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I am pretty sure this isn’t the day for the Easter eggs but hey I am on holiday. Once again it is poets breakfast. Day two is the day for the serious poem, see "continue reading" below.
If you are going to a folk festival why would you leave your wombat at home? Of course there is no good reason so the wombat came too. It had an immensely good time, never short of attention and there were always plenty of volunteers to carry it if it got tired of walking.
Todays hit is part two of Martin Pearsons satirical review of the Lord of The Rings, The Two Towers (I missed part one). Clearly appreciation of folk music and The Lord of The Rings goes hand in hand since a significant percentage of the attendance at the festival attempted to fit into the tent which was not nearly big enough to house them.
It was then off to the main venue for more music. Kavish Mazella was singing, amongst others. Her songs are of varying quality but not her voice. She has the most beautiful voice, come to think of it, who cares what she is singing just listening to her voice is a worthwhile experience.
The Tough Australian Man
Don’t speak to me of being tough
I bought that line through the years
I toughed it out despite my growing fears
Don’t speak to me of being cheery
Optimism is not the answer
When you gut is full of cancer
Don’t speak to me of being brave
I’ve been brave since school
I bought that stupid myth, now I feel a fool
Don’t speak to me of manhood
I lie here, living and decaying
I will not hear a word that you are saying
When I said I felt strange inside
She’ll be right is all you said
You thought that it was in my head
When I started to loose weight
When I began to sweat and shiver
You laughed that I had stuffed by liver
When I started shitting blood
You told me it would all work out
And told me that it was time to shout
Now you talk of our good times
As if they somehow even up the score
Really, they just don’t matter any more.
Now you have a job to do
My son will need a caring man to show him how its done
To live a life that is rich and full of fun.
When my son is 9 and crying from a fall
Don’t tell him to take it like a man
Hug him and support him in everyway you can
When my son is 15 and going to a dance
Don’t make him feel a failure if he doesn’t score
Tell that his time will come for this and so much more
When my son is 18 and finally has a car
Don’t encourage him to get pissed behind the wheel
Teach him to care. To love. To feel
Australian men are vulnerable just like all the rest
If you think that toughness means an Aussie bloke
I’ve news for you. It is just a sad malicious joke.
If you are an Aussie man here’s the message in this poem
Regardless of what you’re told, none of us are tough
If you can’t describe your GPs décor, you haven’t gone enough.
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