SAYING GOOD BYE

LETTING GO

By Frances Harris

You’ve been in my life for some years now,

And I’ve loved you all the time,

You can’t help the way you are,

I suppose it’s the same for me,

I know this is harsh the way I speak,

Without me I know you’ll be lonely,

Together we’ve been, like a pair of old shoes,

But now the journey is over,

Of memories we’ve plenty, recorded so well,

With photographs kept by the thousands,

I laugh when I think of the times you got lost,

I’ll think of you fondly for ever,

We’ve been through times of thick and thin,

With not a complaint from me,

You’re not as young as you used to be,

You’re just a little out dated,

When we first met the world was alive,

Parting was never an option,

Now we’ve known each other for far too long,

I think you’re kind of boring,

When I want to go, you can’t catch up,

It is really so annoying,

You know how I run a hectic life,

And party on until dawning,

I hope you’ll forgive me I’ve been with another,

There’s not enough room for three,

I’m sorry to tell you your time is up,

My new Ipad arrives in the morning.



LAW AND ORDER

A RUSTLERS LAMENT

By Frances Harris

I sit in this place inside these brick walls,

A small high-up window with five big steel bars,

My feet are in shackles, they clink when I walk,

How did it come to this, nobody cares,

First I was born of good Irish stock,

My father a convict, my mother a saint,

Life on the farm was hard work and toil,

My brothers and me, we did what we could,

It started quite small, when I lifted a pig,

My father had shown me to cover my tracks,

He boiled it down and disposed of the skin,

The family ate hearty, my mother ate bread,

Old father Flannigan came to the house.

He said he’d heard rumours floating about,

My father looked worried, my mother she cried,

Someone had stolen old Micks fattened pig,

He told us that Mick had a sick crippled wife,

Needing the pig to sustain her poor life,

If anyone hears the fate of the pig,

Flannigan asked us to tell him post haste,

When Flannigan left he glared at my dad,

When the priest left the house, my father he flared,

He picked up the strap and walloped my hide,

Unable to sit, not able to ride,

When the old man calmed down, I asked him what for?

He said I had bungled and someone had seen,

The message confused me, I couldn’t decide,

When my father had said we should take what we need,

It was a bad start that led to the killing,

I’d like to go back and do the right thing,

I’d wallop my dad and teach him a lesson,

Then save my nine brothers from hell and the gallows.



TINKERING WITH NATURE

BUILDING A BIRD

By Frances Harris



Yesterday I went outside and didn’t see a bird,

I took my little whistle out and called but wasn’t heard,

Lately I’ve not seen a lot, and sometimes none at all,

I fear my little feathered friends are very rare indeed,

The day before I saw a flash of what I thought was blue,

I crept up on it silently, to find a plastic bag,

Could it be that climate stuff for years I’ve liked to read,

Is messing up my own back yard, and holding back the birds,

I sat a while to contemplate, seeking a solution,

I looked up ‘bird,’ on Facebook, but couldn’t find the meaning,

I found one in my dictionary, it really was specific,

It said a feathered animal that sparked imagination,

I searched for many days and months, my search was largely fruitless,

I found a bunch of dragon flies and something that was buzzing,

I realised that my world has changed; I need to take some action,

I found a little blueprint in a place I had forgotten,

How am I to build one? I’ve never tried before,

And how am I to make it walk? A mighty job for sure,

I can’t find colours to compare; a bird is something else,

A perfect job already done, should I try to match it?

When I lay out all the details, drawings and the lot,

They’re not designed to balance and I don’t know how they fly,

I’ll have to look at how they work to make a better style,

I gathered up some cotton reels, paper, screws and wire,

I had to make another beak; the old one wasn’t fitting,

My model doesn’t look the same: I think there’s something missing,

It’s nothing like an eagle and it’s not much like a dove,

I can’t see what it needs to work; it’s not what I’d imagined,

I’ve finished all my tinkering, and proud of what I made,

The problem is it won’t stand up; it lies down on its side,

Then I had a flash of thought, the answer is quite simple,

It only needs a pair of wheels, a runway and a hanger,

I launched my bird high in the air; it came down with a thud,

My ego came down with it and landed in the mud,

Perhaps I shouldn’t tinker, with something nearly perfect,

I’ll mount my bird in pride of place, to languish on the mantle.



COLLECTING THE EGGS

COLLECTING THE EGGS

By Frances Harris

 

The nest I gave you late last week,
Is soft and dry to rest your beak,
Its filled with hay, and very safe,
I found no egg in any place.

The vines are clear, I checked the wood,
My nerves are frayed, and that’s not good,
My basket’s empty, you don’t care,
You see me searching everywhere,

I can’t ask you, I'll have to say,
You lift your head and turn away,
I hear you call, but I’m too late,
By then you’re standing at the gate,

I really want to bake a cake,
There is not time, I cannot wait,
I’m feeling sick, I feel a fool,
Is it because the weather’s cool?

My mother phoned, she’s on the way,
She’s bringing Dad, and Aunty Fay,
I really need a cake to make,
It must be soon, I’m running late,

Now I have to sweep the floor,
I hear them knocking at the door,
Father, mother Aunty Fay,
Nothing more, it’s under way,

Father asks about the cake,
‘No Dad, we’re having turnip bake.’



