POETRY GALLERY - FEBRUARY 2024
This month we started our deep dive into poetry. 

THE CUCKOO'S NEST by Trevor S

Listen as Trevor reads his poem.

Now, Paddy was a scholar and as Irish as can be, 

who had gone to university and gained a PhD; 

who had messed around with many jobs and, though this might sound queer, 

finally heard his calling and became an engineer. 

He spent his time designing streets and roads and motorways, 

bridges, footpaths, bus zones and numerous stopping bays. 

He had a mate, named Shamus, who was not as bright as he, 

yet he owned a natty sportscar and a villa by the sea. 

Often times, on weekends, one could find the pair together, 

fishing, surfing, drinking – depending on the weather. 

Each had a bent for trivia, and they’d test each other out 

with quizzes, scrabble, board games – who lost, obliged to shout. 

Their libraries overflowed with books of triviality: 

Readers Digests, dictionaries, tomes of poetry, 

Oz and ancient history and, of course, biographies – 

composers, authors, sports folk, and those who sailed the seas. 

Geography and science books took place beside the arts; 

iconic spots around the world; human body parts. 

Usually, in the afternoons, they’d sit and watch “The Chase,” 

“Deal or No Deal”, “Family Feud” or any other place 

that was beaming out a quiz show.  They scanned the internet - 

storing every titbit of new knowledge they could get. 

A lightbulb moment in their lives, led them to have a go 

at making squillions. Paddy entered a popular trivia show: 

“Who wants to be a Millionaire?” He gained a vacant seat 

and joined with several other folk, determined to compete, 

for the top prize of a million bucks – more dough than they could spend. 

Paddy put up Shamus, as his choice, for “Phone a Friend”. 

The show began and, one by one, contestants fell away. 

Paddy found himself alone - the last one left to play. 

No matter what the subject was, he got the answer right. 

The crowd was hushed in silence, as the big prize came in sight. 

The quiz compere picked up the card and, once he’d scanned the words, 

said, “Paddy, here’s the question: ‘I am naming you four birds – 

swallow, pigeon, cuckoo, wren: one doesn’t build a nest. 

Which one? Get it correct, you’ll have a motza to invest.” 

 His eyes popped out; his throat went dry; his breathing shortened length. 

He knew a lot about a lot, but birds were not his strength. 

The compere read the words again and, at the question’s end, 

Paddy muttered nervously, “I’ll have to phone a friend.” 

The dial tone echoed through the room, ‘til Shamus said, “Hello.” 

“It’s Paddy here. I’m in some strife. I’ll read the question slow.” 

Shamus took the question in and, trying not to shout, 

said, “Paddy, it’s the cuckoo, of that I have no doubt.” 

“Begorrah, Shamus, that was quick … but are you really sure? 

A million dollars are at stake. I’ll win it, if I score.” 

“A cuckoo doesn’t build a nest. I’m as sure as I can be. 

Don’t even think to gamble. Lock in the answer, ‘C’”. 

Bells and whistles filled the air, as did many strands of glitter. 

On getting the answer right on birds, Paddy felt the urge to twitter! 

When celebrations settled down, he quizzed his phone-friend out. 

“You amazed me, Shamus. Cuckoo? C? How come you had no doubt?” 

“’Twas easy, Paddy.” (What came next, left our winner quite in shock.) 

“Every cuckoo I have seen, was living in a clock!” 

OUR HERO by Valda

The boat shed was scrubbed clean

No blood to be seen

It was at Batt Reef he made his mistake

While the cameraman doing a retake

The short tailed ray was cornered, with no place to go

So released its barb, and he wasn’t to know

Not to pull it out or the blood would flow

They rushed him to the Low Isles boat shed

And tried to save him as he bled and bled

A yacht in the lagoon with a defib and trained crew

On hearing the distress call, knew what to do

They worked for hours but it was all in vain

And returned to their boat feeling great pain

They pulled up anchor in the rain

Unfurled the mainsheet and sailed away

Knowing they would never forget this day

He was our Wildlife Warrior

And we couldn’t have been sorrier

Our Aussie hero, the crocodile man

He should have lived forever

Taken so young wasn’t the plan

THE FISHERMAN & THE SAWYER by Ron 

WELCOME & BOMBS WITH DRONES by Cindi

WELCOME

My friends are welcome in my house

Three days are always fundays

But just as welcome as a louse

When Wednesdays turn to Sundays. 

BOMBS WITH DRONES

Desperate and fearful, but acting with aplomb,

Scientists and engineers packed atoms in a bomb

Now we burn our atmosphere

Aim our bombs with drones

Released already, could A.I. kill us through our phones? 

HOSPITAL EMERGENCY IN THE EMIRATES by Melinda

Hospital car park, all white lines and black tar

The building’s old, and not very far

Jim’s not well, so we scurry in

No reception, no sign. Where do I take him?

A bunch of people, men in white. Women in black

There’re a few westerners in between and at the back

They’re all standing impatient. The crowd is motley

Is that where we go? I ask a lady, she looks at me oddly

After some sign language and a bit of time, we’re duly signed in

We still don’t know our way, it’s the first time we’ve been

We head in the direction the clerk flapped his arm

We talk with a nurse, limited English, lots of charm

We’re soon in a waiting room, not sure why exactly

Hoping to see a doctor, but now Jim wants to flee

Waiting and watching, names being called one by one

Jim’s getting upset now and he really wants to run

His name is called by a Pakistani guy dressed in orderlies

Maybe now things will proceed much more straightforwardly

We talk to a nurse who finally understands

She barks orders in Arabic, the orderlies obey her commands

Soon Jim is lying on a trolley, his chest covered in wires

Breathing mask connected to oxygen. Outside we hear sirens

The nurse leaves. It’s just the orderlies and us

Jim, arms pinned down … he’s making a fuss

In broken English the orderly says “you must be still sir”

But Jim won’t listen. He continues to thrash and to stir

“You must be still sir,” but I take action and remove the mask

Jim looks panicked and takes an almighty gasp

He was suffocating. The oxygen tank had no air

No apology, orderly disappears out the room somewhere

New tank, mask re-attached so all is well

Jim looks wary, nervous. I can always tell

Turns out that the next tank was also used up

A third one arrives. Orderly gives no sign he screwed up

Now despite the trauma, Jim’s feeling much more at ease

His recovery has nothing to do with the local orderlies

Nothing to do with the Emirati medical system

The one that very nearly killed him

We love living here in the Emirates

That hospital may be one of our only regrets.

WHY CAN'T A MAN BE MORE LIKE A WOMAN? by Elaine

This one may need a bit of context!  

It's actually an answer to Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady!

Elaine explains ... "A woman in our writing group was moaning about her husband's housekeeping skills and someone said, 'Yeah. My Fair Lady got it wrong, Why can't a man be more like a woman?"