Biography of John D. Farley
POET, I'AM NOT A BLOODY POET, maybe not even a narrator, every thing I write is real time, it happened.
Brand new to Poetry and Rhyming prose, just a 'Bush' Boy at heart. My motivation started from a recent tragic event in our little patch.
Before this event I had been writing my 'little' story in narrative fashion, (http: //www.johnfarls.com) . I needed to express myself in a manner that WAS more AUSSIE and suited my personality. Much spoken word creeps into my vocabulary, I feel I can't change this enigma. As I commenced to rhyme I discovered many new words associations, some old english, much fun. I suppose the real basis for my ordinary poetry stems from the life I have lived, just ordinary. READ MY POEMS IN THE 'AUSSIE' RHYMING GENRE, YOU'LL HAVE MORE FUN.
John D. Farley's Works:
Just like my Emergency Service interests, what's 5 times nothin', nothin'? My publications are personal, as in web sites, like; (www.johnfarls.com) , (http: //johnfarley.bigpond.com.au/) , http: //blogspot.johnfarls.com/
John D. Farley Poems
Some words from Joe.
Tale tales and true. Many stories have been recounted about “OLD WALL EYE”, he lived in real memory, and he was not a figment of too much ‘rum and coffee’. Our ‘friend’ lives out from Brunswick Heads, he has one good eye.
This “Bushy”, read ‘watery’ yarn comes from a personal experience. This must make me 121 years old. Also read; he for she, she for he?
ME DOG PANCHO, PANCHO ME DOG.
What possessed me, this is midnight and blowin’, I’m all alone in me old ‘J’ van so let the repartee start flowin’.
112 Palmer Street to be correct, Grand Ma’s place of liven’.
Down the back the dunny graced by choko vine, it was our place of respite, some say by God was given’.
That was quick, so they were right, but what would they know, this my domain.
Little Baby Cherry
I GOT LOST MUMMY
In 2000 a little 6 year girl went “walkabout” from the yard of her home near Broken Head Northern NSW. She wandered off with her pet dog. Her mother had been in constant voice contact.
The terrain behind her home was dense bush leading into heavy coastal forest. About 8 / 9 kilometers east was the Broken Head Caravan Park, a small hamlet near the ocean.
The time was late afternoon; conditions were calm and cloudless, then. Little Cherry did not answer her mothers call.