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Category Archives: stories

How Much Can A Koala Bear

17 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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koala, lose of habitat

Cuddles the Koala is sitting high up in a Eucalyptus

tree

Feeling down in the dumps.

He hasn’t seen his Mother in over three days

Only six months old Cuddles is finding it hard to fend

for himself.

There isn’t any good news for Cuddles his Mother has

been hit by a car.

They will never be reunited.

Cuddles is all alone in the big wide world.

He is an only child.

Cuddles is snoozing.

The oil in the Eucalyptus leaves acts like a

sleeping pill.

Koalas sleep for about 20 hours in a day.

The rest of the time is spent eating.

When Cuddles wakes he hears a strange sound.

And he watches as the trees all around him.

One by one they fall to the ground.

The sound he is hearing is the sound of a

Chainsaw.

It is a wood cutting machine.

Cuddles can only sit and watch the destruction.

In the distance is a Mountain that he has never

seen before.

The reason he has never seen the Mountain before.

Is because the trees used to block his view.

Now you can see all the way to Timbuktoo.

Cuddles hasn’t seen another Koala for over a week

He is lonely he needs some company.

It is boring eating leaves all on your own

So he has a good scratch and gives his fur

a bit of a comb.

After another 20 hour snooze Cuddles climbs

down from his tree

To try to cure his lonesome blues

But his descent hasn’t gone unnoticed

For a Wild Dog  has picked up his scent

Cuddles is just lopping along he is unaware

of the approaching Canine.

As far as he is concerned everything is fine.

But at the last second he senses the danger

If he could yell he would yell for a Park Ranger.

Cuddles and the Dog are rolling in the dirt

Cuddles lets out a grunt and writhes in pain.

He is very badly hurt.

Cuddles fights back and claws the Dog in the

eye.

The Dog lets out a yelp and loses his grip.

Cuddles has lost half of his left ear

He has a lot of cuts and scratches

and a badly bruised hip.

Cuddles scrambles back up his tree

He licks his wounds and has a bit of a cry.

He lifts his head and looks to the sky

He knows that he has had a lucky escape.

For the next year or so Cuddles recovers from

his injuries.

And he has gains a lot of confidence.

He can only hope that Dog attacks are in the

past tense.

Cuddles can feel a change as he reaches Puberty.

He has hair that wasn’t there before.

And a growth between his legs.

That female Koalas cant ignore.

Feeling all pumped up and randy he once

again ventures out of his tree.

And he lands on the back of a Numbat.

For a second there he thought it was a Cat.

Once again Cuddles climbs to the top of his tree.

Feeling a bit sorry for himself he has a look around.

And he can see the Mountain plus the whole horizon.

He hasn’t realised that all of his habitat is almost gone

Even though he isn’t very smart

Cuddles knows that this is wrong.

Cuddles is feeling stressful in a bit of a low mood

All he wants to do is sleep and eat his favourite food

His eyes are really itchy he has a dose of Conjuntivitis.

He will need al of his strength if he is going to fight this.

He also has a wet bottom caused by  the Chlamydia Organism

He has nowhere else to go

He might as well ne in a prison.

Cuddles is only one Koala but these problems affect

thousands.

Loss of habitat getting hit by cars

Diseases and Cancer affect all of the Koala populations

We should do all we can to help the Koala

After all it is a symbol of this great nation.

If we don’t do anything there will be no more Eucalyptus

trees.

Just so there can be another housing estate

Lets do something before it is too late.

Koalas cant live on fresh air alone

They need those precious leaves

Koalas need their own space if they are to thrive

They need it if they are to stay alive.

All they want to do is sleep eat and poo.

Cause if we are not careful the only place you

will see a Koala.

Is in a freaking zoo.

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The Irresponsible Tomato

11 Saturday Apr 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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tomatoes, wasps

There is a very irresponsible Tomato

He goes by the name of Big Red

He doesn’t like being told what to do or say

So says his wife Ruby Red.

who always gets her way.

 

As usual Big  Red is running late

and he is captured and thrown into the back

of a very large truck.

The life of an irresponsible Tomato is really

starting to suck.

 

Big Red  and a thousand other Tomatoes are

unloaded and placed onto a conveyor belt.

But with his little green bits he hangs on for

grim death.

And he gets a bruise and a nasty little welt.

 

He doesn’t like the look of what lays ahead

He should of stayed green and remained in bed.

Cause nothing beats a life on the vine.

Swinging in the breeze is all sweet and fine.

 

Up ahead is Mr put the Tomato in the can man.

