Mr Tee

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Mr Tee was a man of modern design.
He had lots of money and he loved his red wine.
He charmed the ladies with his gentle smile
And implied he would go the extra mile.

But as a small boy when he stepped out of turn
His mother had given him a chinese burn.
He found many friends when he went to school
Especially when he came first in the swimming pool.

He wanted to have his friends stay over
But no way could he let them meet his mother.
His Dad was fine, he taught him everything
But his Mum was dirty and screaming.

And so at age ten Mr Tee decided
That never again would he be derided.
He would always hold all the power
And so his life would never be sour.

He was rather good looking
If not perfectly handsome
And he made enough money
To pay a handsome king’s ransom.

Long he reigned over how he felt
And he hid his feelings of love underneath.
So his heart would never melt
But neither would he be able to breathe.

For every woman he dated he was charming
To the point of being very disarming.
His honeyed words carried the day
And each woman neatly gave way.

But with his feelings all locked up
With each encounter he cocked up.
Mr Tee got his vengeful pleasure
But without any true measure.

From behind his charm he brought out his sneer
For she who could have been so dear.
He couldn’t allow feelings of love
To come out and bring her near.

Many women disliked his behaviour
And dismissed Mr Tee from their minds.
But some women couldn’t waver
And failed to throw the binds.

One woman in particular couldn’t let go
Of her lust for him and his ways.
She was determined to conquer and sow
The love which she hoped would grow.

But the more she tried to please and placate
In the hope he would reveal his love
The more Mr Tee would manipulate
Her and his feelings below not above.

He wanted love and he pushed it away.
She wanted love and tried to grab it.
He pushed and she pulled, he pushed and she pulled
Until their life together was habit.

They couldn’t love and they couldn’t leave
They couldn’t bear to be apart.
They made each other sorrow and grieve
For the love they should have had from the start.

 

Copyright Sandra Roe

Standing at the stop

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standing at the stop
a man came up
a fellow passenger
for the bus
but the bus was late
and he showed me the bird
and its baby in the tree
can you see that, he said
the wattlebird feeding its young
there it goes
the bus was late
but it came along
where’ve you been
I asked the driver
well obviously I’m late
he said

Copyright Sandra Roe

The Dawesville Cut

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It was The Jolly Frog then
on the Old Coast Road
just past Mandurah
right by the Port Bouvard Bridge.
Now it’s the Hard Rock Café
but it’s the same inside
white tablecloths
good coffee
and a startling view of the Dawesville Cut
the channel cut for fresh water flow
from the estuary to the ocean.
There was a small jetty then
just down there
with young men fishing
and some pelicans.
I can’t see it today
the bushes have grown too high.
There were scars then
scars on the land over there
on the opposite high bank
bulldozers had cut golden swathes.
Now rows of large houses
look over the ocean, the inlet and the cut.
A whale came into the cut one day
crowds of people came and watched.
Today there are only shags
drying their wings on the bridge pylons.
Uncle Bill’s ashes were scattered here one day
they took his boat through the cut to the ocean
and the wind whooshed him away.

 

Copyright Sandra Roe

The Shape of Australia

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Australia is a vast continent
rather flat and therefore dry
like a big brown and green biscuit.
When the Europeans came
they were white dots on this vast canvas
which they regarded as blank.
But black dots were here before them
few in number
but with a vast nomadic web.
When the white dots grew their tiny towns
their small squares and triangles
their boxes
along by the river
and laid their farms and crops
like blankets
with woolly dots and brown dots
over the hunter gather grounds
of the black dots
the black dots grew hungry
and threw sharp lines
at the woolly dots and brown dots
and ate them.
Punished by the white dots
who with their brown lines fired red dots
the black dots retreated
to the edges of the blankets.
The white dots went on to prosper
when they discovered gold dots
in the outback
and they built bigger
grander boxes.

