Sunday, February 24, 2008

BRUNSWICK HEADS, the rocky boardwalk, south.

BRUNSWICK HEADS, THE ROCKY BOARDWALK, SOUTH.
Collect my thoughts, block out stigma, block out all we give to this very odd enigma.
Only a bastion, rocks and dirt it’s built, protects us from encroaching ocean.
But if you need some inner peace, solicitude, just a talk, the wall, well it’s got the potion.
The talk, that’s the thing we need, mostly need in daily life.
Brunz wall is the place for peace and peace of mind, it helps you with your inner strife.
The talk, all inner emotions, troubled head will be explained. Go there stay a while; shed a tear I do often go.
For many reasons, for many people the break wall.
Watch the ocean ebb and flow.
On any day I ride my bike, camera is my extension, mostly calm but when I’m not it’s the place to off load all your tension
This rocky promontory extension of our being will suddenly evolve into a village, puzzled, I will wager this.
Then take a stroll meet some folk, nod your head, and a smile wont go amiss.
Many days I’ve spent along this rocky boardwalk Brunz, people visit from all over to join the little village.
Village?, how is this so, must explain my wisdom, give a reason well.
There’s no village square, no church, no shops and there is no wishing well.
Well, do we need the accouterments’, only people fill the need, any day there are these people, any race or creed.
How about Mohammed, not the real bloke I hesitate to say, no it’s our little Malaysian fisherman, he’ll be there on any day.
Now he loves a chat Mohammed does, and he has some words of sense.
He don’t cares who he addresses, everyone, and he don’t sit on the fence.
His god will be your god, because nature is his yearning.
Take what you need, feed your kin and friends, his wisdom will get your mind aware, your intellect will start churning.
This wise man on the wall is one of daily folk, just like me he’s not important, he’s an ordinary bloke.
This rocky village square will have its share of sorrow, it’s based on life will be.
Village people live and die here, sorrow and pain of departed loved ones given to the sea.
So when you visit our rocky village some won’t know it exists in time, spare a thought that ere you be, this place is yours and mine.
Come and enjoy the solicitude, look for the villagers, please take time to think.
You the rocky villagers will be new friends in a blink.
Nod your head and raise your hand, and if your eyes can shimmer, smile a bit start up a chat and you’ll be on a winner.
Look for a bloke on an old black bike, he’s got a huge compulsion, you smile at me, give a nod I’m all over you like emulsion.
Brunswick Heads, the rocky boardwalk, south, there is a village square.
Only friendly people are welcome to come to visit here, but that’s not really fair.
We respect your station and we’ll do our best try us out, we will brighten right you up.
And that’s our rocky dare.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

THE ROCKY BOARDWALK, BRUNZ SOUTH WALL

I have nodded, winked, acknowledged, spoken and had many experiences on BRUNSWICK HEADS, South Wall. I have witnessed many tragic events, I know of many many others.
And yet it is a meeting place, a village square, a place where people from all corners of the earth come to envisage it's serenity, some times peace, some times upheaval.
A lovely couple from CRABBES CREEK were my latest Boardwalk friends. I have many more, they have many more.
Youknowwhatscominganothercrappypoem, thisonewillexlimplify, howweneedtogreetstrangers, your god is my god, regards john f.

Friday, February 22, 2008

BRUNSWICK HEADS, the Breakwalls.

THE WEATHER HAS BROKEN, no. The first 2 days in a row without rain in 7 weeks, check out: (http://picasaweb.google.com/johnfarlsbrunz/, BRUNSWICK HEADS Breakwalls. Now that's surfing my 'Geek' friends.

JOHN FARLEY, prose and poetry

I going to throw my hand in and have a go at prose.
The puritans will throw their hands up, I guess he is permitted, make a stand.
He has been an honest person all over he has traveled, far and wide, well in Australia.
What’s the criteria here, tell a story, make a rhyme, is that where what it resides.
OH, bugger, first mistake, will have another go at something peaceful; my brain wants an art form.
Where can this come from, all I have ever known is lower class, my family, we are people, world is big now.
What a comment, forgive me kin, the very best poets have lived a life, have a world within.

So here’s my prose.

Waves, bred by hidden force ocean waves, ground swell waves, heaving falling will we understand the magnitude, the power is magnetic in its wisdom, contemption and relentless.
We watch with envy, crashing bashing, sometimes grinding, our precious earth.
Watch that beautiful flowing motion, powerful, intrinsic, our earth.
Did we come from here, where we born from, can we make some sense, it has mystic presence, a wild dark presence.
Watch the power, the sound, spectacular, eruption, the vented spume, it sprays and surges.
Feel eons of life, life back, is it saying we are, we were, God has been here, legacy, my God your God.
Waves, beautiful motions in time, watch in awe the blessings, we live here, we love here, this place, the ocean.
Waves, endless, preoccupation. Our world has known this image, this vista beauteous face, waves were born well before the human race.