He isn’t very happy cause he can see Big Red

dragging the chain.

God irresponsible Tomatoes can be such a pain.

 

How hard can it be to go into a can

Thinks Mr put the Tomato in the can man.

Some Tomatoes are just plain stubborn

They don’t know when to give in

After all what is so bad about being sealed

inside a can of tin.

 

Big Red rolls off the conveyor belt and lands

in the handbag of a worker leaving for lunch.

He cant believe his luck and he says a silent

‘Thanks a bunch’.

The worker sits on a park bench and reaches for

her lunch.

But instead of an Apple she grabs a big juicy Tomato.

She lets out a yelp and Big Red lands on the ground

with a crunch.

 

He rolls down the hill straight into a storm water drain.

He has lost a few seeds and a bit of skin.

But there isn’t much pain.

 

As he bobs up and down in the dirty water

Big Red thinks about his wife and daughter.

Ruby Red and little Very Red.

 

Big Red starts to struggle.

If he was responsible he would have brought

an oar.

Big Red is trying his best

But he really cant take much more.

 

Just then a Possum wanders past feeling really

hungry.

He would really like a blossom

But a Tomato will do.

He doesn’t care about dirty water and a bit of poo.

 

Big Red notices the paw reaching for the prize.

But Big Red is smarter then a Marsupial.

When he went to school he was the star pupil.

 

With a bit of a shake and a bit of a roll

He exits the sewer pipe.

and he lands on a grassy knoll.

 

We know that Big Red is irresponsible

but he is also irresistible.

For a Wasp has heard the commotion

and she springs into action.

 

She intends to inject her eggs inside Big Reds

flesh.

So that her off spring has some feed.

But Big Red also has a need.

 

He needs to escape at full speed

 

He has thought of a ruse

And he rolls over and shows the Wasp a purple

bruise.

 

The Wasp has a look

she really prefers fresh fruit

So she lifts up her right foot

And she gives Big Red the boot.

 

Big Red just lays there catching is breath

Thinking about how many times he has

escaped death.

 

Just then a farmers ute comes flying down

the road.

And he squashes Big Red like a Cane Toad.

 

Big Red is not with us anymore

But at least he want end up in a can

or in a bottle of Tomato puree

Lets celebrate the life of Big Red

The irresponsible Tomato

Hip Hip Hooray.

The Irresponsible Tomato

is now just a speck in the sky

And I know I shouldn’t say this

But you cant beat Tomato sauce on a Pie.

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The Attack Of The Mutant Bamboo

08 Wednesday Apr 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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Tags

bamboo, mutants

All of the paperwork has gone through

And I finally get to move into my new house.

All the packing and unpacking is a bit of a pain.

But I have nothing to lose.

But plenty to gain

I can finally relax the house is mine

I am just sitting on my back verandah.

having lunch and a beer or two.

thinking about nothing

just enjoying the view.

The next day I decide to do some gardening

Rake some leaves and tidy the yard

But after I rake the leaves

up pops a Bamboo shoot.

I let out a hell of a curse

and I squash it with my gum boot.

I go to the garden shed and I get myself

some Round Up.

I will poison that Bamboo before it can grow

anymore.

After giving it a good spray

I go inside for a good cup of Tea.

and maybe a little snooze

And hopefully no more Bamboo blues.

A few hours later after a good lay down

I watch some TV and eat some left over Pizza.

Then I go to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

I look out the kitchen window and I cant believe

my eyes.

That Bamboo that I sprayed earlier has grown

another two foot.

It is like I gave it fertilizer instead of poison.

I go outside and I dig up that Bamboo roots and

all.

I give the ground another good spray

Maybe now that Bamboo will stay away.

It is time to go to bed

I set the alarm and go to sleep.

From the Bamboo

I don’t hear a peep.

I get up the next morning to go to work

But first I need a cup of Coffee to help me

start the day.

Waiting for the kettle to boil I look out of my

kitchen window.

And for the love of God that Bamboo  has

overgrown the whole backyard.

Maybe I am dreaming am I still asleep

I rub my eyes and have another look.

The yard is full of Bamboo six feet tall.

I call work and tell them that I want be in today

It looks like that Bamboo needs another spray.

I fill the container with straight Round Up

And I go to give it a dose.

But I look at that Bamboo

and I know that it sounds strange.

But the Bamboo starts to look

back.

I feels its eyes upon me

and I realise that I am dealing with

a mutant strain.

A strain straight from hell.

I race inside before that Bamboo gets

inside my mind.

A good plant is so hard to find.

All of the excitement has gone straight

to my bowels.

