A Bit of Fun
Posted: Thu Jul 26, 2012 10:29 am
My Church is holding an Australiana Dinner at the end of August
and asked me to do some Bush Poetry.
Me being oppositional, they are getting this - won't they be suprised!
A Bush-style Christening
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
and men often wore their wife’s scanties
On a road never crossed 'cept by folk that are lost,
One Michael Magee’s throwing tanties!
Now this Mike was the dad of a ten-year-old lad,
Plump, healthy, but overtly pimpled
He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest
For the youngster had never been sprinkled
His poor wife used to cry, what if junior should die!
Saint Peter would say “who is this bloke?”
But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived,
on his ass ‘cause his sulky was broke.
Now the artful young goth, while they talked on and off
the keyhole pressed close to his ear…
muttered in fright while his features turned white,
This sounds like a pain in the rear!
Long story to short, he honestly thought
he’d be branded like calf or like colt
cross my heart that it’s true, he resolved to shoot through,
out the back door he fair done a bolt.
… away with a rush he set off for the bush,
While the tears in his eyelids they glistened-
“Tis outrageous," says he, "to brand youngsters like me,
I'll be dashed if I'll stop to be christened!"
Like a young native dog he dove into a log,
And his father with language uncouth
knew that his girth, the subject of mirth,
wouldn’t allow him to follow the youth.
The padre came by and with passionate cry
said “Poke him with this little sapling -
'Tis not long that he'll stand, I've the water at hand,
I’ll name him ‘fore he knows what’s happ’ning”
"Here he comes, and for shame! I’ve forgotten the name-
Is it Stanley or Kevin or Dan?”
Here the youngster ran out, and the priest gave a shout-
and let fly with the can in his hand.
And the howling young cub ran away to the scrub
covered in red-backs from where he had been,
The priest, as he fled, yelled the name he had read…
“Carlton!”, the brand on the tin.
Now time has gone by with a frustrated sigh,
the memory no longer pains…
But Carlton Magee is now an MP
In Queensland where ‘four-x’ reigns!
Wen
and asked me to do some Bush Poetry.
Me being oppositional, they are getting this - won't they be suprised!
A Bush-style Christening
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
and men often wore their wife’s scanties
On a road never crossed 'cept by folk that are lost,
One Michael Magee’s throwing tanties!
Now this Mike was the dad of a ten-year-old lad,
Plump, healthy, but overtly pimpled
He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest
For the youngster had never been sprinkled
His poor wife used to cry, what if junior should die!
Saint Peter would say “who is this bloke?”
But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived,
on his ass ‘cause his sulky was broke.
Now the artful young goth, while they talked on and off
the keyhole pressed close to his ear…
muttered in fright while his features turned white,
This sounds like a pain in the rear!
Long story to short, he honestly thought
he’d be branded like calf or like colt
cross my heart that it’s true, he resolved to shoot through,
out the back door he fair done a bolt.
… away with a rush he set off for the bush,
While the tears in his eyelids they glistened-
“Tis outrageous," says he, "to brand youngsters like me,
I'll be dashed if I'll stop to be christened!"
Like a young native dog he dove into a log,
And his father with language uncouth
knew that his girth, the subject of mirth,
wouldn’t allow him to follow the youth.
The padre came by and with passionate cry
said “Poke him with this little sapling -
'Tis not long that he'll stand, I've the water at hand,
I’ll name him ‘fore he knows what’s happ’ning”
"Here he comes, and for shame! I’ve forgotten the name-
Is it Stanley or Kevin or Dan?”
Here the youngster ran out, and the priest gave a shout-
and let fly with the can in his hand.
And the howling young cub ran away to the scrub
covered in red-backs from where he had been,
The priest, as he fled, yelled the name he had read…
“Carlton!”, the brand on the tin.
Now time has gone by with a frustrated sigh,
the memory no longer pains…
But Carlton Magee is now an MP
In Queensland where ‘four-x’ reigns!
Wen
You're a legend Wendy! 
