This week’s poem I wrote for Jon’s JVG Radio Method on 3RRR is a ripper.The topic for today is “RIP”. I cant believe that in 10 years of doing the show that it hadn’t been used.

Click to hear today’s poem… [audio:JVG_Poem20071118.mp3]

Jon and I spent most of our chat “neither confirming nor denying” the rumours that are flying around regarding the upcoming TRIPLE R BBQ DAY – You might want to keep SUNDAY 2ND OF DECEMBER free. I have been busy composing ditties especially for the event.

For the fans of “Rabbit” McGorry, he makes an appearance in today’s poem

Ed Bates once again fulfilling the appropriately summery backing obligations on slide guitar today.

Actually this week I want to feature a bit more Ed’s playing. Ed also plays slide for Dan Warner’s “Warner Corner” segment on the show. Today Dan did a great swing arrangement of Blondie’s “Rip Her To Shreds”. Ed ‘s playing really shines.

Have a listen here – [audio:DanWarner_RipHerToShreds.mp3]


RIP

“the hottest day of summer” spruiked the front page of “the sun”
one of the very rare occasions the bastards got it right
“the city melts” declared “the age” not to be outdone
the forecast from the bureau offered no hope of respite

it was “piggy” mills suggestion, as most suggestions were
while on a family outing, he claimed he’d found the perfect beach
he was considered, on things aquatic, to be quite a connoisseur
what “piggy”failed to mention, was it took three hours to reach

a bus, two trains, another bus, and then fifty minutes walking
the carriages like saunas, no air-con in those days
the only sound was panting, even “piggy” wasn’t talking
as we stumbled down the beach track like a band of castaways

an unusually timid “piggy” muttered, ‘just beyond this sand dune”
did his best at sounding cheerful, but we were having none of that
that dune became another, then another, and another
and another, then another, and another after that

with hope all but extinguished, was this our final mad crusade?
no other sign of life, not a single blade of grass
our “sunny boys” had melted and almost out of lemonade
when before us, like a postcard, appeared water, smooth as glass

we tumbled down the dune and fairly sprinted to the shore
competing for the honour to be the first to take a dip
turned out our celebrations were a little premature
more ominous than the dunes, a sign warned “danger rip”

we nearly murdered “piggy”, had him grovelling in fear
squashed jelly fish in his hair, while “rabbit” held his hands
we wet our towels and flicked “piggy’s” more than ample rear
then for maximum discomfort we filled his speedos up with sand

all afternoon we lay there like snags upon a grill
salty beads of sweat appeared, in an instant vaporized
the water like a mirror, teased, a very bitter pill
stranded on the beach, besieged by half a billion flies

the water looked so calm, not a ripple, not a sound
“rabbit” said that raisins were invisible to the eye
we suggested he meant currents, but “rabbit” stood his ground
his mother always said, “he was the orange of her eye”

we promised we’d be home by six, it was going to be a squeeze
as we trekked across the dunes we must have looked a sorry lot
our mouths as dry as dust, like a cracker without cheese
glowing red like lobsters, left boiling in the pot

on the track we passed an old bloke, he was heading for a swim
told him not to bother, he’d only waste his time
he looked somewhat bemused, then gave a knowing grin
then laughter as he told us the story of the sign

“everyday at six am, tom bates, the co-op boss
takes a swim down at this beach regardless of the weather
for sixteen years beside him was his dog, a kelpie cross
as game as he was loyal, but on the challenged side of clever”

“last thursday as they climbed the dunes, the old dog fell and died
the locals loved that mutt, and that he died close to the sea
he was dead before he hit the sand, his heart gave out mid stride
and the sign you read as “danger rip” says “danger (danga) r.i.p.”

© Copyright 2007 Ian Bland

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