Couldn’t help myself, I’m gonna take lessons.

Thursday, February 21, 2008

THEY CALLED HER MOOSEFACE

Johnfarls.com, AKA; johnfarlsbrunz, AKA; john d Farley. Many schools, many places. Ordinary bloke.

THEY called her Mooseface.

A little place called Coolah, not far from Ulladullah is where this Rhyme took place, went to school but they had the gall to give this gal, the awful name of Mooseface.
To this day, I will tell you now, never will they be forgivn’, she was so pretty, a small boys friend, could she beat them swimmen’?
I’ll leave this for a moment ‘cause the thoughts are coming back, school days, yeah, where the rhyme took place and how we got the sack.
Holidays are fast approaching a farmer makes a show, boys, you want some pocket money, well picken’ beans will be your go.
Well what a rotten job this is, pick beans by the bushel bag, I’ll tell you now this jobs’, and I’ve had some, will be the worst I’ve ever had.
Oh yeah got the sack not the ‘bullet’ as implied it seems, from early morn to late of day we’d fill the sack with beans.
I’ve told a fib, forgive my glib may I give honest foray straight, ‘cause next paddock was filled with melons the plan was to make up weight.
Do I Need to tell you, melon skins, and your right. At the bottom of sack they go, that gave the weight a freight.
The plan was good and full of thought, but folks, them and me we got the call back. The boys from Coolah School, bean pickers we’re no more, them and me, we got that bullet, it’s called, ‘don’t come Monday’ sack.
My mind is jolted, school friends and swimming pals, Mooseface gave me charm, school friends and swimming pals, why did they wish her harm.
Been to many many schools, Coolah wouldn’t be the last, we moved from here Mooseface cried, and so it came to pass.
My rhymes will not contain many elements of fiction, sometime later all those boys came down with a mysterious affliction.
Mooseface she was so cute, your taunts will grow to rue, never put down people who are not as perfect as you.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

500,000 dollars, want 25%?

My popularity may have dropped off recently, “GRUMPY OLD BLOGGER” etc.
WANNA KNOW WHY; $500,000 TIMES TWO, THAT’S WHY.
My last post was to take the heat of your guys, INTENTIONAL BRAGGING, SUPPLY OF PERSONAL INFORMATION, drawing the attention away from you. But it has brought results, they respect me out there. You know why? Personal details that’s why.
YES I HAVE RAPED THE FRUITS OF MY LABOURS’ You can thank me by giving me, in return, your personal BANKING DETAILS YOU WILL BE ON 25% OF MY WINNINGS. YAHOO, that’s right, Y H BLOODY H O O is my benefactor. All because I was honest.
If you have reached the heights of personal interference, you will go blind. I am an intentional stirrer, but an old bugger just the same. DON’T IT MAKE YOU FEEEEEL GOOD la la la.
PS: When I was a young bloke I would have welcomed a POPUP BLOCKER on the 190 Bus to AVALON, now I turn it down to -15%, I think it’s broke.
PPS: ANYBODY ELSE GET THESE EMAILS, http://www.johnfarls,com

Friday, February 15, 2008

PANCHO ME DOG, ME DOG PANCHO

I’m trying my poems out on your guys first. No comments from previous must mean; no news is good news.
Some where in johnfarls BLOGS is some rhyming prose, there is a reference to PANCHO ME DOG, anybody’s dog actually.
I had bought a milk run at AVALON BEACH, this story commences in the first weeks;
ME DOG PANCHO, PANCHO ME DOG.
What possessed me, this is midnight and blowin’, I’m all alone in me old ‘J’ van so let the repartee start flowin’.
I am all alone, but not for long, because a ‘creature’ comes from the gloom, it’s tail is wagging bigtime
He’s brown and black, his nose is wet, me names Pancho he says, you and me will have a goodtime.
For two years me dog and me our clients we would call on, all over Avalon we wandered, “cats”, said Pancho.
From now on there’s a war on.
I must tell you that I never knew Pancho’s parent’s or from whence he came, he really was not Pancho, it’s the term we agreed on, early in the game.
God we did some good stuff, it whiled away the time and more, we shared my sangers, drank ‘our’ milk, told stories by the score.
We can relate those bloody black ghosts down in Avalon Parade, and out of the windy night they came.
Can you forget how calamitous you were, barkin’, fretful was your go, Pancho what’s your game.
These six young blokes are on a mission, you guys are sworn by word, you and Pancho will say naught, our you will get the sword.
We sit in the gutter and have to settle down, our Commandos me and Pancho, share some milk, discuss the plan before Torpedo Base their bound.

