Flu.

 ATTICHOO...

So vitamins were in vain,

Blow, blow, blow,

What a pain!

My nose is really sore,

Blow, blow, blow,

What a bore!

Tissues all over the place,

Blow, blow, blow,

What a disgrace!

Can't breath through my nose,

Blow, blow, blow,

What woes!

Not a pretty sight!

Blow, blow, blow,

What a plight!

A factory of catarrh and flem,

Blow, blow, blow,

What a gem!

ATTICHOO...

This has got to end,

Blow, blow, blow,

So...to you this flu I send! 

( What a nice friend!!!!!).

The Mirror.

                                                                                

I stare at the eyes that have seen so much,

I look for the soul that I could almost touch.

Who is this woman that stares at me?

I'm sure I knew her once, intimately.

As we stare at each other, my reflection and I,

The blue turns to red as I start to cry.

The wrinkles, lines and white strands,

Remind me of those that belonged to my grans'.

Where did you come from, and who are you?

Come on old woman, give me a clue!

I used to know that face and soul,

All the wrinkles and the mole.

The lips were fuller and the teeth were white,

The skin was smoother, no wrinkles in sight.

No dark shadows under the eyes,

No pores, at least not crater size!

Never a beauty, not by a long shot,

But compared to now, my reflection was hot!

She sneeked up on me in the night,

This middle-aged woman and gave me a fright.

With tears now flowing, I continue to stare,

So much has changed, so hard to bear.

The deeper I look, the more I see,

Who are you and where is me?

I touch the glass and nod my head,

Instead of starring I should have fled.

With my fingers I stretch the skin,

I'd like to chuck it in the bin!

Ageing is not for the weak of heart,

But look and accept in order to re-start.

The lines and wrinkles are my life story,

Show what's past, in all it's glory.

Coming to terms with my reflection,

It's older now, but still works perfection.

Stop the weeping and nashing of teeth,

Learn to see what's underneath.

To gaze at the mirror, is to look within,

Not just to stare at my double chin!

Dry the tears and find the soul,

Forget the physical and go,go go!

Lest We Forget.....

Haiti.

Hear them cry out Lord...cry out in pain.

Their spirits and bodies crushed.

Tragedy hits Haiti again.

The eerie silence of the dead,

While the world watch aghast,

The many who were forced to an early concrete bed.

Why of all the countries Lord?

Amongst the poorest of them all!

Does this happen for a reason or a Divine accord?

Is it so, it’s left to us to help our Haitian brother?

To prove that we can still love,

Yes  - still love one another!

I know the world can lift you up,

higher than before.

But, have we learnt this bitter lesson,

 To see compassion score?

Courage to all you island folk and all your saviors too.

You are in our thoughts and prayers,

May God, be with all of you

Rain From Nowhere.

Rain from Nowhere
by Murray Hartin
His cattle didn't get a bid; they were fairly bloody poor,
What was he going to do? He couldn't feed them anymore,
The dams were all but dry; hay was thirteen bucks a bale,
Last month's talk of rain was just a fairytale.
His credit had run out, no chance to pay what's owed,
Bad thoughts ran through his head as he drove down Gully Road.
"Geez, great grandad bought the place back in 1898,
"Now I'm such a useless bastard, I'll have to shut the gate.
"Can't support my wife and kids, not like dad and those before,
"Crikey, Grandma kept it going while Pop fought in the war."
With depression now his master, he abandoned what was right,
There's no place in life for failures, he'd end it all tonight.
There were still some things to do, he'd have to shoot the cattle first,
Of all the jobs he'd ever done, that would be the worst.
He'd have a shower, watch the news, then they'd all sit down for tea
Read his kids a bedtime story, watch some more TV,
Kiss his wife goodnight, say he was off to shoot some roos
Then in a paddock far away he'd blow away the blues.
But he drove in the gate and stopped - as he always had
To check the roadside mailbox - and found a letter from his Dad.
Now his dad was not a writer, Mum did all the cards and mail
But he knew the writing from the notebooks that he used at cattle sales.
He sensed the nature of its contents, felt moisture in his eyes,
Just the fact his dad had written was enough to make him cry.
"Son, I know it's bloody tough; it's a cruel and twisted game,
"This life upon the land when you're screaming out for rain,
"There's no candle in the darkness, not a single speck of light.
"But don't let the demon get you, you have to do what's right;
"I don't know what's in your head but push the bad thoughts well away.
"See, you'll always have your family at the back end of the day;
"You have to talk to someone, and yes I know I rarely did.
"But you have to think about Fiona and think about the kids.
"I'm worried about you, son, you haven't rung for quite a while,
"I know the road you're on 'cause I've walked every bloody mile.
"The date? December 7 back in 1983,
"Behind the shed I had the shotgun rested in the brigalow tree.
"See, I'd borrowed way too much to buy the Johnson place;
"Then it didn't rain for years and we got bombed by interest rates.
"The bank was at the door; I didn't think I had a choice,
"I began to squeeze the trigger - that's when I heard your voice.
"You said 'Where are you Daddy? It's time to play our game'
"I've got Squatter all set up, we might get General Rain.'
"It really was that close, you're the one that stopped me son,
"And you're the one that taught me there's no answer in a gun.
"Just remember people love you, good friends won't let you down.
"Look, you might have to swallow pride and take that job in town,
"Just 'til things come good, son, you've always got a choice.
"And when you get this letter ring me, 'cause I'd love to hear your voice."
Well he cried and laughed and shook his head, then put the truck in gear,
Shut his eyes and hugged his dad in a vision that was clear.
Dropped the cattle at the yards, put the truck away,
Filled the troughs the best he could and fed his last ten bales of hay.
Then he strode towards the homestead, shoulders back and head held high,
He still knew the road was tough but there was purpose in his eye.
He called his wife and children, who'd lived through all his pain,
Hugs said more than words - he'd come back to them again.
They talked of silver linings, how good times always follow bad,
Then he walked towards the phone, picked it up and rang his Dad.
And while the kids set up the Squatter, he hugged his wife again,
Then they heard the roll of thunder and they smelt the smell of rain.

In this report: Murray Hartin and his poem Rain From Nowhere. If you are feeling a bit low, or just want to talk to someone, you can. There's Beyond Blue on 1300 22 46 36 or Lifeline 13 11 14.

* This is yet another of my favourite poems...It brings tears to my eyes every time I read it...I hope you feel the same way...