DANCE OF ENERGY

DANCE OF THE ENERGY

By Frances Harris

It starts with a spark, and ends with a fire,

Igniting the flame, that burns in the hearth,

Lighting a room when gas was about,

The dancing of light, essential to life,

Then the man Edison, had an idea,

Invented the bulb that glowed in the dark,

It terrified doubters, delighted the rest,

No need for candles that tend to burn out,

There isn’t a count of the lives it has saved,

The Hiker who’s lost or an aircraft gone down,

Dark city streets now bathed in the glow,

People feel safer out walking at night,

Think of the cities and how they have grown,

With fine well lit highways, and towers so high,

Progress determined by if we have charge,

That one tiny spark decided our fate,

One law of nature discovered for now,

Many more waiting and much more to find,

The chitter of telegraph soon came to pass,

Trains run on wires, an unlimited source,

Turbines and water that power the world,

Think of the rockets that go to the moon,

Food that is frozen and milk that is cold,

How would we feel if the beer wasn’t cold?

Less than a second it takes to turn on,

The city of Boston, and most of New York,

Where would we be now if science was dead?

I suppose there’d be candles by everyone’s bed.



THE MAN WHO STOOD UP

THE MAN WHO STOOD UP

By Frances Harris

Thank you Mr Snowden, for being such a hero,

You risked to lot for all the world,

And never claimed a bounty,

If more of us were just like you,

We’d all be better off,

Remember Richard Nixon?

A leaker called his bluff,

I know nothing of the Russians,

They are a stubborn race,

I think they get the credit,

For claiming what is right,

 Thank you to your leader, a mystery to me,

I know this couldn’t happen,

Without your nod of recognition,

Keep Tony in your heartland,

Safe and free from torment,

You’re a force that can’t be broken,

When challenged and resisted,

For this man whose making history,

So difficult and hurtful,

-          He deserves our banner, nothing less to offer,

And now I hope the world would say;

‘No one’s above the law,’

So many try to flout it, disguised as something more,

It’s hard to test our allies,

I don’t like to do it,

But truth is being challenged now,

And we must see right through it,

To the citizens of Europe, and peoples of good will,

I hope you stand behind this quest,

Our future’s in the balance,

I’m not a person to make waves,

Though, I think I’ve made a few,

I’d rather sit and feed the birds,

And keep my head down low,

But sometimes there’s a principle,

That drives a force within us

To tell the powerful people,

‘Don’t take us all for granted!’

In the mix there always seems to be;

Too much bluff and bluster,

Now we need to focus on, courtesy and justice.



WOULD YOU JUDGE ME?

WOULD YOU JUDGE ME?

 By Frances Harris

You can judge me, please feel free,

It doesn’t matter much to me,

Talk about me all you like,

I’m busy now, don’t need the strife,

Do I care if you don’t like me?

I don’t think I give it thought,

If you need to challenge me,

Then you’ll have to stand in line,

Life’s too short, to waste a moment,

We’re all children of this earth,

Born the same way, no one’s better,

Searching for a mother’s breast,

Naked, helpless little parcels,

Staggering our way through life,

Think we’ve got it; then we lose it,

Finding what we need to thrive,

Is there any other creature?

On this blue and cloudy earth,

Wastes it’s time on all the small things,

Feels so sorry for itself,

We can learn from ants and beavers,

They know there’s no time to waste,

Building lives with little chatter,

They succeed where others fail.



OUT ON THE ROAD

OUT ON THE ROAD

By Frances Harris

Caravans, trucks, dogs and our horses, this is our life on the road,

We’ve all been out here for many a day and picking our way through the toads,

The dogs are all grumpy not keen on the rain, they’re under the canvas and staying,

Our cattle are tired and wanting to rest, some of them carving tomorrow,

The black bull took off right into the scrub, taking some cows with him also,

The best working dog that we’ve ever seen, was driven away in a Ute,

A scurrilous hound said our dog is a brute; he pointed his gun and started to shoot,

The little grey heeler took hold of his leg, now they’re both on their way to the pound,

What more could happen to worsen our run? This should be the best time of year.

I shouldn’t have said that, the brown cow is down; it looks like her leg is entwined,

The calf stands beside her, it’s looking distressed; we don’t have a dog that will work,

The kelpie is sickly; the collie’s on heat, my husband has gone for a beer,

So who was it said that life’s good in the bush? I don’t think they’ve tried it for sure.

My daughters are cranky they’re walking to town, the good car has got a flat tyre,

The black clouds are heavy, my horse threw a shoe, and I hope that the cows are alright,

I’m feeling quite weary, I didn’t get sleep, there isn’t a lot I can do,

I get in the trailer and go back to bed and pull up the blankets to rest,

My head’s on the pillow, I bring out a book, a coffee it sits at my side,

I cover my head with a warm woollen hat, keeping the cold from my ears,

Then dogs start their barking, my Jimmy is back, everything’s fine now he’s here,

If anyone asks would I live in the bush? I’d answer quite soundly – for Sure!

I just wouldn’t swap it for life in the town, a big wooded house and a car,

I do think I'd miss the days of fresh air, a schedule that rarely is tight,

The rough and the tumble is part of the life, you just couldn’t beat what is here.