THIS IS THE SHORT STORY, PANCHO AND ME RELATES MORE STORIES, HE RECONS you BLOGGERS might need a break.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

THERE'S NO EXCEPTION TO THE RULES, LA LA.

WOULD YOU LIKE SOME PHOTOS, FREE. CRAPPY SNAPS REALLY.
THIS IS NOT 'SPAM' STUFF.
Share with me the flowers, my patch, the surf, signs? What's he on about?
(http://picasaweb.google.com/johnfarlsbrunz).
Has he got a life, you bettcha, (http://www.johnfarls.com/).
Self promotion, you bet. The more things change the more they stay the same.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

RAIN, RAIN, MORE RAIN.

ENOUGH OF THE RAMBELINGS AND MEANDERINGS.

(For now).

Where do you live? I’m in northern NSW AUSTRALIA, very wet northern NSW. We no complain, other places are worse off, and we wish you well. Have I any complaints at all? Well only one; it’s that song, it hums in my head. The worst thing, I can’t remember all the words, the tune keeps on coming back minus the connecting words.

“The sky is blue…………………….but it’s raining here in my heart”.

Every time it rains, and that’s been for the last 7 weeks, one day let up. That’s my complaint. Any body tell me another song about rain? I think I’ve got water logged.

Monday, February 11, 2008

PARODY FROM THE ROOTN BOYS CHOIR

ANOTHER AVALON SURF CLUB EPIC.

Must relate the story of one Peter Fraser, he has risen to high places, however he will always be THE Piano PLAYER TO THIS WRITER, lower case. A very entertaining fellow, quite bright, in fact he was the person who showed us, no taught us how to fit the FLIP FLOP, AKA, THONGS TO OUR FEET. I mean how academic is that.

Peter is the born entertainer and party animal, I can remember many entertaining chronicles’, he taught me tautology as well.

PETER FRASER, piano player, #1.

I first met Peter when he resided at CENTRAL ROAD AVALON, (this will be basis for #2). Aside from other places. Peter moved house out to CAREEL BAY, a property with very sloping properties, another grammar error. The moving of his goods and chattels was a logistic nightmare and required much manpower, who else, HIS MATES from the Surf Club.

As has been intimated a piano enters the equation, this bulky and very heavy piece of his ego has to go where he Goth. Several “MATES” WERE SEQUESTED, and so the epic story begins.

It came on a truck, did ‘it’, complete with several lifesavers, ‘it’ had to negotiate many meters of steep pathways leading up to the house, albeit with several platforms as the path meandered. With the exception of AMOS REMOVELISTS, HAS ANYBODY MOVED A PIANA up a hazardous pathway, OH about 5000 meters.

Peter had a plan, a devious plan, it involved motivation and team participation, it incorporated an entertainment factor. Our man is a born leader. We assemble around, no, surround the steel framed ‘it’, and away we go.

The first section was negotiated to the first platform and a rest was in order. At this point PIANOMAN FRASER produces his PLAN; UP GOES THE LID AND STRAINS OF JAZZ AND OTHER PLACES rent the tranquil surroundings of Careel Bay, the neighbors’ and the AVALON PENSINULA will never relax again.

There were 300 more platforms to go, I must stress this fact, because on every stop the piano lid would be risen and another barrage of songs would erupt from the assembled choir, accompanied by Pete and ‘it’. Historians are noted as saying that not one song was repeated, this is confirmed by the ROOTN BOYS CHOIR, the artists on the day.

It was also reputed that the PITTWATER COAST GUARD received many requests to keep the sound down, although some inquired where could they buy the CD.

Many requests for the "T" shirt were received by Mr. Rudd.

At this point analogy has entered my intellect; Did Peter devise his plan from the exploits of MR. HILLARY, that increditably gifted KIWI Mountaineer, a man whose exploits will never be equaled, Peter did you plagiarize that great mans plan?.
Base camps come to mind, stuff, grammar stuff like final assaults’, is that an adverb?, motivational briefing, provisioning, what a man.

If this is the case, the final assault took place at the base of the stairs of BASE CAMP “one to go”, we thought we had broken the back of the climb. The bloody stairs, bugger me what a final assault. Oxygen, several songs and VB WERE SUPPLIED, we strained every tissue of our being, in one supreme effort we got that barsted to the verandah, CAREEL BAY was at peace, they welcomed the piana MAN. Now can you piss off and, give our little hamlet some peace.

Friday, February 8, 2008

THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE


BELLA DONNA, AND I WAS’NT SMOKING IT.

We were working out BROKEN HILL way, BIT OF S.E.S. stuff. Put in some long days and had a few hours on the Monday before flying home.

