Night Nookie

[Mal McLean]

I want to make it very clear that this poem is not about my two friends in poetry, Barry and cay Ellem. Any resemblance between them and the characters in this poem is entirely coincidental. Well, they do own a caravan, a copy of “What Bird is That?” and Barry is getting a little thin on top, and they did do quite well at Tenterfield, but I tell you, that is all entirely coincidence.

NIGHT NOOKIE.

Now this is the story of Barry and Cay
who purchased a van just to wander away.
They wandered away on a poetry quest
to travel the land and compete with the best.
All over the country they followed their dream
and camped out by forest or mountain or stream
to ply their sweet verses as poets all will
and sometimes came first, or came second, or nil.

Their other great love was the birds of this land,
their colours and feathers and warbles so grand
and hither and thither with glasses and hat,
with under an arm tucked a ‘What Bird is That?’,
so sallied our experts at both of these likes
conversing quite freely on sonnets or kites
while telling by glance twixt a haiku or hawk
and easily spotting all ten types of stork.


They travelled to Tenterfield’s poetry test
and happened to camp near a tree with a nest
at Seven Knights Park not far from the creek
and planned they would stay for the rest of the week.
A tree with a nest that they couldn’t quite pick
that seemed to be mostly of feathers and stick
with great gobs of mud and some odd shiny thing
with nary a sign of a bird on the wing.

They knew to be patient the best way to be
so practised their lines while they waited to see,
then started the comp as they entered the heats
as pundits and purists were filling the seats.
While ballads and rhymes and the rhythms flowed free
they kept a close tab on the nest in the tree
by striking up friends with a couple next door,
two honeymoon kids up from old Bangalore.

See, he with his six pack and long golden hair
and hers was snow white, what a wonderful pair,
were armed with a cam’ra and promised to take
a picture or two should those birds be awake.
The newlywed couple kept watch on the nest,
at least tween the bouts of what lovers do best,
while Barry and Cay made a fist of each heat
and both made the final; each other they’d meet!

The night before finals, the nerves are not fine,
and nerves are best calmed with a large glass of wine,
so when our two poets had gone off to bed
they’d managed to finish a wonderful red.
Soon settled in sleep was our poetry pair,
and drifted off dreaming of poetry fair,
but not so next door, as I think you must trust;
the honeymoon couple were taken by lust.

And taken by lust, as all lovers can be
abandoned all hope of their propriety
and where they should tread without making a sound
the fact of their coupling was broadcast around.
The noise of their union, its full truth to say,
would waken the dead,…. but it just woke up Cay,
who shook poor old Barry “Wake up, my good man!
I think there’s a murder not far from our van!”

Well, Barry was stunned by the red that he’d drunk,
it took him a second to shake off his funk.
He just cocked an ear, and then whispered away
“It’s a night nookie dear, go back to sleep Cay.”
and dropped down his head and fell fast asleep
while Cay in a muddle then made a strange leap.
“Oh what does he mean and just what could it be?”
“Ah ha!” she cried out,” It’s those birds in the tree!”

She made a quick grab for the book on the stand
the ‘What Bird Is That?’ was there just as they’d planned.
She rifled the pages but came to the end
and couldn’t find Nookie, or Night Nookie penned.
“That low mongrel Barry, he’s been holding out!
He knows of this bird, and of that there’s no doubt”,
she muttered and mumbled way under her breath
and swore to get square, though she might catch her death.

So rolling from bed on that cold autumn night
she took up the cam’ra to take up the fight
and quietly climbed down the step from the van
while taking good care not to wake up her man
and following moans and the groans and the squeals
her eyes came to rest on the young couples wheels.
She gasped with delight, “Now I’ll soon have the proof!
Those Night Nookie birds must be up on their roof!”

The van was a-sway with the action inside
but Cay thought the birds were the cause of this ride
so picked up a chair, …which was somehow nearby,
and carefully climbed it to see up on high.
The cam’ra was slung on a rope round her neck
which should have told Cay that there’s something to check.
You see, at this point it all gets rather rude,
for Cay had forgotten, she went to bed nude.

A succubus spectre through windows arose
and inside their van then the young lovers froze.
This ceasing of movement then caused an impasse
and Cay toppled forward, her chest to the glass
and nestled between what is best left unsaid,
the shutter was pressed, ….it was aimed at their bed.
The honeymoon couple were writhing in pain
as fifteen bright flashes were seared in each brain.

It’s hard just to pick who got the worse shock.
Poor Cay who’d come out without wearing a frock,
whose bosoms were flashed as no woman’s before,
then slid down the glass, and the sights that she saw?
The honeymoon couple now fearful and numb
were quite catatonic, completely struck dumb.
A demon in nude raining fire and brimstone
then blistered their minds with a blood curdling groan.

The coppers were kind when the story was told,
with hardly a snigger or smirk to behold.
Their greatest concern was for Barry it seems
who surfaced from deepest of sweet happy dreams
to hear his Cay screaming “Night Nookie! Night Nook!
Oh please save me Barry, quick come have a look!”
and lying stark naked on grass by the van
she’d held up the viewscreen to show her poor man.

His mind was unhinged at the sights that he saw
as bravely he leapt from the caravan door.
When all fifteen shots were revealed to his gaze
his vision unfocussed, his brain went ablaze
with young naked lovers revealed to his view,
and Cay in the nude in the dank chilly dew.
His hair went all white and then fell from his head,
and that’s how he looks to this day, it is said.

And now, as it’s time I had better conclude,
I hope you don’t think that this tale was too rude,
but if you have things in your life you have feared
then now is the time to be feeling quite weird.
The randy young lovers were gone by the dawn,
all that was left was a pale patch of lawn
and lying right there on that caravan site,
were two golden feathers…. and two feathers white.
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©MM Beveridge 21/5/12
Just to clarify a little, the incident with the, ahem, loud lovemaking, actually occurred, but it was my dear wife Chrissy who thought someone was being murdered. I am going to rewrite this to make it generic and performers will be able to put in anyone’s names.
Barry and Cay took it all in good spirits when I performed this for the first and only time at North Pine recently.
I hope it made you smile.

Mal

[Bob Pacey]

Always wondered why Barry had little on top. a good yarn with a tinge of truth. great stuff Mal.


Still laughing Mate

cheers Bob

[Maureen K Clifford]

I'm still ROTFLMAO and I don't even know Barry and Cay but OMG the visions - splendid

Good on you Mal -great observational and informative not to mention descriptive piece of work.

Cheers

Maureen

[r.magnay]

...there's only one native stork in Austaralia Mal......of the feathered variety anyway!...

[warooa]

Great yarn, Mal . . . loved every line of it

Cheers, Marty

[Mal McLean]

Thanks Ross and all...poetic license on the storks

Mal

[Heather]

Loved it Mal! A laugh a minute. You've captured the characters to a T.

Heather

[Mal McLean]