Ramble: TRAVOLTA DROOLS, SUMMER COOLS, RABBITS RULE

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So, you hear all these rumours about John Travolta? If you’re unaware, 5 or 6 men have come out with increasingly graphic descriptions of their gay encounters with the Urban Cowboy. Travolta and his camp have denied or ignored all these ‘revelations’ but you have to wonder, don’t you? My own theory is that Travolta is either trying to break away from, or gain more power within, the alleged ‘Church’ of Scientology and this is payback or warning of some sort (whether or not its true). I reckon they play dirty in that club for sure – hopefully they don’t come after me just for posting this (although I could use the readership…)

This sort of shit never happened to Tom Cr … oh, wait just a money-grabbin’ minute!

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While we’re on the celebrity news, sad news this week about the Queen of Disco, Donna Summer, who passed away this week. I am just old enough to remember when “Love to Love You Baby“, “I Feel Love”, and “Hot Stuff” were huge hits on the electonical wireless radio, and they are still played on the radio today (well, on the stations I listen to anyway). Farewell, classy lady.
Still, no reason to let a good pun slip by unused – thanks to Ian Bateman for the one captioning this pic.

I know what you did last, Summer.
You rattled.

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One of things my wife and I do is foster small animals, rabbits & guinea pigs mostly. If you’re on my Facebook, you will have seen many photos of our various houseguests, who we look after until they are lucky enough to find a permanent home. I could, I suppose, post all of those photos here if people ask me to, but if you’re interested in learning more about the shelter we work with and seeing some of the critters we’ve assisted, head over to Porsche’s Rescue and have a look. In the meantime, here’s some sample cuteness.

Tara and Puffin. NAWWWWWWWWW!

 

Cheers, Darryn

 

 

 

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Poem: ODE TO THE IBIS

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A few days back I mentioned that I’d misplaced a poem, and a couple of days after that I praised my lovely wife Tara. So, naturally, with a large dollop of appropriate serendipity, Tara then found my missing poem, which I present for you below. Enjoy!

Ode to the Ibis

O! Long legged bird with the probing bill;
Sacred symbol of Thoth;
Black & white eater of rubbish renowned;
To praise you I am quite loth.

O! Grubby invader of parkland;
Freeloading bandit of zoo;
Louse ridden and tapeworm infested;
Naught good can be said about you.

O! Pestilent threskiornithus;
Even your name causes grief;
Dirtiest bird in creation;
Scavenger, vermin & thief.

© Darryn Roberts 2007

Poem: MY ANGEL

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Have I mentioned that I’ve been sick lately? No, not ‘feeling up your cousin’ sick, ‘proper sick’ sick. I had the flu. In fact, I had the worst dose of the worst variety of flu ever known on planet Earth. I swear, nobody has ever been as unwell as I was for three days last week, and its a testament to my own fortitude that I managed to make it seem like it was only normal flu and I was just complaining a lot. However, no matter how awesomely self-correcting my immune system is, I would not have gotten better so quickly if not for the gracious and gentle ministrations of my lovely wife Tara. Not only does she have her own blog where you can find delicious and innovative recipes; not only does she run her own remedial massage business; she also makes a kickarse ginger-and-turmeric tea.
Seriously, I’m not much of anything, but I’d be far less without her.

My Angel

I have a guardian angel
Who watches over me.
Her skin is pure like alabaster.
Her eyes shine like eternity.

She is formed unto perfection,
Both on the inside and the out.
Her spirit is as lovely
As the sweet curves of her mouth.

When I’m lost or damaged,
When I’m sure that I’m in Hell,
My angel’s magic touches me
And tells me “All is well”.

She lights my way throughout each day;
She warms the coldest nights;
She makes my body feel alive;
She makes my soul take flight.

Her generosity is boundless,
And her capacity to care.
Even though I cannot always see her,
I always know she’s there.