We managed to have a look at SILVERTON and ventured out to the ‘DAY DREAM SILVER MINE’. Took a heap of snaps, (http://picasaweb.google.com/johnfarlsbrunz/), try the SILVER CITY ALBUM.

The snap, if it works, is of the DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. You see a prominent shadow with the plant just to the top of the shadow. The apparition is the problem; nobody was within 10 meters of me, the rest of the crew had moved on. Nobody had what appears to be a long object hanging from their person, as the shadow suggests.

The shadow is not mine, the sun was coming over my right shoulder. Had it have been my shadow it would have led to my feet. We looked at the photos probably 2 hours later, then conjecture started. “Nobody was near you”, and “we had to call you to catch up”. We can’t explain the mystic shadow, can you, please.

Monday, February 4, 2008

YOU A SERIOUS BLOGGER?, !!!:-)

DATA ENTRY BY JOHN FARLEY, BLOGGIN’ STUFF.

You get a spontaneous eruption in the brain, people with something useful to say, (they think, I think), will deliberate and manufacture a storyline.

This will take 5mins.

In my case, um, 20mins.

Depending on key board skills, a draft will be about 10mins.

In my case, well, 40mins.

Compilation, grammar, re-thoughts, embellishment, “put the baby to bed’. 20mins.

In my case, OK, 50mins.

Satisfied? “Select all”. Copy to OFFICE CLIPBOARD, select BLOG SITE and post your precious comments and interpretation of what you think is monumental BLOG SPEAK. 5mins.

In my case, generally speakin’. 50mins, (red wine slows down reaction time).

All right, lets compare yours with mine, under the shower if you wishes. It can be boy girl, boy boy, girl girl. I don’t give a rats.

Let me compare; yours took 40mins, mine took 160mins, these numbers are arbitrary and non-conclusive.

UNTILL, we look at how long it took for A VIEWER to read all of the input from the author. ABOUT 40 BLOODY SECONDS, THAT’S HOW LONG.

Is that fair? AS THE BISHOP SAID TO THE ACTRESS, “IVE GOT THE TIME IF YOU WANTS TO SEE MINE”.

Saturday, February 2, 2008

KAI, A BABY CRIES, HE'S A FARLEY

ME LITTLE MATE KAI, FARLEY THAT IS.

Santa Rudd, oh Santa Rudd you promised me a bike.
All your sent me was baby so Tuggarawong I must hike.

You had the gall to tell us you will keep your wishes true. All I got was this little thing all in baby blue.

I haven’t seen me present yet you couldn’t manage that, you delivered him to Gosford miles from where I’m at.

One thing that I can tell you, oh Santa Rudd Mister Sir, I guess that’s your idea of politics, it’s on the positive that you err.

But I’ve heard him on the telephone his MUM’s been put to test, BELINDA YOU’RE A CHAMP, his present is you breast.

Little ZACK, HIS BROTHER, Michael and Oh, his daddy DAVID too, THANK you MR. RUDD and I almost forgot BELINDA, THE LITTLE MOTHER, She’s the one, wishes do come true.

DONT NEED TO TELL YOU, THE YARN IS NEPOTIC, THE STORY IS FOR MUM'S ALLOVER.

Friday, February 1, 2008

THE DUNNY AND THE CHOKO VINE the poem

HE WAS BORN YESTERDAY, he wants to recite this poem.

THE DUNNY AND THE CHOKO VINE.

Inseperable I feels, an enigma if you will, Woolloomooloo the locale half way up the hill.
112 Palmer Street to be correct, Grand Ma’s place of liven’.

Down the back the dunny graced by choko vine, it was our place of respite, some say by God was given’.

Complete with daily news, albeit torn asunder, one went to meditate and move the world and empty old Gusunder.

Toilet humour is not my scene, but this is true grit my friends, the place to go was down the back, the Dunny relieved the bends.

All up and down the back lane the dunney stood at guard, chokos hid these pill boxes, this was their camouflage

Amazing how cool it was, great place to lose some time, I recon that it all comes down to the lush green choko vine.

I do a lot of movement, the XPT from Cas-sino to Wyong I am bound. You’ll find dunnys by the dozen, along the track there found.

OH how I wish sometimes to go back and use my Grand Ma’s dunny. The pain I feels on this train, at this time, is not so really funny.

Well this concludes my little yarn about the national source of humour, if people think the dunney’s over then folks that’s just a rumour

I’ve been to Boonoke, Bundamar and Woolloomooloo travllin’ all the time, and rymin’ gives me joy, but what goes with Woolloomooloo, except dunney and the choko vine, and the paper boy.

I’ve tried to keep you occupied it’s really time to go, I hope you enjoyed the time. But folks don’t be mislead, history lives in all of us there will always be a DUNNY AND A LUSH GREEN CHOKO VINE.

John Farley 2008.