And I race to the toilet.

and I grab myself a seat.

‘Oh yes that’s better’ what a relief.

Then I feel a tickle on my arse.

I look down and see a Bamboo shoot

in the water

This freaking Bamboo has no class.

I pull up my pants as fast as I can

Trying to escape Mr Bamboo Man.

I get to the bathroom door and I look

behind me.

The Bamboo is filling the whole room

It has an amazing reach.

And another thing it has grown is a set

of teeth.

Those chompers are chomping romper

stomping..

They are starting to eat my house.

Like a fuel injected Bamboo infected

Mouse.

I don’t know what to do

I don’t know where to hide.

All that I know is that the Bamboo is

playing for the other side.

The Bamboo with the pearly whites

I s eating my house bite by bite.

But I want give up without a fight

I wonder if Mr Bamboo Man has heard

the word Dynamite.

I plant twenty sticks of Dynamite around

my house and yard

I realise that I am playing my final card.

Mr Bamboo Man doesn’t care and he gives

his chompers a floss.

But I am about to show him who is boss.

Now where did I put my matches

I need to light the fuse.

I strike the match and I blow my place

sky high.

I want to see Mr Bamboo cry

As I wave him goodbye.

I can feel the earth rumble

And I can hear Mr Bamboo Man grumble

As his little world begins to crumble.

Well the explosion was heard from twenty

miles away.

And my house disappears into a whole

bunch of splinters.

Like the ice crack of a thousand winters.

Where my house stood is now just a block of

land.

Mr Bamboo Man is nowhere to be seen

That is the end of that nasty fiend.

I told my insurance company that Methane gas from

an old mine caused the explosion.

And after an investigation

they agreed with that notion.

After all what else could it be?

I now have a new home

I am stress and Bamboo free

A whole new life in front of me.

Bamboo shoots and Bamboo teeth

are a thing of the past

I am now free at last.

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The Devil’s Bottle

05 Sunday Apr 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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drinking too much

When I was a little kid my family and I lived

with my Grandad.

He lived in an old house with a huge front yard.

He was a nice old fellow but sometimes he was a

little distant.

A little bit moody

You knew to keep your distance.

He would sit in his front yard with his old

transistor blaring.

The Cricket live from England

Or his favourite football team was playing

Sometimes he would listen to his favourite songs

and sometimes he would sing along.

But sometimes he would get nasty and yell and

swear and cuss.

And us kids would run inside

My Grandad liked his Whiskey.

My Grandad had his favourite spot in his

front yard.

He would sit under a bid tree.

I think it was a Wattle.

On one of his bad days he wouldn’t go

near him.

He would just go crazy screaming and

yelling abuse.

My Mother would try to calm him down

but it was no use.

She said that the drinking from the Devils

bottle had thrown a screw loose.

When I was about 13 yrs old I had my first

taste of Beer.

I felt warm and fuzzy

and my face sort of glowed.

My Grandad has been dead for a few years

by now.

But I guess he has passed on his Genes.

I have had my first sip form the Devils bottle.

When I was about 18 I started to hang with a

mate named Allan

He had a girlfriend named Teena who was always

on about his drinking.

We both worked at the same place

But instead of food Allan would have two

long necks of Beer for lunch.

And driving home after work he would have

a couple more.

Even though I liked a Beer Allan drinking left

me for dead.

He would drink three to my one.

He would drink and drive

a long neck between his legs

He would drive like a mad man and once

or twice he dragged off the Cops.

I used to hang on for grim death hoping that

I would get out of that car alive.

Somehow he never crashed and I got to live

another day.

Allan lived his life at full throttle

He really liked that Devils bottle.

Around the same time the Devil tapped me

on the shoulder and said ‘Come with me’

I followed him down a dark path.

A path go’s nowhere.

Nowhere good that is.

He showed me his collection of bottles

And he told me to take my pick.

I reached out my hand

then pulled it back real quick.

Then I reached out again

The temptation was too much.

The Devils bottle tastes so sweet

like the early morning dew

or the nectar from a honey Bee.

Or the Devils bottle can taste like poison

and ruin your whole life.

There is a Devils bottle in every house

It is the bottle you have when you have already

drank too much

The bottle you drink before you drive your car

The bottle you drink before you hit your wife.

The bottle you drink before taking your kids to

school.

So put the bottle back on the shelf

you silly old fool.

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Olaf The Caveman

31 Tuesday Mar 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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cavemen

Olaf the caveman is sitting in his man cave

Shivering and shaking

He was really feeling the cold.

He has been eating nothing but ground up

insects and grubs.

