Ballads/Poems/Lyrical Inspiration

[NeoMatrix]

The Guy in the Glass

(by Dale Wimbrow, (c) 1934)

When you get what you want in your struggle for pelf,
And the world makes you King for a day,
Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,
And see what that guy has to say.

For it isn't your Father, or Mother, or Wife,
Who judgement upon you must pass.
The feller whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the guy staring back from the glass.

He's the feller to please, never mind all the rest,
For he's with you clear up to the end,
And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the guy in the glass is your friend.

You may be like Jack Horner and "chisel" a plum,
And think you're a wonderful guy,
But the man in the glass says you're only a bum
If you can't look him straight in the eye.

You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartaches and tears
If you've cheated the guy in the glass.
(In grateful memory of the author, Dale Wimbrow 1895-1954)

[Debs1964]

I'd never read that before, it's very thought provoking, thank you

[NeoMatrix]

Lyrical Inspiration to the extreme.....
This is how my ex-girl friend dumped me many years ago.
We where making out on the beach with Meatloaf playing on the radio.
Her exact words to me as she lip sync this Meatloaf song.

*********************
And she kept on telling me
She kept on telling me
She kept on telling me
I want you (I want you)
I need you (I need you)
But there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you
Now don't be sad (Don't be sad)
'Cause two out of three ain't bad
I want you (I want you)
I need you (I need you)
But there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you
Now don't be sad (Don't be sad)
'Cause two out of three ain't bad
Now don't be sad (Don't)
'Cause two out of three ain't bad
Baby we can talk all night .
But that ain't getting us nowhere... (see ya later biarch)....
*******************************

The ex-girlfriend did me a favour, a short time later I meet my wife of 30 years 25 married.

I'm sure others have a lyric or two for inspiration good or bad..?

[emujo]

The Guy in the Glass

(by Dale Wimbrow, (c) 1934)

When you get what you want in your struggle for pelf,
And the world makes you King for a day,
Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,
And see what that guy has to say.

For it isn't your Father, or Mother, or Wife,
Who judgement upon you must pass.
The feller whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the guy staring back from the glass.

He's the feller to please, never mind all the rest,
For he's with you clear up to the end,
And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the guy in the glass is your friend.

You may be like Jack Horner and "chisel" a plum,
And think you're a wonderful guy,
But the man in the glass says you're only a bum
If you can't look him straight in the eye.

You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartaches and tears
If you've cheated the guy in the glass.
(In grateful memory of the author, Dale Wimbrow 1895-1954)

What's a "pelf"?

[NeoMatrix]

What's a "pelf"?

The meaning of the word "pelf" is too pursue dishonest wealth and material gain above all else in life.

[NeoMatrix]

Introduction:
This ballad is about a rich property owner who loses an expensive horse in a mob of wild mountain horses(brumby's).
A great reward is offered for the return of the expensive Colt. Many horseman/stockman gather to help return the lost Colt, but only a single horseman is able to do the dangerous task at the climatic end. This poem has been written to a song making it a very worthy ballad in Australian history..


The Man from Snowy River
(By Banjo Paterson )

There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around That the colt from old Regret had got away, And had joined the wild bush horses - he was worth a thousand pound, So all the cracks had gathered to the fray. All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far Had mustered at the homestead overnight, For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are, And the stockhorse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup, The old man with his hair as white as snow; But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up -He would go wherever horse and man could go. And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand, No better horseman ever held the reins; For never horse could throw him while the saddle girths would stand, He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast, He was something like a racehorse undersized, With a touch of Timor pony - three parts thoroughbred at least -And such as are by mountain horsemen prized. He was hard and tough and wiry - just the sort that won't say die -There was courage in his quick impatient tread; And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye, And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay, And the old man said, "That horse will never do For a long a tiring gallop - lad, you'd better stop away, Those hills are far too rough for such as you." So he waited sad and wistful - only Clancy stood his friend -"I think we ought to let him come," he said; "I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end, For both his horse and he are mountain bred.

"He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side, Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough, Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride, The man that holds his own is good enough. And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home, Where the river runs those giant hills between; I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam, But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen."

So he went - they found the horses by the big mimosa clump -They raced away towards the mountain's brow, And the old man gave his orders, "Boys, go at them from the jump, No use to try for fancy riding now. And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right. Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills, For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight, If once they gain the shelter of those hills."

