Jist Me or if you prefer Just me

JIST ME

Who are ya' he sez, I mean who do you think you are?

I is me, sez I, I mean I is wot I is, wot ever that is.

Gimme' a bit more, he sez, explain, Ifn' ya know 'ow.

I know 'ow, I just don't know why you would even care.

Try me, sez he, a persistent sort of bloke he is, is he.

So I pull up a stump, have a sip from me' pannikin of brew

And I start to think on the question, Of who I is, or wot.

I know wot I want, to write real proper, ya' see, that's me.

I use me' imagination bone as much as me ' mind will let,

And the folk wot bounce around me' 'ead are me mates, like.

I get to know their names, and wot they look like in the face

I get to talk to 'em, and that is how I am, and often like to get.

But ya' won't get no genius, nor a great mind full of edification,

Ya' wont get a fancy pants wot dresses like a rooster in season

And you wont get someone wot tells ya' wot ya' wanna 'ere

Cause that is not 'me , ya' see, I got no social sophistication.

So, wot I am, I am, and that can be almost anyone, it seems.

I try to be 'onest, I try to be kind, I try lots of things, ya' see.

But most of all, and this is the fair Dinkum truth of it.

I am always the best darn bloke in me' night time dreams.

And that's all that matters.

Why Write

I write words, I put thoughts on paper, not great thoughts nor great words,

But themes that may induce some enjoyable thought in others.

I cannot reach out and touch all those that I seek to please,

I only have hope that I find those that will be my sisters and brothers.

A family of like minds where we communicate for the sake of joy,

For the pleasure of saying the things that calm the troubled mind.

Inspire happiness, or love, or the most delightful things of life,

Using the word like a gentle caress, maybe even a lovers toy.

To stand and talk face to face to some is a waste of thought,

For whilst you speak they travel mental roads, different tracks.

To place the written word before their eyes, commands attention

Yet the fault lies with the ones whose power to learn, often lacks.

The written word, like ink stains in the cloth, like brands upon stock,

Sits in perpetuity, waiting for someone to seek another's mind.

And then, in decades yet to come, you may strike a resonant chord,

That, my brothers and sisters of the pen, is the power of the written word.

The Adventures - part two

... catch up on Part One here

Well, it has been a real cliff hanger, hey? Not knowing who Old Pete would choose as his camel handler. Would it be the fully qualified son of an Afghan man, or would it be the unqualified, but very nicely filled out Heidi?

As there were only two candidates Old Pete, in his wisdom, tossed a coin to see who would get the job. He gave Heidi heads and the the S.A.M tails, as these were the only two sides to his coin, which made him feel good about not having three candidates or he would have to find a three sided coin.

It took seven tosses before heads came up, but at least the decision was made fair and square. I mean ya' can't beat the toss of a coin to sort out important decisions; I use them all the time. At anyrate, Heidi got the job.

When Old Pete had explained to Heidi to select suitable clothing for the trip, which would consist of a lot of sun and sand, she immediately thought of the beach. Consequently Heidi turned up ready for work in a bikini or so Old Pete believed as he couldn't see much cloth to decide what it was she wasn't wearing.

Eventually, after a look around the op-shops, raising eyebrows on the women and other things on the men, they selected some very sensible shoes, pants and a shirt with no buttons on the front, which Heidi said she would sew on later, but never did; however, being as she had been so good with the other wearing apparel, Old Pete said it was OK by him ifn' she didn't sew the buttons on.

"Right," Old Pete said with the authority of a person in charge. "We will go and meet the camels."

"Oh goody, goody, gumdrops."

"Now this is Ahab who was once a bull camel but he and Hassein have been bricked," Old Pete told her.

"Skuza! Vas iss dis bricken' thingo?"

"Well, it is like this," the old fella' started. "The best way to turn a bull camel into a non-bull camel is to get two bricks and then very carefully sneak up behind them and slam the bricks together on their bull things. Then walla! No more bulling around from them fellas what waz."

"Oh golly gee! Dis must hurten like crazy, ya?"

"No, not if you are careful and keep your thumbs to the side."

"Well they iss looken very quite friendship now, ya?"

"Ya. Another thing 'bout bricking is that it helps to get them to take on a bit more water when a long trip is about to start, like us is soon."

"Ya' vass is dis thing to be doin'?" Heidi said in her hard to understand language which will get better as the time passes and she gets learnt more good old bloody Aussie slang from Old Pete and some other along the way who knows Aussie slang.

"Vell, I mean well, when they are drinking you sneak up behind them and just bang two bricks together, this makes the camel suck in his breath, in fright, and a lot of water with it and it tops him right up to the full mark."

"You iss werry clever, Old Pete, ya?"

"Ya. Now up you go, hop up into the camel saddle and see how you fit."

Old Pete pulled out his notebook and read "Cush!" and low and behold the darn camels laid down for the humans to hop on board.

"How iss it to getten it to stood upenheizer?"

"Dunno, I think ya' say 'Get up ya' lazy mongrel."

Part Three ...

Home spun Poetry #2

I  owned a creamy horse, a creamy horse named Custard.
Now, Custard liked to trot, the trottin' creamy Custard,
Some days he'd buck me off and I'd fall upon the ground.
It made me really sad, but I should've sent him to the pound.
One day, in rainy weather, he rolled in lots of Mud.
The dirty trottin', buckin' muddy custard, it was hard to stay his bud.
Creamy Custard went missing, and now I  know what where,
But I am so pleased that the dirty trottin' buckin, muddy creamy Custard
Never made me swear.

Home Spun Poetry

Hard Times

Hard times last longer so it seems

When the miseries of life torment the soul

There appears no hope in your despair

No happiness that will console

And yet, even life's misery has its place

It enhances the simple joy of life

Things we once took for granted

Are manifest when rising from the strife

How much more we appreciate love

When we have been forsaken

Health after illness, strength when it returns

All the good things there to be taken

Misery and woe are easy to attain

But happiness needs some work

No bird sings if we turn a deaf ear

No light shines if in darkness we lurk

Seek love and you will prosper

Have the strength to survive

Care about yourself, and be cared for

Be thankful that you are at least, alive.