cynicismcentral.org - TOWNSVILLE AUSTRALIA

AHHH, now where did I leave all those little scraps of paper? Until I find them and the creative urge hits me again here's a couple. .....

With the republic debate going to take shape again (as something we are going to hear about at least) I thought I might drag up this little poem that I had published in the now defunct local Townsville “Independant” newspaper before the referendum, any muso is welcome to it, if it can be put to music.

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Composed on the auspicious occaision of the swearing in of a new American President.

BECAUSE WE CAN!

You cant talk of liberty
and god in the same sentence
-it spoils the moment.

YES WE CAN!
You cant be a friend of every nation,
Waffle on about god,
and then put your finger anywhere near the button.

YES WE CAN!

You cant bring your nuclear ships to our country.

YES WE CAN!

You cant bring your nuclear warheads to our
shores in your submarines or your ships.

YES WE CAN!

But why?

BECUASE GODS GRACE IS UPON US !
And........
BECAUSE WE CAN!

Pat Coleman 21/1/09
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There goes the Revolution or “Cheers big ears”

Last night I dreamt
And the whole night I spent
Laughing in my slumber.

Anyway its pretty bent
But this is how my dream went
It could even be a musical number

I awoke in the morn
And stifled a yawn
I went about getting the daily paper,
And there it was
On the very front page
“Queen dies of old age-
The end-
The monarchy gone.”

The end, why how you say?
Surely there’d be an heir today?
But no!
It seems she said
On her death bed
That-
“My husband and I have seen too many Rasputins,
And the truth we have to face
Is that the masses have lost their faith
In those they’ve placed their trust,
In short - and bluntly
Namely us!”

And I laughed –oh ha ha he he
Now where would ye monarchists be?
Without those bluebloods from o’er the sea-
To grant, ye sirs, ye earls dukes and dames
All sorts of other fancy names-
Now -no more tapping of swords on shoulders there’ll be .

And I guffawed, as a cynical socialist such as I might quip –
.....there goes the revolution ,
There’s always a bloody hitch
Cos’-
Those bastard poms
They’ve beaten us to the republic!

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Ever wondered who to vote for ? consider this ..... (Previously Published (with spelling mistake on www.magnetictimes.com - search "Pat Coleman")

Wise Monkey

Chorus
So tell me my little idealist
When the fix goes down
And the favours called in,
Do you avert your eyes
And be a wise and well known monkey,
Do you let the bastards win?

Will it be the job you want but don’t have
-That’ll buy your silence for them?
At those times when we all need you
Will you shy at the gate and baulk
Or will you draw your poison pen?

Will you listen to that little red man
And borrow that devils pitchfork?
Will you paint them with their rightful brand
-poke them with a stick
or talk and talk and talk ?

Chorus

When that blindfolded schizophrenic lady
With that bloody double edged sword,
Plays a game of manic pinyada
justice coins in her scales ,
justice ignored,
when the wizard closes the curtain ,
will you go off your gourd ?
or will it be as subtle as Springtime for Hitler
will it do Max Bialystock proud,
will you produce a little pearler
and send it crashing to the ground?

Chorus

As concrete reaches for the moon
As land in fingers reaches for the sea,
As that which is common and ours
Is reclaimed for naught but greed ,
Will you speak or slumber wise monkey
get your fist up or bleating whining concede ?
Did their power break your back wise monkey
the chill in the air freeze your soul ?
Will you now advance from the shadows wise monkey
of the corrupt surrender to demand
the corrupt to chastise and scold …………

…but why is this song still a question wise monkey,
that we are left to doubt at all ?

Chorus

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Written while I was a Yabulu Refinery Nickel worker in another life (around 95). This was published in the now defunct – Townsville “Independent” newspaper around 1998-99

The Old hands spiel

“Watch it!.......
the floors are unstable and rusted ...”

The old hand grins....

“Dont worry son
Its not the fall that kills yah,
But when you land you get busted”.

“Dont worry son
We’re all in the same boat ......”

-He comforts the boy with a lump in his throat.

“Dont touch that
And don’t touch that
They’re bloody well hot-
A couple a’thousand degrees
As a matter of fact “.

The Old hand takes a deep breath .....................

“Dont clown around
And on the railings beware
As you lean out and over
Downwards to stare,
For the end could come quickly son
Without long to wait-
and without long to care.”

The new bloke seems sad and looks over with dread while the old bloke smiles .....

“I was only pullin yah leg”...

It gives him cold comfort and he thinks all the more
Of falling that far ......floor by floor .
And the old hand laughs ....

“ I know what you’re thinkin’ son
You don’t want to be here
Getting grotty
And tired
And living in fear”

“See there’s the gate
With the car park just past-
Where you’ll go through this arve
Yellin -
Shove it up your arse!
To those old men
In clean white shirts
Who work in air conditioning
While surrounded by skirts-
For you’ll hold them in contempt
And snuff their praise
Cos-
If you’ve been here as long as I have , son.....
You’ll want a bloody raise!..................”

.....................And the old hand spits

Pat Coleman

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This one was written by Percy Shelley in 1819

POLITICAL GREATNESS.

Nor happiness, nor majesty, nor fame,
Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts,
Shepherd those herds whom tyranny makes tame;
Verse echoes not one beating of their hearts,
History is but the shadow of their shame,
Art veils her glass, or from the pageant starts
As to oblivion their blind millions fleet,
Staining that Heaven with obscene imagery
Of their own likeness. What are numbers knit
By force or custom? Man who man would be,
Must rule the empire of himself; in it
Must be supreme, establishing his throne
On vanquished will, quelling the anarchy
Of hopes and fears, being himself alone.

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The Residents Concerns

A mayor and two small city councillors
Braved the throng -
they got it wrong,
And so it seems
They bought their votes –
from the wrong bloody crowd
wrong election promises annoyed others so much
they wanted the council kicked up the jacksy
The residents concerns got pretty loud –
So that as a taste of thing to come
-the driver of the councillors karmic bus
Turned up late for work in a big yellow taxi .

Each resident, they came prepared
Full of gusto and gumption ,
Like dogs behind a fence barking at the postman
-at each other they nipped and growled
Out came the F-word
Out came the claws
-A pound of councillors flesh
ripe for general consumption .

Out with the old
In with the .....what?
No foolin the residents -
..............this meeting got hot .

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Dont panic girls ..its just a song!

The feminist on her pedestal

Chorous
Nothins ever personal
Everythings political
Till it hits too close to home,
And you could tell-
When the feminist came off that pedestal
She wasn’t pushed
........She fell!
When she landed
She was in good company
When she landed
She wern’t alone .

When the feminist shaved her legs...
When the feminist flashed some thigh......
When the feminist batted her eyes
For hubby his time was up
For the marriage the end was nigh

Chorous

Fella’s beware the OMO on the window sill
Old Man Out they used to say....
And remember Chad Morgan once sang ..
That “they’re a funny kind of cattle these women-
If you don’t lock them up
Then they’ll stray”
But there’s a warning old Chad missed
Somethin’ he forgot to say
Dont utter them words to a feminist
Or there’ll be hell to pay!

Chorous