and how are you today my darling?”
Helvi gives him one of her most lovely smiles that she is so good at.
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Another nice one Emmjay! Good to see that the old Christmas Blues/Psalm/Song/Poetry/Writing/Art non-competition is still going ahead full steam; seems like a lot more fun than the usual ‘winner-takes-all’ competition to me!
I’ll email you my new address so you’ll know where to post my new ‘Pigs Arms’ (Pink Drink if poss boss!) t-shirt… I’ll post the next episode of ‘Virgil’s Aeneid’ tonite; at the moment I’m waiting for my helper to come and help me build a chest of drawers; I need to get a power-driver/drill from the local Bunnings first, though, ’cause if I continue to try to build Ikea stuff using only hand-held screwdrivers I’m gonna get some nasty kind of repetitive strain injury, I just know it!
Later dude!
🙂
😉
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How’s the new abode T2, better than Burnside?
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Feeling Zephyrish?
http://listen.grooveshark.com/s/Jump+In+My+Car/32Thj7?src=5
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Hosny, Hosny, you are avoiding the Psalm Competition; a new pseudo a day shows creativity, but poetry it is not.
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Fair comment-but it’s less time consuming.
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Hos, old China, the TMG clip still cuts it. In fact, it’s a more accurate reflection of the i-Gen’s self-absorption than it was of we boomers.
Naked self interest – co-ercion, distant homes in distant suburbs and the tyranny of not having one’s own wheels.
Thanks for the clip !
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