ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

Where do all the poets go at Christmas?
This is something that I wonder every year.
For the poetry is sparse, are they sitting on their grass
in the summer sunshine, full of Christmas cheer.

The site is slow and empty, seems there is no one at home
so I figure they have taken off - this big country to roam.
Our Kyms been building Cubbies for the kids so she's excused
Leonie though I do suspect is off having a snooze.
Crocs battling with Telstra which makes his posts pretty slow.
Dave's keyboard is wine befuddled so no doubt it doesn't go
and though Bob up north is razzing it still comes up as no show.
At Christmas time where do our poets go?

Maureen,

I wrote four stanzas and was just about to post it when it vanished.
I think in future, I am going to write everything in 'Word' and then bring it across. I lose too much stuff when I write them straight into this site. Oh It isn't the site - It is this flamin "Mac Super Mouse'. I'll never master it. It does what it likes.... In other words I haven't read the manuel or the on line tutorial on how to use all it's functions.

I will try to re-capture the essence of the original.

This is nothing like the first one. But it'll do for now. I have just noticed I have dropped the internal rhyme. Don't have time to fix it now... maybe later.

collaborations No16

Where do all the poets go at Christmas?
This is something that I wonder every year.
For the poetry is sparse, are they sitting on their grass
in the summer sunshine, full of Christmas cheer.

Perhaps I’m just old fashioned or maybe a nut
but Christmas morning, I must go to Church.
I wouldn’t have much fun unless my duty’s done
Calvin’s coming. He won’t leave me in the lurch.

Most poets eat with families at Christmas
and they share some special wishes of good will.
For time is precious and they seldom meet ‘en masse’.
Exchanging gifts, for children such a thrill.

But now I’m in my dotage and compliant.
I’m punctual and bring what I am told.
Be it pudding or a plant, portions, never scant.
Wearing what’s expected, never fashions bold.

You're supposed to add on to it Zondrae - what are you drinking



Where do all the poets go at Christmas?
This is something that I wonder every year.
For the poetry is sparse, are they sitting on their grass
in the summer sunshine, full of Christmas cheer.

The site is slow and empty, seems there is no one at home
so I figure they have taken off - this big country to roam.
Our Kyms been building Cubbies for the kids so she's excused
Leonie though I do suspect is off having a snooze.
Crocs battling with Telstra which makes his posts all slow.
Dave's keyboard is wine befuddled so no doubt it doesn't go
and though Bob up north is razzing it still comes up as no show.
At Christmas time where do our poets go?

mkc

Perhaps I’m just old fashioned or maybe a nut
but Christmas morning, I must go to Church.
I wouldn’t have much fun unless my duty’s done
Calvin’s coming. He won’t leave me in the lurch.

Most poets eat with families at Christmas
and they share some special wishes of good will.
For time is precious and they seldom meet ‘en masse’.
Exchanging gifts, for children such a thrill.
But now I’m in my dotage and compliant.
I’m punctual and bring what I am told.
Be it pudding or a plant, portions, never scant.
Wearing what’s expected, never fashions bold.

zk

Where do all the poets go at Christmas?
This is something that I wonder every year.
For the poetry is sparse, are they sitting on their grass
in the summer sunshine, full of Christmas cheer.

The site is slow and empty, seems there is no one at home
so I figure they have taken off - this big country to roam.
Our Kyms been building Cubbies for the kids so she's excused
Leonie though I do suspect is off having a snooze.
Crocs battling with Telstra which makes his posts all slow.
Dave's keyboard is wine befuddled so no doubt it doesn't go
and though Bob up north is razzing it still comes up as no show.
At Christmas time where do our poets go?

mkc

Perhaps I’m just old fashioned or maybe a nut
but Christmas morning, I must go to Church.
I wouldn’t have much fun unless my duty’s done
Calvin’s coming. He won’t leave me in the lurch.

Most poets eat with families at Christmas
and they share some special wishes of good will.
For time is precious and they seldom meet ‘en masse’.
Exchanging gifts, for children such a thrill.
But now I’m in my dotage and compliant.
I’m punctual and bring what I am told.
Be it pudding or a plant, portions, never scant.
Wearing what’s expected, never fashions bold.

zk

Some poets seems are heading bush for Christmas
I wish I was but alas I am not
My favourite Christmas cheer is an ice cold XXXX beer
and some King Prawns fresh and glistening from the pot.

I’ve no use of roast pork served up with a tangy apple sauce
with a crunchy crackling served on side – it might as well be horse
and stuffed turkey doesn’t do it for my stomach it objects
Brandy custard I find soothing somewhat more than one expects.
So I guess that I will taste test all the alcoholic drink
Tia Maria with cranberry juice is the latest one I think
Then come three pm when eyelids start to droop, flutter and blink
I will dream in rhyming poetry and prose.

mkc

This one has run its race I think John