So Clancy rode to wheel them - he was racing on the wing Where the best and boldest riders take their place, And he raced his stockhorse past them, and he made the ranges ring With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face. Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash, But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view, And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash, And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black Resounded to the thunder of their tread, And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead. And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way, Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide; And the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day, No man can hold them down the other side."

When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull, It well might make the boldest hold their breath, The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full Of wombat holes, and any slip was death. But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head, And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer, And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed, While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet, He cleared the fallen timber in his stride, And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat -It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride. Through the stringybarks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground, Down the hillside at a racing pace he went; And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound, At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill, And the watchers on the mountain standing mute, Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still, As he raced across the clearing in pursuit. Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet, With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam. He followed like a bloodhound on their track, Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home, And alone and unassisted brought them back. But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot, He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur; But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot, For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise Their torn and rugged battlements on high, Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze At midnight in the cold and frosty sky, And where around The Overflow the reed beds sweep and sway To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide, The man from Snowy River is a household word today, And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

[emujo]

The meaning of the word "pelf" is too pursue dishonest wealth and material gain above all else in life.

Well, I've learned 2 things today...1, "pelf" ( I originally thought you misspelled it and meant "self"), and 2, I hate written down ballads. I actually read the 1st one, and it was painful. I gave up after the 2nd line on the last post. maybe it works better when accompanied by music. Emujo

[NeoMatrix]

Well, I've learned 2 things today...1, "pelf" ( I originally thought you misspelled it and meant "self"), and 2, I hate written down ballads. I actually read the 1st one, and it was painful. I gave up after the 2nd line on the last post. maybe it works better when accompanied by music. Emujo

Re :Man from Snowy-River
Okay. Thanks for the valid comments; I appreciate your humility as well. I've listen to what you've said. Maybe I should change the center-justify paragraph format to poem style left-justifed,which enables the ballad to be read a bit easier?

I cannot delete the Man from Snowy river poem as it's passed the delete/edit period.
System admin do not reply to any PM's,so I don't wish to repost a duplicate of the edited poem.

[NeoMatrix]

Introduction

The poem is written from the point of view of a city-dweller who once met the title character Clancy, a shearer and drover.The city-dweller now envies the imagined pleasures of Clancy's lifestyle, which he compares favourably to life in the dusty, dirty city" and "the round eternal of the cashbook and the journal".

The poem title comes from the address of a letter the city-dweller sends: "The Overflow" being the name of the sheep station where Clancy was working when they met. The poem is based on a true story that was experienced by Banjo Paterson. Banjo was working as a lawyer when someone asked him to send a letter to a man named Thomas Gerald Clancy, and asking for a payment that was never received. Banjo sent the letter to "The Overflow", a sheep station 100 kilometres south-west of Nyngan, and soon received a reply that read: "Clancy's gone to Queensland droving and we don't know where he are".

The letter looked as though it had been written with a thumbnail dipped in tar, and it is from this that Banjo Paterson found the inspiration for the poem, along with the meter.
In 1897, Thomas Gerald Clancy wrote a poem to reply to Banjo Paterson's, named "Clancy's Reply".

Clancy himself makes a cameo appearance in another popular Banjo Paterson poem, "The Man from Snowy River",

The following poem has been written to music making it a popular Australian bush ballard.

************************************************** ******
Clancy of The Overflow "
(by Banjo Paterson 1897)

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
Just “on spec.,” addressed as follows, “Clancy, of ‘The Overflow.”
And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
and I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar,
‘Twas his shearing-mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
“Clancy’s gone to Queensland droving, and we don’t know where he are.”

In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy
Gone a-droving “down the Cooper” where the Western drovers go;
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
For the drover’s life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

And the bush hath friends to meet him and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,
And at night the wond’rous glory of the everlasting stars.

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the fœtid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all.

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
Of the tramways and the ‘busses making hurry down the street,
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

And I somehow rather fancy that I’d like to change with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal—
But I doubt he’d suit the office, Clancy of “The Overflow”.

**************************************************

[Iowatech]

Any chance you know someone who could put these to music?
If I remember correctly, that's the story behind Procol Harum.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p8jJ1ORIOes

[Tonerbomb]

The ex-girlfriend did me a favour, a short time later I meet my wife of 30 years 25 married.

I'm sure others have a lyric or two for inspiration good or bad..?

Neo props to you and the Mrs. for the years together, Me and Mrs. Bomb have similar numbers at 35/30. But what inspired this thread, an epiphany or something????

Thanks to Iowatech for the procol harum post !!

a couple of my favorite ballad crooners are Tom Petty and Gordan Lightfoot..................