Since the day he was born.

What he wouldn’t do for some hot Chicken

Beans and Corn.

Hot Chicken Beans and Corn.

It is a legend that has been spoken about for

years on the grapevine.

Another clan that live on the other side of the

old world.

Near a peat bog mire.

Say all that you need is something that they call

fire.

Olaf sits in his cave still freezing off his butt

He is sharpening his flint bladed axe.

He isn’t concentrating and he gives himself a

nasty cut.

He throws the axe into the axe bucket

That cut stings fuck it

But flint on flint sure does leave a mark

It creates something that is called a spark.

Olaf the caveman jumps up from his fur

covered stool.

All that reaction from throwing his tool.

Now Olaf the caveman isn’t all that smart

But he also is no dummy.

He grabs two of his axes and a handful of

straw.

He rubs the two axes together

There are a few sparks and something more

Smoke and then a few little flames of fire slowly

take hold.

Now Olaf the caveman isn’t so cold.

Olaf goes go’s out in the snow to collect

some fire wood.

He carries a big load as much as he could

Wet wood doesn’t burn all that well

Olaf soon learns that much.

And he stacks the wood in the corner

near the kitchen hutch.

Life is finally looking up

the cave is warm and cosy

But the downside is that the

neighbours are getting nosy

They want to know who is the bright spark

And how is your cave lit up after dark.

Olaf ignores the neighbours and just concentrates

on his life.

It is time to settle down and find himself a wife.

So he picks up his club and go’s out on his quest

He has his eye on a local girl

you can forget the rest.

Her name is Wild flower

And just like the flower she is wild and free.

Olaf is smitten

Wild flower is good looking and great company.

To make it official Olaf gives Wildflower a love

tap with his club.

Even though it didn’t really hurt

she gives the spot a rub.

Olaf decides to come clean with the neighbours

And he invites them to his cave

He tells them to sit still be quiet and don’t

misbehave.

Olaf rubs two pieces of flint together

and the sparks begin to fly

and the smoke reaches for the sky

His guests just sit there

their eyes filled with wonder

Outside is the sound of thunder.

The storm cant dampen the spirits of the

cave clan.

They have seen the fire

they have felt its heat.

Now they can finally eat some cooked meat

Olaf go’s hunting early the next day

With his spear,axe and bow and arrow

And Wine in a vessel made of clay.

He is hunting Wooly Mammoth.Caribou

Bison or even a Wild Turkey or two.

But what he takes home is a half dozen

Rabbits.

He couldn’t aim properly.

He went to that vessel one time to many

Either drinking or spending a penny.

But when he gets back home the clan is happy

to have meat to cook

They gather around the fire to get another look

They still cant believe the heat coming from

the flames.

They will be warm when they are hit by the

summer rains.

Olaf is in a happy mood and he go’s back to

his cave.

And he gives Wildflower a tap from a different

club.

And straight away she is with a bub.

To celebrate the union Olaf go’s off hunting

and the spears Caribou.

The clan is happy that Olafs aim has improved.

And they have a huge feast of meat.

They eat it with Potatoes Beans and Beet’s.

Nine months later and Wild flower and Olaf are in

the birth room

Wild flower is about to deliver a Baby

The Baby is to be born on the first day of the

new moon.

That is a lucky sign the Baby is born with a silver

spoon.

Everything is going to be fine.

And fine iot is.

Wildflower has given Olaf his first son

The boy is named Hansel.

He sleeps most of the time and is real gentle

Olaf still hasn’t had a meal of Chicken Beans and Corn

But all he cares about is the health of his first born.

Olaf Wildflower and now little Hansel

just live from day to day

Hunting eating and staying out of the cold

With little Hansel doing what he is told

Most of the time anyway.

Fire has made life a lot easier

The clan live a life of peace and quiet.

But trouble is brewing an evil wind  is blowing

Well that is it I have got to get going.

Keep an eye out for the next instalment

Olaf the Caveman The peace is shattered.

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Is There A Conspiracy?

27 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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Tags

conspiracy

I went shopping the other day

to the local supermarket.

I bought a few things

and I made my way to the

checkouts.

I go to the express lane

12 items or less.

 

Well obviously the people in front

of me cant count.

The first person has 18 items

the second 15

and the third 16.

 

Finally it is my turn

The checkout girl says she has to

make change.

And change the receipt roll in the

register.

Jesus is it just me

Or is there a conspiracy.

 

After that I visit the bank

I am in luck

The queue is only half a mile long

About an hour later I am the third

person in line.

The person getting served is sure

taking her time

she and the teller are having a good

chat.