Without my guardian angel
I’d be a crumpled, shambling mess,
But with her watching over me
I know, instead, I’m blessed.

© Darryn Roberts 2002

Poem: HEART OF LIFE

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Its Mother’s Day! Make sure you tell your mother, and everyone else’s mother that you might run into, how special they are. Hell of a job, being a mother – probably harder than anything I’ll ever have to do. I was lucky enough to be able to take my Mum (and my Dad) out for a lovely lunch today, but unfortunately had to miss out on dinner with my mother-in-law last night due to illness. I love them both dearly though, and I hope they know it.

Heart of Life

Under Your heart
from before I was ‘I’
Next to Your heart
everytime I let cry
Warming Your heart
as I learned and I grew
Breaking Your heart
with the things I would do
Knowing Your heart
would always be there
Using Your heart
to carry my cares
Wishing Your heart
had never known sadness
Sorry Your heart
got hurt in my madness
Holding Your heart
ever precious and near
You gave me MY heart,
my own Mother dear.

© Darryn Roberts 2003

Poem: TWO FURRY SPIDERS

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I seem to have misplaced a poem, called ODE TO THE IBIS. I was prompted to post it after visiting the zoo earlier this week; the place is full of Australian White Ibis running free and scavenging whatever they can. But I’m buggered if I can find it at the moment, so here’s another animal related piece. Enjoy!

Two Furry Spiders

Two furry spiders
Sitting in the eave,
Each one spinning
Their web to weave.
The first spider wove
A web quite grand,
Proud of the strength
In every strand.
The second spider, too,
Spun a glorious cob;
Not a single flaw
In all the job.
Stronger than cable,
Lighter than air,
Two fine lattices
Dancing in the air.
A fly buzzed in
And managed to get
Stuck at the point where
The two webs met.
Two spiders skitter
To the very same place
And stand there
Staring face to face,
Neither one willing
To back away
And let their rival
Claim the prey –
Yet neither one willing
To take first bite
And risk provoking
The other to fight.
The fly looked at both
With his segmented eyes
And wondered if the
Spiders would compromise.
Said he “If I’m not soon
Bitten and bound,
I’ll die and I’ll rot
And I’ll fall to the ground.”
But the spiders just stared
At what they both had.
It seemed they would both
Just let it go bad
Rather than offer
Their neighbour a share;
As far as I know,
They are still standing there

© Darryn Roberts 2003

Poem: VOWS

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Well, I haven’t actually done any blogging for a few days, what with one thing and another.  Apart from having visitors, and going to the zoo, and the comings and goings of various rescued rabbits which we foster for a local shelter, I’ve been a little bit sick.  Still not 100 % but ehh, there’s no point wallowing in misery. Wallow in poetry instead, I say.

Vows

Because you’re my lady, and I am your man,
I’ll give you more love than anyone can,
And when we are finally together you’ll see,
The best thing that ever you did was love me.

Whenever you’re scared, I will be there –
Holding and hugging you, stroking your hair,
Driving away the monsters that loom,
Showing you light amidst all the gloom,
Whispering comforts and calming your fears,
Lovingly kissing away your tears.

When you are playful, then with you I’ll be,
Laughing and teasing with you on my knee,
A food fight, or dancing or foolishly giggling –
Being tender and gentle, or wrestling and tickling.

When you are sad, still I’ll be there,
A rock solid wall between you and despair,
Laying your weary head on my chest,
And saying “I love you, forget all the rest”
Carrying on when you feel you cannot,
Lending you all of the strength that I’ve got

When you want company, just want to talk,
I’ll be there for that, and for taking a walk,
Or sitting around just enjoying the day –
I’ll be your best friend in every way.

When you need passion, you’ll know where to turn –
I’ll give you passion so hot that it burns,
I’ll take you to heights that you don’t know exist,
I’ll love you with touch and I’ll love you with kiss.
Nothing forbidden, no secrets, no shame –
Your body will melt while your spirits aflame.