[NeoMatrix]

Neo props to you and the Mrs. for the years together, Me and Mrs. Bomb have similar numbers at 35/30. But what inspired this thread, an epiphany or something????

Thanks to Iowatech for the procol harum post !!

a couple of my favorite ballad crooners are Tom Petty and Gordan Lightfoot..................

Kudos to you and Mrs bomb, an I should hope you will see many more years...
Re: Epiphany
Overall I felt that some people could use a tad of inspiration, both youngun's an some of us oldies.
Some of the threads on CTN appeared to be going in circles. That said,
over the years I found a good old Aussie bush ballad or song lyrics can lift the spirit
when the days get long an droll. After that it's a carton of beer with a rum chaser or two.

My father an I have written bush poetry over the years. Some of these literacy works, have
won recognition in competitions. I would be interested in reading compositions from other
people, and the experiences they have had in their life.

[Tonerbomb]

Kudos to you and Mrs bomb, an I should hope you will see many more years...
Re: Epiphany
Overall I felt that some people could use a tad of inspiration, both youngun's an some of us oldies.
Some of the threads on CTN appeared to be going in circles. That said,
over the years I found a good old Aussie bush ballad or song lyrics can lift the spirit
when the days get long an droll. After that is it's a carton of beer with a rum chaser or two.

My father an I have written bush poetry over the years. Some of these literacy works, have
won recognition in competitions. I would be interested in reading compositions from other
people, and the experiences they have had in their life.

Thanks for that Neo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We all need inspiration from time to time ! Thats when I pop in one of my late fathers Gordan Lightfoot cd's!!!!!!!.....

[Shadow]

24071

[NeoMatrix]

Introduction
The Edmund Fitzgerald was a iron ore bulk ship that sank in bad weather. Gordon Lightfoot wrote a song about the perilous weather that the ship and her crew had to endure.

Gordon changed a verse in this song when it was found that the crew was not responsible for failing to battern down the ships hatches, as was first thought about as the cause of the ships demise.
It was later concluded around 2010 that a freak wave was the final cause of the wreck.

The famlies of the Fitzgerald crew now find closer in their lives with the new verse lyrics appended in Gordons live performances.

Lightfoot's hit 1976 song about the sinking,
The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,includes the verse:
"At 7 p.m. a main hatchway caved in,He said, "Fellas, it's been good to know ya.'"


**************************************************

Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald

Music and lyrics ©1976 by Gordon Lightfoot

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they called "Gitche Gumee."
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead,
when the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more,
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,
that good ship and true was a bone to be chewed,
when the "Gales of November" came early.

The ship was the pride of the American side
coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
with a crew and good captain well seasoned,
concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms,
when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.
And later that night when the ship's bell rang,
could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?

The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
and a wave broke over the railing.
And ev'ry man knew, as the captain did too
'twas the witch of November come stealin'.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
when the Gales of November came slashin'.
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
in the face of a hurricane west wind.

When suppertime came the old cook came on deck sayin'.
"Fellas, it's too rough t'feed ya.
" At seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in; he said,
(*2010 lyric change: At 7 p.m., it grew dark, it was then he said,)
"Fellas, it's bin good t'know ya!" The captain wired in
he had water comin' in and the good ship and crew was in peril.
And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does any one know where the love of God goes
when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
if they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er.
They might have split up or they might have capsized;
they may have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
in the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;
the islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario
takes in what Lake Erie can send her,
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
with the Gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,
in the "Maritime Sailors' Cathedral.
"The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee."
"Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come early!"

*********************************************

[NeoMatrix]

24071

I cannot read any *.PDF file formats when I use this darn Acer Tablet, it's very painful to type/edit doc's with.
I have 3 separate PDF reader apps and none of them read PDF's when they're downloaded off CTN.
If I transfer the PDF to my PC they work fine..

I believe your "The soul of man".PDF may refer to Oscar Wildes "The Soul of Man Socialism" ?
Apology if I'm wrong on that.
Wilde makes a valid point in that he defines "Art as being a liberation of capitalism for the individual".
I should leave it at that, as I do not wish to diverge this thread into a polictical subject,
plus I'm not sure of the context in your PDF.
Thankyou for your input.... I'll try and read it soon as I can.