I really do enjoy waiting in lines

I have nothing better to do.

I am surprised there isn’t a robbery

That would be the icing on the cake

Finally it is my turn

The teller tells me she is out of money

She is waiting for more

Jesus is it just me

Or is there s conspiracy

 

I am driving home

and I get stopped for a RBT

The Cop says to blow into this

Of course I pass

I have been standing in line all day

Who has the time to drink?

 

I am on my way

Of  course all the traffic lights are red

The person in front of me is going 45 in

a 60 zone.

All I need now is a flat tyre

Or a Kangaroo to jump out in front of me

All I want to do is to go from A to B

not A to Z.

 

I look in my rearview mirror

and I see a car getting really close

A little to close for comfort

and he gives my bumper a little nudge

and I hit the car in front

Jesus is it just me

Or is there a conspiracy

After checking out the damage

and exchanging details with the

other drivers

I limp my car home.

 

Finally I am home

I can sit back and relax

Watch some TV  and have a few beers

maybe something a little stronger

While I think about the conspiracy

 

A couple of hours later

my blood pressure is back to normal

I am back to my old self

Then have come to realise

that there isn’t any conspiracy

It is just crap that happens to everybody

It is just part of living in a city

Shit happens

Don’t reach for a bottle or a pill

Just chill.

 

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The Thinking Pier

24 Tuesday Mar 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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Tags

depression, suicide

I wrote this story a while ago

I wasn’t going to post it

but I have decided that it needs

to be read.

It is about depression

If you or anyone you know has

depression get help. I did.

 

I have found a favourite spot in the bush

About a 10 minute walk from my place

Where no one is around

Where no one can see my face

I call it the thinking pier

It is right on the edge of the lake

With me is my demon

I hope he doesn’t wake.

 

My demon lives in my head

And for most of the time he is asleep

But if I get a bad memory

thinking about the past

Then the demon awakens

I think he is here for keeps.

 

I call it the thinking pier

but only the stone foundations remain

I sit on the stone

and unleash the pain.

 

The pain in my head is a good friend of

the demons

I am hearing things

dreadful sounds I am receiving

Am I still breathing?

 

I sit on the thinking pier

and my tears begin to well

I do some more thinking

and my tear drops fell

 

Some flow into the waters of the lake

and join 10 trillion other tears

Tears of the downtrodden

that have flowed over the years

I sit there for a couple of hours or more

My mind goes back to the dark times

I think about the bad things

Then my mobile phone rings.

It is the demon calling

He tells me to do it.

Just slip into the water and float away

I don’t want to listen

but the demon has his way

 

When I hit the water

will I sink or float

Maybe I will be hit by the propeller of

a boat.

I make sure of things I should of worn

a heavy coat.

 

I sit on the thinking pier

Trying to block out the demons words

But they stick in my head

like the droppings from a thousand Birds

Man I hate those fucking words

 

It is getting dark

maybe I should head on home

But I wait a little longer

and then struggle my way through

the bush

If I get to close to the edge

maybe the demon will give me a push.

 

I sit on the thinking pier

listening to the water lap against the shore

Thinking that I really don’t want to be around

no more.

 

I grew up a loser

and I am still one now

No one wants to hang with me

I am always alone

Like I am right now.

I go for a walk around my suburb

I walk close to the edge of the road

Maybe I will step in front of a car

Is that a step too far?

 

You wont recognise me

I am nothing but road kill

It would be a bit gruesome

But also the ultimate thrill

 

I sit on the thinking pier

then I stand up

and I take off all of my clothes

I slip into the water

It is bloody cold

I just float

and let the tide take hold

I think about the Great White Shark

that is hanging around the lake.

 

Come on you motherfucker

With one bite bite me in half

then circle around and eat up the pieces

so that nothing remains

Then there is no more pain

 

I sit on the thinking pier

I am soaking wet

From my ugly head to my toes

Will I get through the dark times?

Well no one really knows

 

The demon starts to whisper

I wish I could close my ears

He whispers words

that I don’t want to hear

But then I start to listen

and I start to nod my head

And I start to agree with every word

that he said.

Piece of shit scumbag loser pretty boy

I have been called plenty of nasty names.

The really bad names I will not mention

The demon has planted the seed

Will I do the dirty deed?

That is the question

 

Some people think that I am gay

but I have never worn pink

But then again

I really couldn’t give a fuck

what people think.

 

But their words still cut deep

Maybe it is time

for the final sleep

 

I struggle through

just living day to day.

Wishing that the demon would just

stay away.

