Warren Brown

I wonder if a man gets sick of playing "What If? "
It is a tantalising thought -
To wonder what might have been if you'd done… instead.
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Fergus is a little dog
His coat is white as snow
But every time he lets off gas
Well! You wouldn't want to know!
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I have a little tummy ache
That stole up quiet like
I wonder how I'd make
It go away as - "on yer bike"
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A gum tree is a wondrous thing
A symbol of our nation, strong
The tallest flowering plant around, the eucalypt
It reaches from Tasmania to ‘Top End'
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I shook hands with Diana as we were leaving
‘You've got cold hands' as I remarked
‘But I've got a warm heart' she said, weaving,
‘Well maybe I should check it out? ' I asked
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Strike me Fat!
I know its there -
But find it, I cannot!
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My Mother-in-Law is very sweet
She has the nicest twinkling eyes
Ngaire is her name, no others
I'm not sure what it means.
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Ted is for carrying it on, hey
But holding a grudge is a shame
Let bygones be bygones I say
Let kinship and love make a claim!
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My computer is my slave
And the money that I gave
To obtain this little wonder
Near burst the bank asunder!
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The little spider has worked all day,
back and forth, round and round
his labour is a work of art
he's built a web sublime.
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My dog Rastus, what an amiable fellow!
Mostly friendly and inquisitive
A bit of a larrikin and full of fleas
Quick to move and wanting to please.
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I like to look up to the sky at night, with starlight shining bright
And I marvel at the splendour of this vista spread before me.
Oh, that I could stand on high and view where I will be some night
That place we're looking for, our "home", that place that I can't see.
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A dreadful thing took place
A happening, utterly without grace
Something that set her off
Something that made her cough.
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Why is it that inspiration often comes and goes?
One often sees things dressed in worthy clothes
Often as not though, they're clad in rags and grime
Ideas, I'm talking about, things that mark the time
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Peter's on the phone, to see if I'm OK
Won't answer my emails, to busy says he
And then he questions my poetical pedigree
He's casting doubt upon my talent…
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The hunter gatherer instinct is overtaking
Fishing, I'm on about, I yearn to catch my own
I have a marvellous tome advising on the making
Of the necessary skills that aren't home grown.
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So we slave away all day, at work or play,
And shower at night before hitting the hay.

When the shower is finished its powder the bum,
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The air is hot and bothered, a storm is in the offing
It is quiet and oppressive, though the calmness is deceiving.
The clouds are building up but their undersides are scoffing
And I'm inclined to think, its not rain we'll be receiving.
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Well, its damned hard going, this apprenticeship at poetry
What with wives that don't agree and Aunts that blanche
At what life presents, the things I see, seems they don't agree
I write it like it is but Gawd! I am in trouble, no panache!
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D'you reckon a dog would be concerned
D'you think it could it have a bad effect
D'you think his feelings could be burned
If he hadn't a name that stood the test?
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