Periodic Poetry. Gregory J. McKenzie
Just Call ME VAL
(This my longest poem! All the other poems are inspired
by my Mum who loved poetry and quoted it often.)
Beginning her link to number seven,
Valma's soul came down from heaven;
Her mother called Bunny giving birth to a girl,
Found family members all in a twirl.
Growing up in Cairns on her bike or swing,
This little girl nicknamed May much happiness did bring.
From parents grandparents and a close sibling,
Kind words and praise showed she was maturing.
Young life so full of work and of pleasure,
Dinners and dances were her stored up treasure.
At one such dinner a young man from Innisfail,
Beheld the sight of a beautiful woman so pale.
The dinner was followed by dances and walks,
Along unlit paths there was much time for talks.
A wedding resulted from Vivian's kiss,
Now both unite for happiness and bliss.
Unexpectedly shifting to Sydney stretched friendships,
But bonds of youth were renewed on beach holiday trips.
Her children grew up becoming teenagers in a wink,
But were much better behaved than you may now think.
Weddings they come more children they go,
the results of these unions only Mum does know.
Eighteen grandchildren provide birthdays not a few,
Babysitting home visits without one lost shoe.
Narnie she'snow now called as babies play with her fur,
Becoming a great grandmother is all such a blur.
Children's running feet again in hall and on stairs,
Every night more souls to mention in prayers.
To heaven she goes her farewell so sweet
"Just call me Val next time that we meet."
By her loving son Gregory J. McKenzie
Just Not cricket
Ashes cricket is seen as the best,
Two teams alone put to the test.
This time in England next time in Oz;
They play for a small urn just because.
At times a great batsman comes to dominate,
So much so that his opponents co-operate;
To get around the defenses of such a broad bat,
So as to avoid crossing the path of this black cat.
Ball battles bat then bat battles back,
Some claim one player is just an old hack.
But Ashes cricket returns to remind spectators,
That style technique and a close match counters haters..
So put down your recently bought one day ticket,
Then admit to yourself anything else is Just Not Cricket.
Cricket tragic since 1970
Gregory J. McKenzie
Just In Time
Pleas begging and appeals make no matter,
Moods not altered by any old chatter:
Doctors consulted offer not much hope,
Enemies suggest you be given more rope.
Darker period of depression now descends,
Your life line fading as the fake healer pretends.
They claim a cure that can be kept handy,
As reliance is placed on even more brandy.
Crisis moments arrive one after the another,
Most now rely on charity from sister or brother.
Youth the only savior in many cases,
When life deals a hand that has no aces.
Out of nowhere a mentor sets a new rhyme,
This saving regime arriving just in time.
Just not my day
Life's ebb and flow sometimes hard to take,
When out of one's depth its harder to fake.
Competent work practices are harder to master,
As the boss's demands make you work so much faster.
False cheerfulness and tolerance helps hide away,
The pain of failure despair that now holds sway.
When considered peers cast nothing but scorn,
You suddenly feel bruised tattered and torn.
Promotions come around but never for you,
Often the workplace seems to resemble a zoo.
Career paths are laid out early on to be followed,
Lack of success or backstabbing see them hollowed.
Now life plays its nastiest trick of cutting your pay
You smile weakly then say well its just not my day.
Just