 

I might look happy on the outside

But inside I am hurting.

It sure has left a nasty impression.

This fucking depression.

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Dire Rear

17 Tuesday Mar 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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Tags

hot seat, out of your depth

I went to a football game the other day

I sat on the grass on the hill.

My favourite team won

they were in for the kill.

I am my thirteenth beer

some goes in my mouth

but most of it I spill.

My shirt is saturated

I feel like a bit of a dill.

 

Man this grass and dirt is really

uncomfortable.

my arse is completely numb.

I have to get out of here.

I have a dire rear.

I decide to take flying lessons

I will be in charge of a plane.

I feel like Steve Mc Queen or

maybe John Wayne.

The Instructor shows me what

controls to push.

But they all look the same

My mind is losing control

then it starts to rain.

I cant see a thing

the instructor takes the reins

if anything should happen

he is to blame haha

This pilot seat is like a slab

of concrete.

Get me out of here

I have a bad dire rear.

 

I think I would be a good race car

driver.

So I go to the track

All of me went that day

But part of me didn’t come back.

Things are going well

I am racing through the gears

Going really fast around the bends

This is easier then I thought

What was I worried about.

 

The steering wheel feels a little

funny.

Like a wheel has lost its balance.

The wheel hasn’t lost its balance

it is bouncing down the track.

My butt cheeks clench

I try to keep control

Just get me out of here

I have a bad dire rear.

 

Ok that didn’t go so well

maybe I should find something

a bit more mellow

I am going to become a fire fighting

fellow.

 

Naturally they put me in charge

of driving the truck

I pray to Jesus wish me luck.

 

A call comes in

a house is on fire

I slide down the pole and jump

into the drivers seat

I turn on the siren

I am out of here

But maybe I should wait for the other

fire fighters.

 

Ok we are all on board

I race to the scene at a hectic pace.

It brings back memories of when I

used to race.

The memories aren’t good

This will be better touch wood.

 

We arrive at the scene

I am going a little fast

I sort of clip the kerb

and demolish the fire hydrant

Water flies into the air.

But not where it is supposed to go

The house I am sorry to say is lost

This fire fighting seat is little to hot

Get me out of here

I am sorry to say

I have a bad dire rear.

I have always liked the water

So my next job

is the Captain of a cruise ship

I travel the world

going from city to city

I am in control of a ship the length

of three football fields.

It makes you stop and think

This ship is in control of Colonel Klink.

 

Coming into Newcastle harbour

just past Nobbys head

I sort of over steer

and run right into the pier.

People scatter

the whole wharf disappears

 

Whoops maybe I should stick to

automatic.

This Captains seat is a little to hot

to handle.

Just get me out of here

I have a bad dire rear.

I have come to realise that I have to

play it safe.

My next job will be sitting down

until I chafe.

 

So I apply to become an Astronaut

and to my surprise I am accepted

to the course.

Maybe they haven’t heard about my

last job

where I almost destroyed a city.

Somebody should have checked

that is a pity.

First day on the job

wearing an anti gravity suit

I pass the G force test.

that is a miracle right there

And I fly off to the stars.

I am sitting next to a Monkey

floating past the Milky Way

On my way to the control panel

my hand brushes against a lever.

The Monkey flies past

on his way to somewhere

And I just felt something land in

my underwear.

Please God get me out of here

I have a bad a really bad dire rear.

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The Head Honcho (In A Poncho)

13 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

gangs, ponchos

Yeah I am the head honcho

and I do wear a poncho

You got a problem with that?

I didn’t think so

cause if you did

We would take a trip to San Francisco

a one way trip for you.

You would dig a hole

and then you would jump in it

Cause no one with any street sense

would ever talk about my dress sense.

Cause now you are in the shit

knee deep in the doo doo

another victim of the urban voodoo

Yes I know that wearing a poncho isn’t

exactly the latest style.

And it can get rather breezy.

Maybe I should wear it wear pants?

Only joking

I always wear the chinos in  shade of Green

They make me look menacing and kind of mean.

I drive around the streets in a bright purple Chevy

My tattoos tattooing

My gun primed and ready.

If anybody crosses me

I put them in the ground

They look to the sky

with a glassy eye stare

with a bullet in the head

they aint going anywhere.

I am the head honcho

looking pretty cool in my knee length

poncho

All the girls wish they could be mine.

But first lets backtrack a bit.

 

My name is Raul and I have lived on the

streets since I was six or seven.

Picking the pockets of the tourists

just trying to stay alive.

Eating food from the garbage can

just trying to survive.

