TOEKNEEZ LYRICS & POETRY AKA MAD-TONE AUSSIE BUSH POET

born in March in September 1952.Have been writing poetry since about 1962.Happily married to Julie , with 3 adult children and two grandkids--have had a non-creative period of late--but here's hoping that "creative juices" may flow again---all writings, remain the property of ToeKnees Lyrics all enquiries for this blog via tonyfromwindsor@yahoo.com

Name: tonyfromwindsor

Location: Sydney, New South Wales, Australia

ALL SONGS POEMS AND COMMENTS ON THIS BLOG REMAIN THE PROPERTY OF TOE KNEEZ LYRICS-FOR USE/SALE CONTACT TONY--via tonyfromwindsor@yahoo.com

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Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Saturday, February 18, 2006

PETER

Peter was a boy I met a few years ago.Only a young lad,but homeless.He had a very un kept look about him,and I did something I dodn't usually do.I spoke to him.Usually I'd walk the other side of the road to avoid these kids especially these days,you never know when a knife or something even worse is going to be produced.But I got chatting to Peter,who was infact a very afraid little boy.

PETER

I SAW THIS CHILD,
A CHILD OF THE STREET.
HIS CLOTHES WERE ALL TATTERED,
NO SHOES ON HIS FEET.
HIS HAIR WAS ALL MATTED,
HE WAS DIRTY AS WELL.
NO BATH FOR WEEKS,
I COULD TELL,BY THE SMELL.
SO I ASKED HIM,"HOW COME,
ARE YOU LIKE THIS BY CHOICE?"
AND,I'LL ALWAYS REMEMBER,
THESE WORDS,AND HIS VOICE.

"MY MOTHER DON'T WANT ME,
AND DAD ? FROM AN OVERDOSE DEAD.
THE HOSTELS ARE FULL,
CAN'T GIVE ME A BED.
SO,I ROAM THE STREETS.
HIDING FROM FROM THUGS
SLEEPING WITH BOY LOVERS,
TO GET MONEY FOR DRUGS."

"BUT,I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE,
I'D RATHER BE HOME.
BUT I DON'T REALLY HAVE ONE
SO THE STREETS DO I ROAM."
I REACHED IN MY POCKET
AND FOUND A FEW QUID.
AND HANDED IT OVER,TO
MY NEW FRIEND,THE KID.

HE TOOK IT,AND THANKED ME,
WENT TO HEAD ON HIS WAY
TO THE PARK BENCH TO SLEEP
FOR THE REST OF THE DAY.
"WHERE WILL YOU GO TO NOW?"
TO THE BOY I THEN SAID.
"I REALLY DON'T KNOW"
HE UTTERED,DROPPING HIS HEAD.

WELL,A FEW YEARS HAVE PAST,
SINCE I FIRST SAW THE LAD.
AND I OFTEN THINK BACK
TO THE CHAT THAT WE HAD.
I'D REGULARLY SEE HIM
WHEN I WALK THROUGH THE SHOPS
USUALLY DRUNK,
OR IN TROUBLE WITH COPS.

BUT I HADN'T SEEN PETER,
FOR A MONTH NOW OR SO.
WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED?
WHERE DID HE GO?
HEADLINE "MAN FOUND DEAD"
WAS THE BOY,T'WHOM I'D SPOKEN.
NO CAUSE OF DEATH,BUT--
WE ALL KNOW,HEART-BROKEN.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

THE ENEMA QUEEN

Shocking title that---sounds like a movie that Katherine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart should have been in. I don't know how women do it, I don't know how they go to the doctor get their gear off and say "have a look at that doc" .I can't do it, I'm 60 years old there are bits of me I'm sure doctors should be looking at-and I find it so difficult . My prostate, I believe is due for a service-I cannot go to a doctor and ask him to do what is required to check such bits. People tell me there are other ways of doing it these days-but I reckon they are just trying to get me in there. And you know what, it all goes back to an enema I had twenty odd years ago. How the hell some kinky buggers do that for fun I don't know. " I love you darling, how about an enema" ---not for me I'm afraid-I'll stick to the chocolates and flowers and hope for the best. I give you "The Enema Queen" This is a 100% true story.