The times when you’re angry, I’ll still be around,
Letting you scream and then settling you down.
Being your valve, allowing relief,
(never believe you’d be causing me grief).
Just knowing you need to let off some tension,
And when it is over, never a mention.

In all that I do with you at my side,
I will show you the love that cannot be denied.
Never make threats, never demand,
I’ll not raise my voice and never my hand.
Just show you how sweet and how special you are –
I’ll make you believe you’re the brightest of stars.

I will drink up your kisses and breathe in your scent –
We will never regret and never repent.
Everyday will begin with a kiss,
And, oh my lady, I promise you this –
That doing these things will be my greatest pleasure,
For you are my lady, my love whom I treasure.

© Darryn Roberts 2001

Ramble: A SOMBRE INTERLUDE

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So, normally this is a pretty light-hearted blog, but today there’s a couple of serious matters I’d like to air. Thanks for bearing with me, and no bigs if you choose to come back tomorrow instead.

First, RIP Lidia Bachiella. Lidia and I were schoolmates, and though we were not exactly close, her passing at the young age of 43 from a brain aneurism saddens me immensely. She was a happy person, and her loss will leave an immense hole in the lives of her family, friends and colleagues. With time, the grief will pass and that hole will be filled in by the good memories that Lidia has left behind, but for now those affected must deal with the shock & pain of the sudden death of a loved one.
Please, make the time to take the time before you no longer have the chance. All you leave behind is memories, so make them good ones.

Lidia’s passing has made a difference in a positive way as well – as a registered organ donor she has already helped at least four other people in need. If you’re not an organ donor, you should be. Please please please, get your license changed, get yourself registered, and make sure your next-of-kin knows your wishes and agrees to uphold them.

A lily for Lidia.

….

Not to be morbid or obsessive, but my next topic doesn’t travel too far from the last one.  Norman ‘Chubby’ Chaney was a child actor in the 1920s & 30s, a star of the legendary ‘Our Gang’ films. You can read all about his career and so forth by clicking through those links.  Chubby died young, at the age of 21, and is buried in an unmarked grave. My friend Mikal has started a campaign to get Chubby a decent memorial, and you can find out more about it here. You know you can spare a couple of bucks, so be a champ and contribute.

You’d like to think of Chubby happy like this, wouldn’t you?

….

Now, I don’t want this post to be all grim and sad, so lets see what else I have today.
As I mentioned earlier this week, I’m taking my parents (who are here on holiday) to the zoo next Monday. There’s a poem starting to coalesce in the dim dark recesses of my mind about that, but whether it will spring forth like Athena from the head of Zeus or not remains to be seen.

Taronga Zoo has a bunch of elephants, but none of them can play the harmonica like Shanthi.

Speaking of parents, its Mother’s Day soon – don’t forget to write, call, email, visit or otherwise mark the day properly. Don’t care who you are or what you do, you’d be nothing if your mother hadn’t done her bit first. Let her know how much you appreciate it.

Here’s an old joke:
This guy goes to the doctor. “Doc,”he says “you gotta help me. I have terrible flatulence, and it happens everytime someone touches me.”
“Really?” asks the doctor. “Never heard of this before – let’s see.”
The doctor pokes the guy in the arm, and he immediately pops one off.
The doctor pokes him in the leg, and he lets rip another one.
“Fascinating!” mutters the doctor, and he proceeds to prod, poke and nudge the patient in various places, with varying pressure, and at variable frequency, for the next twenty minutes. And sure enough, whether the contact is light or heavy, high or low, rapid or slow, the man farts every time. Every. Single. Time.
Finally the doctor leaves the room, only to return with a wicked looking implement – a stick about 6 feet long, mounted with a metal hook.
The patient looks fearfully at this tool, and asks the doctor “Wh-what is that for?”
And the doctor says “I need it to open the skylight. It stinks in here, Mr Fartypants.”

Cheers,
Darryn

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