I did what I had to do to get through

the night.

I learnt how to act tough

I learnt how to fight.

Shoplifting stealing stuff from cars.

Rolling drunks as they stumbled out

of the bars.

Anything for a dollar

just get me through the day

Some food in my stomach

and a place to stay.

The streets of LA  isn’t exactly the

yellow brick road.

If my pockets are empty

why am I carrying a heavy load.

I started to hang with a couple of other kids

you could call them bad

But at the same time they were the only

friends to be had.

They introduced me to a gang who lived

life on the edge.

They walked along the ledge

But somehow they never fell.

They must of dipped their toes in the

wishing well.

I was sixteen and I think the well has

run dry.

I am waiting for the sun to fall from the

sky.

The gang members tell me that I have to pass an

initiation test.

I have to show them who is best.

They say that I have to kill a rival gang member

who has been doing what he shouldn’t oughta

He has been messing with a members Daughter.

I am shitting bricks how am I going to do the deed

Maybe he will choke on a Avocado seed

I aint so lucky

I have been given a deadline of two days.

Sixteen years old and I have to commit a murder

They give me a choice of weapons

a gun or a knife.

Either way I am going to take a life.

Okay I am ready the target is in sight

He is walking on what he thinks is the

sunny side of the street.

The knife feels heavy in my hand as I

approach the unfortunate one.

On second thoughts

maybe I should of brought a gun.

But no a knife will have to do

It is to late to back out now.

I cross the street and I struggle with

my emotions.

Should I do it?

Or should I pike out.

Before I know it I have the knife in my hand.

With one thrust the blood starts to spray.

I am saturated his life is fading fast

Jesus I don’t know what to say

I just walk away.

The gang is happy I have passed the initiation

They are happy with the situation.

At sixteen I have taken a persons last breath

I don’t know what to say

I just get on with my day

The killing has elevated me to a new

level.

I am now the 3IC  of the gang.

People stand aside when I cross their path.

They don’t want to feel my knife

They don’t want to feel my wrath.

The second in charge is standing in my way

to the top.

So he will have to go.

His name is Billy Joe Hill.

I think he comes from the South.

He has a lazy eye and a wise ass mouth.

This killing will have to look like an accident.

So the current head honcho doesn’t become

wary.

Me and Billy Joe are on are way to Coney Island.

We go on the ferry.

We walk around all day doing a bit of this and a

bit of that.

Just filing in the day.

Billy Joe mouth is working  overtime.

He sure can talk a whole lot of nothing.

I still haven’t thought of a way to put him

on his way to hell.

Maybe push him under a Bus and say he fell.

But then Billy Joe comes up with the idea

for his own demise.

Billy Joe might be the second in charge

but he isn’t very wise.

He suggests we go into the Subway.

To smoke a little weed.

They will give me a chance to do the

dirty deed.

You see Trains run on electricity.

And the one thing you don’t touch is the

third rail.

Time to fry Billy Joe Hill.

I cant afford to fail.

Billy Joe is still jawing and he fails to see

the danger.

I give him a little nudge

He loses his balance and touches the rail

Sparks start to fly.

Billy Joe sure does fry.

He didn’t even say goodbye.

I explain to the Cops that Billy Joe was a bit

unsteady on his feet after smoking a lot of weed.

He didn’t believe that the third rail was dangerous.

He wanted to be Mr Courageous.

The Cops brought my story

and Billy Joes death was ruled death by

misadventure.

The head honcho(in a poncho)

The poncho that will soon be mine.

He said that it was a pity about Billy Joe.

But it was business as usual

He suspect a thing.

The head honcho comes from Mexico.

He is called El Cockaroacho.

Cause he is dirty mean and mighty unclean.

He has ruled the gang with an iron fist.

He has a Meth uses skin and teeth.

There is nothing good about the head honcho.

All except his poncho.

This time I don’t mess about.

I stick my knife between his ribs.

Things get quite messy.

He should have worn a bib.

He bleeds all over the poncho

that ex head honcho.

After a bit of a wash the poncho is as good

as new.

Except for the hole that my knife made.

But beggars cant be choosers.

that is only for losers.

So now I am the head honcho

I am the king of the castle.

The king of the streets of the East side.

If you see me coming

You better run and hide.

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The Squirrel Allergic To Nuts

09 Monday Mar 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

food allergies, squirrels

Stuart the Squirrel was laying in his bed.

He has a stomach cramp a big pain in his guts

He knows that he shouldn’t have done it

but he ate a handful of nuts

He knows that he is allergic to nuts

but he really likes the taste.