THE ENEMA QUEEN

I LOVE A GIRL IN UNIFORM
WITH ROUND AND PERT YOUNG BREASTS.
A HEM THAT STOPS ABOVE THE KNEE
BUT LEAVES TO GUESS,THE REST.
PRETTY BLONDED HAIR HELD BACK
WITH A CUTE AND UPTURNED NOSE
A LOVELY SMILE AND MANNER,AND
A LENGTH OF RUBBER HOSE.
"WHAT?"
I SAID "A LENGTH OF RUBBER HOSE."

"HELLO MR NORMAN,
AND HOW ARE WE TODAY?"
"WELL,I'M OK,HOW ARE YOU?
LOOKING GOOD I'LL SAY."
"OH DON'T BE A CHEEKY SILLY SOD,
I'M YOUNG ENOUGH TO BE YOUR DAUGHTER."
"ERE,WHATS THAT YOU'VE GOT IN YOUR HAND"
"OH!,ITS A PINT OF SOAPY WATER."
"WHAT?"
"I SAID,A PINT OF SOAPY WATER."

"WELL,WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH THAT,
AND THE LENGTH OF RUBBER HOSE?
ARE YOU GOING TO GIVE MY BACK A WASH,
OR ARE YOU CHANGING MY BEDCLOTHES?"
"MR NORMAN,ITS NOT LIKE THAT,
NO WASHING CLOTHES OR BACKS,
NOW PLEASE ROLL OVER ON YOUR SIDE,
AND LET YOUR BUM RELAX."
"WHAT?"
"I SAID,LET YOUR BUM RELAX."

"DON'T MOVE AROUND,"SHE WARNED ME,
"LIE NICE AND STILL" SHE SAID.
NO MUCKING AROUND OR LAUGHING,
OR WE'LL MAKE A MESS ON BED.
WELL,I'VE NEVER KNOWN MUCH LIKE IT.
TO MY SHOCK,IT CAME TO PASS.
THAT "PERT YOUNG BREASTS" WAS AIMING
LENGTH OF HOSE RIGHT UP ME ARSE.
"WHAT?"
"I SAID,LENGTH OF HOSE RIGHT UP ME ARSE."

WELL,SHE'D NEVER SAID SHE LOVED ME.
NO SIGN OF LUST,JUST CARE.
BUT HERE WAS A COMPLETE YOUNG STRANGER,
SHOVING HOSE PIPE UP MY REAR.
WELL,BLOKE NEXTDOOR SAW FUNNY SIDE,
AND DECIDES TO JOKE AND JEST,
"MR NORMAN,PLEASE STOP MUCKING ROUND
OR YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE A MESS"
"WHAT?"
"I SAID,YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE A MESS."

I'VE NEVER KNOWN EMBARRASSMENT
LIKE I ENCOUNTERED ON THAT DAY.
BUT HERE'S HOW STORY ENDED,THEN
THATS ALL I'LL HAVE TO SAY.
YOU SEE,I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT HIT ME
IT STARTED FIRST WITH GAS.
AND THEN MY GUTS EXPLODED,AND,
I COVERED POOR YOUNG LASS.
"WHAT?"
"THATS RIGHT,I'M ASHAMED TO SAY,I COVERED POOR YOUNG LASS"

