Sounds of Zen – A Parody

In honour of the National Folk Festival (Australia), which opens tonight (Thursday), I have written a little parody that I thought I would test out on you, dear Readers.  I have no idea whether I will be brave enough to recite it at any of the poetry workshops.  I never have before.  It depends on your feedback.   If you are really brave, you can try to sing along to the tune of the Sounds of Then, which was written and performed by Ganggajang (you’ll have to sing over the top of their words).  I won’t be singing come performance time.  I’ve provided a link to the original song below.  Aussies may find this fun, but others will probably be completely flummoxed.  Please note there is a certain amount of hyperbole used in this poem.

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Something’s Cooking in Harden-Murrumburrah

There was movement in the household, for the word had passed around,
That our favourite cafe at Harden-Murrumburrah was open,
And waiting for the throng – it was worth the two hour drive to town,
So my love and I gathered to the fray.
Noted coffee aficionados – or so we liked to think –
Checked our wallets for some coinage and credit cards just in case.
For the coffee lovers love driving to where the coffee percolates,
And dreamt of coffee brewing and eating chocolate cake.

My husband and I love visiting Harden-Murrumburrah, a small country town situated on the Southwest Slopes of New South Wales (Australia).  Agriculture is the main industry in the region.  Redolent of history and with great coffee to boot, Harden-Murrumburrah is just about perfect in my opinion.  Read more

Perspective of the Heart

The Daily Prompt – Black

He says he has a black heart,
A black heart for despair.
She says he has a good heart in need of some repair.

He says he has a black heart,
A heart that cannot care,
Cannot feel.

Happiness —
That’s for others, not for him.

Responsibility weighs upon him.  Irresponsibility eludes him.
Don’t complain.  Provide.
Live life.  Choose death.

He has met death before but it let him go.
He glimpsed it, not knowing
What he glimpsed,
And like an alcoholic, has craved it ever since.

You reap what you sow.
Yes, you reap what you sow.

She says he has a good heart,
A caring heart, a bleeding heart in need of some repair.
He cares too much.  He soaks up others’ pain.

He says he has a black heart,
He reaps what he sows.

Life is good.  Life is cheap.
Life is hard. Life is sweet.
Life is short.  Life is long.
Live life.  Live no life worth living.

He says he has a black heart,
A black heart for despair.
She says he has a good heart just needing some repair.

Author’s Note:  Poetry is not normally my thing.  I’ve haven’t yet got past Chapter 1 of Stephen’s Fry, The Ode Less Travelled:  Unlocking the Poet Within.  But this is not about me.