[Shadow]

NeoMatrix,
Try downloading Foxit Reader for Android, I have it and it works like a charm.
" The Soul of The Man " is some thing that I wrote 15 years ago, after my dad died.
It is in no way associated with any other writings in print today or at that time

[NeoMatrix]

NeoMatrix,
Try downloading Foxit Reader for Android, I have it and it works like a charm.
" The Soul of The Man " is some thing that I wrote 15 years ago, after my dad died.
It is in no way associated with any other writings in print today or at that time


Re Oscar Wilde
My apology for jumping to conclusions.
I cannot open your *.PDF file when it downloads from CTN. I have tried numerous times to D/L it.
I have installed Foxit reader as per your request, but I still can't get the file to decode.
It returns with file-corrupt-error. I can't even copy any of the multiple D/L's to a USB stick. I get the same error.
Are you able to post a text version ? PM me a text verion if you wish.

[Tonerbomb]

24071

VERY NICE !!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Shadow]

The Soul Of The Man
His soul is with in all of us
He is our mentor
He is our guide
Our questions
He answers
We are small
He is bigger than life
We look up to him
He looks down upon us
For he is gone from this place now
His soul is not forgotten
Our hearts hold him dear
No one can take his place
For he is Dad
The man we love
Hold his memory in your heart
His soul is part of me
I am part of him
He guided me to who I am now
For this I love him dearly
He is my Dad
He is my mentor
I now fill the shoes of dad
will I do as good as he has done
I am dad
I am mentor
His soul I will carry always
My Dad.....My Mentor
is now me..

[NeoMatrix]

The Grave of Gelert

'In the 13th century Llywelyn, prince of North Wales, had a palace at Beddgelert.
One day he went hunting without Gelert, "The Faithful Hound", who was unaccountably absent.
On Llywelyn's return the truant, stained and smeared with blood, joyfully sprang to meet his master.
The prince alarmed hastened to find his son, and saw the infant's cot empty, the bedclothes and floor covered with blood.
The frantic father plunged his sword into the hounds side, thinking it had killed his heir.
The dog's dying yell was answered by a child's cry. Llywelyn searched and discovered his boy unharmed,
but near by lay the body of a mighty wolf which Gelert had slain. The prince filled with remorse is said never to have smiled again.
He buried Gelert with full honours at the locataion called BEDDGELERT',which means "Grave of Gelert".


The tale of Gelert was immortalised further by the Hon W R Spencer (1769-1834), in his poem:

************************************************** ****************
'Beth-Gelert'

The spearman heard the bugle sound, And cheerily smiled the morn;
And many a brach, and many a hound, Obeyed Llewellyn's horn.
And still he blew a louder blast, And gave a louder cheer: "Come, Gelert,
come, why are thou last Llewellyn's horn to hear!
"Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam? The flower of all his race!
So true, so brave -- a lamb at home, A lion in the chase!"

'Twas only at Llewellyn's board The faithful Gelert fed;
He watched, he served, he cheered his lord, And sentinel'd his bed.
In sooth he was a peerless hound, The gift of Royal John
-But now no Gelert could be found, And all the chase rode on.

And now as over rocks and dells The gallant chidings rise,
All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells With many mingled cries.
That day Llewellyn little loved The chase of hart or hare;
And scant and small the booty proved, For Gelert was not there.
Unpleased Llewellyn homeward hied, When, near the portal-seat,
His truant, Gelert, he espied, Bounding his lord to greet.
But when he gained the castle-door, Aghast the chieftain stood;
The hound all o'er was smeared with gore --His lips, his fangs ran blood!

Llewellyn gazed with fierce surprise, Unused such looks to meet,
His favourite checked his joyful guise, And crouched and licked his feet.
Onward in haste Llewellyn passed --And on went Gelert too
--And still, where'er his eyes were cast, Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view!
O'erturned his infant's bed he found, The bloodstained covert rent,
And all around, the walls and ground, With recent blood besprent.
He called his child -- no voice replied; He searched -- with terror wild;
Blood! blood! he found on every side, But nowhere found the child!

"Hell-hound! my child's by thee devoured!" The frantic father cried;
And, to the hilt, his vengeful sword He plunged in Gelert's side!
His suppliant looks, as prone he fell, No pity could impart;
But still his Gelert's dying yell, Passed heavy o'er his heart.
Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, Some slumberer wakened nigh:
What words the parent's joy can tell, To hear his infant cry?
Concealed beneath a tumbled heap, His hurried search had missed,
All glowing from his rosy sleep The cherub-boy he kissed.
Nor scathe had he, nor harm, nor dread
--But the same couch beneath Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead
--Tremendous still in death!

