FOOD
A man finds little rest in Sydney’s Inner West,
endless traffic passes fast – it’s the hectic eclectic.
Noise relentless, housing prices senseless, suits up pressed
travel a money trail by city light rail – power – electric.
He’s growing older, his pen flows bolder – he needs to be set free, from the sophisticated, superficial, latte-sipping, fake Greenies.
And the mung-bean-eating, feral hippies hugging our native trees, like churchgoers performing eye-service, to be seen.
Trendies walk by with freshly frocked puppies lit like guppies
stepping in sync with upturned nose – “Oh no, doggy’s done a pile.”
Tasteless wasters and cork-sniffin’ wine-spittin’ yuppies;
Ol’ mate smiles wryly, then barks out loud – “Doggy style.”
Distracted by the enemy, he fell short of glory land,
now Newcastle is his home, with a garden growing plenty.
Quietude, nature, and food to move a budding writer’s hand:
a writer’s place with a vege patch and space for fruit trees – serenity.
endless traffic passes fast – it’s the hectic eclectic.
Noise relentless, housing prices senseless, suits up pressed
travel a money trail by city light rail – power – electric.
He’s growing older, his pen flows bolder – he needs to be set free, from the sophisticated, superficial, latte-sipping, fake Greenies.
And the mung-bean-eating, feral hippies hugging our native trees, like churchgoers performing eye-service, to be seen.
Trendies walk by with freshly frocked puppies lit like guppies
stepping in sync with upturned nose – “Oh no, doggy’s done a pile.”
Tasteless wasters and cork-sniffin’ wine-spittin’ yuppies;
Ol’ mate smiles wryly, then barks out loud – “Doggy style.”
Distracted by the enemy, he fell short of glory land,
now Newcastle is his home, with a garden growing plenty.
Quietude, nature, and food to move a budding writer’s hand:
a writer’s place with a vege patch and space for fruit trees – serenity.