Friday, February 03, 2006

MOLLY

As my life slowly unfolds in these pages,things happen that remind me of good times past.Going back 15 years or so,I worked for friends of mine,still selling grass-but they also had a tourist attraction there.My job was not only selling the grass,but sometimes doing tours through the museum and even cooking in the restaurant.Also on the estate was a Clock Museum."Haddons House of Clocks" owned and run by Max and Molly Haddon. Molly is what we'd call "A Character" She wrote poetry,she painted,she sang infact,she'd turn her hand to anything.She loved to talk,she'd talk the arse off a donkey--and very often I would be the recipient.Hours and hours,she'd knock on my office door for the loan of some milk "Max has buggered off with the car and I'm stuck here"--smoked like a chimney but often had no smokes-I smoked in those days and Molly knew it.Max was cunning,he could only take so much of Molly,that's why he worked full time.She was a lovely old bugger,as I say a pain in the arse,but a loving pain in the arse.Also in this poem is "Nick" the mechanic-well I say mechanic,I actually gave him two cars to fix that never got back on the road--he would always say he knew how to fix things -whether he could or not--very often not.
A few years ago Max and Molly moved their museum to the bush.A little country town called Ilabo.About three years ago Julie and I visited then there.Max wasn't in the best of health,and Molly was in the early stages of being "permanently bewildered".That was the last we saw of them.As I heard just last week that Max had died of a heart attack,and I hear now that Molly has been moved into a nursing home not far from where I live now--so I must pop in.Sadly the other character from this poem,Nick-is also dead.I wrote this poem in 1990.If I don't re-write it now,Molly,Max and Nick will all be lost to the dust of memory.

MOLLY

THAT BLOODY OLD WOMAN DOWN THE BACK,
SHE GETS TO BE A PAIN .
NO SOONER I GET RID OF HER
SHE'S AT THE DOOR AGAIN.
STANDS THERE WITH IT,OPEN WIDE
AND YAKS FOR HALF THE DAY.
BUT I KNOW,THAT IF I ASK HER IN
SHE'LL NEVER GO AWAY.
"FOR CHRIST SAKE MOLLY,GET IN HERE
AND SHUT THE BLOODY DOOR.
I SIT HERE FREEZING ME TITS OFF
WHAT DO YA THINK THE HEATERS FOR?"

"IS THERE ANY MAIL FOR ME TODAY?
CAN I HAVE A SLICE OF BREAD?
I CAN'T GET DOWN THE ROAD TODAY,
CAN SOMEONE GO INSTEAD?
I'VE RUN OUT OF ME CIGARETTES
AND I'VE GOT TO HAVE ONE QUICK.
AINT SEEN ME CAR SINCE LAST WEEK
ITS BEING FIXED BY NICK".
HA THATS A JOKE IN ITSELF
ME,I OUGHT TO KNOW.
THE ONLY MECHANIC IN THE WORLD
ON A PERMANENT GO SLOW.

ANYWAY,BACK TO MOLLY,
THE SUBJECT OF THIS YARN.
SHE'S THE ONE THAT WOUND UP ALL THE CLOCKS
OUT THE BACK,IN THE OLD BARN.
THREE BUCKS WILL GET YOU IN TO LOOK,
YES,THATS ALL YOU HAVE TO PAY.
BUT I TELL YOU FOLKS,I'M WARNING YOU
YOU'LL BE STUCK IN THERE ALL DAY.
SHE'LL TELL YOU THIS,AND TELL YOU THAT
JUST GO "NATTER,NATTER,NATTER"
AND FILL YOUR BRAIN,WITH ALL THE THINGS
THAT DOESN'T REALLY MATTER

BUT REAL DEEP DOWN,I GUESS YOU'D SAY,
SHE'S A LOVING SORT OF THING.
PAINTING,WRITING POETRY,
SOME SAY THAT SHE COULD SING.
I DON'T KNOW,I NEVER HEARD,
THE NOISES SHE COULD MAKE.
I WASN'T GAME TO RISK IT FOLKS
THEIR WORD YOU'LL HAVE TO TAKE.
BUT HER HUSBAND,MAX,A REAL NICE BLOKE
AND HARD WORKING BREAD-WINNER
HE'S MORE CUNNING THAN YOU THINK,
ONLY BEING THERE FOR DINNER.