Ah! what was then Llewellyn's pain, For now the truth was clear;
The gallant hound the wolf had slain, To save Llewellyn's heir.
Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe; "Best of thy kind, adieu!
The frantic deed which laid thee low This heart shall ever rue!"

And now a gallant tomb they raise, With costly sculpture decked;
And marbles, storied with his praise, Poor Gelert's bones protect.
Here never could the spearman pass, Or forester, unmoved;
Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass Llewellyn's sorrow proved.

And here he hung his horn and spear, And there, as evening fell,
In fancy's ear he oft would hear Poor Gelert's dying yell.


************************************************** ****************

[NeoMatrix]

The Soul Of The Man
His soul is with in all of us

{random snip to save bandwidth }

will I do as good as he has done
I am dad
I am mentor
His soul I will carry always
My Dad.....My Mentor
is now me..

Nice free verse composition. On first reading it I would lean toward it being a Eulogy, or a senior citizen's milestone birthday with family gathering. I would like to leave it there, because by not knowing the true situation for sure gives the reader an element of the unknown, which can make them reach for the tissue box...

Nice... I should hope you would frame your composition to an A4 picture frame and allow others to feel the moment.

[NeoMatrix]

Disclaimer :
Before this thread gets any bigger I would like to point out to people that I do not consider my self an authority expert or critic for poerty/lyrics or the lanugage meter or prose any form. I perfer to just garner the inspritation from the many different works and styles the written word has to offer. While using this darn Acer-Andriod tablet, I find it's far easier to cut and paste from other sources than it is to do document battles on the touch screen keyboard. In saying that, all copyright belongs to all the original respective authors..

Neo

[NeoMatrix]

I wrote this in a hurry, apology for any grama an spelling.

Pauls Adieu
----------------------------------------
A true friend no doubt would help many out,
with a manual or two if they need it.
His firmware though late some say out of date,
but the offer was there if you needed it.

And many would shout as their text message pout
at the adverts he sent with his pleading.
For "I'm down on my luck and just needing a buck
for the best part can you all stop the seething".

Now it's all done and said and now some of us dread
that we didn't take some time off to know him.
For we know in our hearts that we played a small part
in a mans life cut short quite so early.

If I could got back in time I would not change my mind
for the most part I saw his pain looming.
And I knew once from then all he needed was a freind
and the offer I did extent with out booming.

And now time will pass by some with a tear in their eye
and the rest will require the facing,
for at the pearly gates we will face off with our mates
who will know in your heart of your pleading.

But it's not about cuss for the man was one of us
in the end his fear all for the seeing.
For his heart was hurt bad and leaving him sad
that he mght not make his next season.

And so his freinds rallied round to ease the pain down
till the heart aches could heal through the annuals
And from this moment on you'll hear Pauls favourite song
"for gods sake it's only a manual"

So eternal old freind your now on the mend
and for ever your safe from more worries.
And we're eternally great that you where our mate
in the end of this when where in heaven.

RIP buddy...

[NeoMatrix]

A typical Australian Bush Ballard style of literature.
Aussie people like to express their spirit an adventure through literature.
It should be noted that Bob's name is a substitute/alias for the real character in the following poem.
The following poem draws inspiration from a Blackcat running around Copytechnet who run into a bit of bad luck.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dave's Demure (2014)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dave said "Bob old friend can you give me a hand,
I've put my arm in this machine to pull out a jamb.
T'was a good idea I thought,if it just went as planned,
But now I'm stuck with my arm an I can't feel my hand."

I feel tingling in my fingers but my arm is stuck fast.
Bob I'll need you to help me if I'm gonna save my ass.
There a driver beside me do you know how to use?,
At the rear and side covers there's a big heap of screws.
Do one at a time there no need to rush,
I'll try too explain it without to much fuss.

Dave I'm not sure I can do this,we should get some help,
from the fireman service they can best save your scalp.
No-no all will be fine I know machines well,
just a few more scews an all should be swell.
If you let those guys near it ,it will all come to pass
They'll just butcher the machine an I'll look a jackass.

Just a few more screws and the rail drops down,
I've got feeling in my hand; I can move my arm round.
Just a little bit more yes we'll soon be there fast,
Bob your a true bloody genius! my arms free at last!.

All that cursing an swearing we've both done real well,
Now we've got some explaining an a real story to tell.
Do we hold our heads high or bow them down low,
for the gossip and rumours will bruise our ego.
Never mind what they say Bob for you did it with class
On that fine Thursday morning when you saved poor Dave's ass.

(To Daves friend Bob...)