 

Copyright Sandra Roe

Flaminia’s Villa

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We’re back in Chiusi, you and me, Chiusi Scalo
leaving the railway station
passing under the umbrella pines
and up the winding road scarped through the rise
lined with green trees and creepers
towards Querce Al Pino (Forest of Pines)
that confluence of roads leading to more towns in Siena.
There’s the Etrusco Chiusi Supermercato
where no one speaks English
but we came away laden with wine and food
prosecco and moscato and brunello
fresh basil pesto, crostini and bistecca alla fiorentina
and double zero flour to make focaccia.

There’s the Hotel del Sole
and La Taverna del Patriarca
where we had our first dinner
and there’s the bus stop.
That quiet turn off to the right
leads past the barnyard geese, turkeys and cats
some villas and vineyards
and another large villa
by the long and dusty road.
David’s villa is up ahead
and there’s the castle to the east
but we turn left and
pass down the hill through the gates
to Flaminia’s villa.

Flaminia’s villa looks west
through trees and down a steep slope.
It’s a golden and light green vista
of fallow fields and chestnut trees
and large villas over there and there.
The porch has a long table and chairs
for drinks tea coffee and dinners
and good arguments
late morning and long into the night
until autumn ends
the nights are cooler
and we have to leave.

We strike out for the day to discover
Etruscan tombs in old Chiusi
ceramics in Orvieto
antiques in Arezzo
sweets in Perugia
meringues in Castiglione del Lago
cakes in Siena
ramparts in Lucca and
art and gelato everywhere.
Pienza has funghi soup and Romeo and Juliet
and The English Patient with frescoes in the monastery.
In Montalcino we buy brunello
and drink sparkling rose
eat honey and cheese while
looking on the old fort.
Montepulciano has music and
that little yellow bus
that goes from the station
right up the old narrow street.
And it’s there, there in Montepulciano
in a little shop on the old street
I find my blue woolen hat and
bring it home to Flaminia’s villa.

Copyright Sandra Roe

On Facebook

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Steven’s in Rio
he’s cut his finger
there’s blood everywhere
and the Oh Nos and Ouches
come from
Belfast Brisbane
Illinois Ipswich
and me in Sydney

Lesley’s in Perth
she’s got gastro
and Oh Nos and Get Wells
come from Oregon
and Canberra
and from me in Sydney

It’s Andrea’s birthday
she’s out for dinner
in Rockingham
with Debbie and Didi
and the Happy Birthdays
and best wishes
come from Melbourne
and Mildura
and me in Sydney

Marlish in Perth
wants to chuck writing
for a life of crime
better hours
and a gang of friends
and the I’m Ins and Me Toos
come from
New Zealand Melbourne
and Perth
with ideas of cattle rustling
stealing Belgian chocolate
and crystal meth
but the best one
let’s steal a good red
and drink it
comes from
me in Sydney.

Copyright     Sandra Roe

Kalgoorlie’s Super Pit

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I love to visit Outback Australia. It is vast, beautiful and has wide open spaces which are terrifyingly seductive. It is rich in nature and mineral resources.This is the Super Pit in Kalgoorlie, in Western Australia’s Eastern Goldfields. It is Australia’s largest open cut gold mine. Oblong in shape, it is approximately 3.5 kilometres long, 1.5 kilometres wide and 579 metres deep. It is large enough to be seen from space. Owned by Kalgoorlie Consolidated Gold Mines Pty Ltd, it produces 850,000 ounces (28 tonnes) of gold per year, and employs about 550 employees directly on site. To recover the gold, the ore is crushed, passed through a gravity circuit, subjected to flotation to produce a concentrate, and then roasted in a small smelter. I took these photos in 2007, and it was very windy in the lookout.
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Swan River 3

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Gentle blue river
flows from worn hills
onto the plain
soft flat flowing
over the earth
silky when quiet
glass when still
strokes the shore
and takes on the sky
past city buildings
steel and glass
rising to the sky
from the earth
which made them.

Copyright Sandra Roe

Sydney Cove

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Sky scrapes the spires
Above Circular Quay where
The concourse congregates
And ferries ply the nave
And shells sail over the altar
Towards soaring arch.

 

Copyright Sandra Roe