H has to race behind a tree

He has to do something more then a wee.

He is a Squirrel and his favourite food is nuts

What is he supposed to eat,grass.

well if you think that then you can kiss

Stuarts Squirrely little arse.

Well a Squirrel cant survive on just fresh air

He needs something to eat as long as it isn’t Dairy

or Meat.

On an adventure he sees a farmers field growing all

kind of things of many shapes and sizes.

He starts to dig and unearth what is called a Carrot.

He starts to chow down and he thinks ‘Het these things

are incredible.’

nice and sweet and really edible.

He eats about ten Carrots every day for about a month

He has noticed that his eyesight is better.

But there is a bad side effect.

He looks like he has applied a whole bottle of fake tan.

His friends are starting to call him Stuart the Orangutan.

Stuart the Squirrel is out walking the next day looking

for his next meal.

And he stumbles across a cabbage patch.

He thinks he can hear a Baby crying

A Stork is flying overhead.

But Stuart the Squirrel couldn’t care less

he just wants to be fed.

He chews into the Cabbage and the texture feels

real good on his tongue.

It brings back memories of when he was young.

When he used to squirrel away Nuts.

Now he cant eat them they give hell to his guts

He keeps on munching on the Cabbage not

knowing of the consequences.

Stuart feels a build up in his bowels that he has never

felt before.

Then lets loose a huge explosion of noxious gas.

Enough gas to power a city the size of Lahore.

Stuart is thinking maybe Carrots and Cabbage are

best eaten in moderation.

They sure do give you a pain in the guts

Stuart the Squirrel is sure missing his nuts.

Stuarts throat is dry he needs something to quench

his thirst.

Some water or maybe a glass of milk.

Then a lie down on sheets made of Silk.

But then a word comes to his mind and that word

is Lactose.

Stuart the Squirrel is Lactose intolerant.

Once again he visits that tree.

When he gets back he looks very weak

Just like his Aunties cups of tea.

They do nothing for you except make you

want to pee.

Stuart is wasting away to a shadow.

He cant find a food to eat that doesn’t have any

bad side effects.

Carrots Cabbage and Milk play havoc with his system.

He needs to find something that he can digest

He needs some words of wisdom.

So Stuart climbs to the top of a mountain and calls

out to the Squirrel God.

‘Please God give me a sign I don’t mean to complain and

whine.

‘But I am looking for a food that I can digest,so I can

give running to the tree a rest.’

Straightaway God gives his reply and a bolt of lightning

strikes from the sky.

And hits Stuart right in the nuts(isn’t that ironic).

Stuart lets out a startled squeak.

His fellas are red and burnt and a little fried.

Stuart the Squirrel is went home to his bed and cried.

The next morning Stuart is feeling better.

He has applied some lotion to the tender spot

He likes a little heat but nothing that hot.

Stuart gets out of bed in his house in the trees

His stomach is rumbling it needs some filling.

Stuart tries to ignore it he watches some TV

you know just chilling.

But the rumbling turns into a grumbling.

It wakes up the whole house.

Stuart is so desperate he would even eat a Mouse.

His Mother tells Stuart that he has to find his own tree

Make something with for life.

But first she tells him that he has to get his allergy

under control.

Find a food that your stomach can digest

Then love will take care of the rest.

Stuart wanders around the woods.

Thinking about food and where to get it.

Something like Nuts but without the reaction.

No stomach cramps  loose bowels and constipation.

He has had enough of those.

Stuart has a brain wave and off he goes.

Stuart has remembered a farmhouse that he visited

a while back.

He remembers seeing some Cereal in one of the rooms

around the back.

The Cereal was All Bran and he remembers that he liked

the smell of it.

But what about the taste will there be a reaction?

Stuart enters the house through the kitchen window

and he sees a box of  All Bran.

And he runs as fast as a Squirrel can.

He reaches in a paw and puts a few pieces of the Bran

into his mouth.

He waits then swallows.

He waits for a reaction but there isn’t any.

He waits a little longer his stomach is nice and

calm.

He really likes this place.

He could handle life on a farm.

Stuart the Squirrel now lives in the farmhouse

in the roof next to an Owl

He sneaks out at night and eats his fill his fill of

the Bran.

Keeping a wary eye out for the farmhouse man.

He is happy he has found a food that he can eat

Without any adverse affects.

Without running behind that tree.

He is now just a regular Squirrel having fun and

playing.

Cause nothing beats being regular.

You know what I am saying?

THE END

Thank you for taking the time to read one of my stories and if you have the means could you please make a donation to go towards my ambition to become a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

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