TRIPPING

[Maureen K Clifford]

TRIPPING … Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet

Will they kick your sad and sorry arse in Blackbutt?
Or raise their eyes in horror at Bear Butte?
Will they have you jailed at Flasher North Dakota?
It’s doubtful, ‘cause these places are all beaut.
Will they kick your out of town if you’re a Hooker?
Unlikely if you’re Oklahoma bound,
and go to Titisee at Freuberg Germany
it’s unlikely that raised eyebrows will be found.

You can go to Upper Piddle, in the UK
but a middle piddle might be the best bet,
just to be on the safe side I am thinking,
because otherwise you might get your shoes wet.
No doubt the Fanny Bay folks would be laughing at
the folderol whilst you a place can’t choose
but at end of day there ‘s nothing holding you back
except those words that your brain misconstrues.

There’s a place in Colorado you could visit
a lovely place, a great place – a nice Lay
but if you are an Aussie you might want to think about
spending time to go and visit Hay.
You’ve Binnaway forever and long for your home town,
you’ve Nowhere Else to visit, you think you’ve seen it all
then Egg and Bacon Bay might be worth a look around
Lake Disappointment’s dry, but might enthral.

I’m fair dinkum. I’m not pulling wool 'cross your eyes
there’s no bananas at Banana – none at all.
Banana was a bovine who led the wild steers in;
he was a Judas steer – a yellow Bull.
If travelling this land has made your thirsty
and you’re thirst is raging then without a doubt
go and have a cold beer out at Gin Gin
and Mate don’t forget that it’s your shout.

Why not go to Bogan Gate? No Bogans you’ll see.
‘ twas the birthplace of an important man
Named from the language of the Aborigine
a top dog headman of a local clan.
But don’t wait for the train there; it’s a long time since it ran
to Parkes and places where once gold was found
The main streets named ‘Clarinda’ – Lady Parkes Christian name.
They now grow gold canola in the ground.

And if you go to visit our Woolloomooloo
you’ll be flat out finding anything with wool.
The coat hanger will be there waiting and no doubt
be chock a block with traffic – bloody full.
Here’s one more to tempt you – do visit old Doo Town
No need for kicking backsides, save that for Blackbutt
Doo Town folks get dooing. Doo little just won’t doo.
Enjoy your tripping folks.

Hooray from the Queensland nut

[Neville Briggs]

at least the good folks of Bogan Gate didn't get a mention.

[Glenny Palmer]

What a mind, Maureen. you should team up with Dr Stephen...

[Maureen K Clifford]

They just did Neville - since you pointed out my oversight

Oh I think Stephen manages quite well on his own Glenny

[Neville Briggs]

Doesn't bogan rhyme with logan.


sorry Maureen, the devil made me do it.

[Maureen K Clifford]

There are some who have that association sadly Neville however I think it is an unfair assumption. There are some who slag off Ipswich as well despite the fact that we are listed as Queenslands most liveable city, and have a Mayor who is the envy of many, who has personally just donated $1000 to Guide Dogs after hearing some scum bag over in Sandgate was stealing their collection boxes. Pre conceived perceptions usually fall far short of the reality and paranoi reigns.

[Neville Briggs]

Sorry Maureen, I was being too silly.

[alongtimegone]

Very clever Maureen. Some crazy names, but then they do come from a crazy language.
Some examples emailed to me recently.
Wazza

There is no egg in eggplant, nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England or French fries in France. Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are animal organs. We take English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.

And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham? If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth, beeth? One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese? One index, 2 indices? Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend? If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?

We have noses that run and feet that smell. How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?
You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out, and in which an alarm goes off by going on.
English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible.

PS. - Why doesn't 'Buick' rhyme with 'quick'?

[Maureen K Clifford]

They do say the English language is the hardest to learn and it is no wonder people have so much trouble with it when you see this exanples Why doesn't Buick rhyme with quick - doesn't seem to be any good reason why it shouldn't. I don't think there is a word that rhymes with Buick - probably why poets don't use it much

Even this bloke only mentions it in the title.

Buick
BY KARL SHAPIRO
As a sloop with a sweep of immaculate wing on her delicate spine
And a keel as steel as a root that holds in the sea as she leans,
Leaning and laughing, my warm-hearted beauty, you ride, you ride,
You tack on the curves with parabola speed and a kiss of goodbye,
Like a thoroughbred sloop, my new high-spirited spirit, my kiss.

As my foot suggests that you leap in the air with your hips of a girl,
My finger that praises your wheel and announces your voices of song,
Flouncing your skirts, you blueness of joy, you flirt of politeness,
You leap, you intelligence, essence of wheelness with silvery nose,
And your platinum clocks of excitement stir like the hairs of a fern.

But how alien you are from the booming belts of your birth and the smoke
Where you turned on the stinging lathes of Detroit and Lansing at night
And shrieked at the torch in your secret parts and the amorous tests,
But now with your eyes that enter the future of roads you forget;
You are all instinct with your phosphorous glow and your streaking hair.

And now when we stop it is not as the bird from the shell that I leave
Or the leathery pilot who steps from his bird with a sneer of delight,
And not as the ignorant beast do you squat and watch me depart,
But with exquisite breathing you smile, with satisfaction of love,
And I touch you again as you tick in the silence and settle in sleep.