Poets Corner

We’re the parents who watched with pride, the day that you marched out But the ideals for which you stood,

Tread gently on this foreign field, for it lies soaked in blood, that flowed across this battlefield, a tragic crimson flood

You see it on greeting cards – frost, fur, sleigh – As I recall when I was young that was the Irish way, But mum and dad saw better times and took me by the hand, And journeyed far upon the tide to a new and distant land

OUR FAMILY’S HAD ITS PROBLEMS, ON WHAT TO BUY AND EAT CATERING FOR OUR CREW, IS REALLY QUITE A FEAT, THE PROBLEM COMES UP EVERY YEAR

Husbands can’t be perfect, concessions must be made But my one has a habit, that leaves others in the shade

She sees the parting transport jet and hears its fading whine It’ll touch down in Australia, in about twelve hours

I first met Benny years ago, we went to the same school, Loyalty, Trust and Friendship was our motto’s rule.

Chubby was a Pusser, I’d known for many years We’d catch up every Anzac Day and down too many beers

We pray for all our heroes and the blood that they have shed, That’s why my darling grandchild, THE POPPY IS SO RED.”

You’ve lain within your fallen steed, for nearly forty years But decades cannot wipe away, the heartache and the tears

I recall the day I met him, when I went to read my poem About the Anzac spirit, at the

When the government deploys you, to perform some dodgy task You tell your folks. “Secret Squirrel”. In other words. “Don’t

I wondered why we settled here, in the land that time forgot When it comes to nasty fauna, this place