Bernard Bolan


© Bernard Bolan

I stand before you tall and proud
And devilishly handsome too
Clear healthy skin , like porcelain
Big bones and eyes of blue
But I'm not just fair because my parents
blessings I display
Well-bred no doubt, but I didn't come about
In the usual kind of way

You see
I really am a wombat
I'm the latest kind of clone
They put me together 'cos they're very very clever
T'was thus my seed was sown
A gorilla they say gave DNA
To make my chest so good
With big, funny bits, and I don't mean tits
From the Aberdeen Angus stud
We went Gosh Golly! When a sheep called Dolly
Appeared upon the scene
Just a dear little lamb, so we didn't give damn
To wonder what it might all mean
Take a single cell, and jab it in a gel
Of genetically-enhanced mint sauce
No wham, no bam, no thank you ram
We've now got a nice new horse

Is that why I'm a wombat
I'm the latest kind of clone
A double dill, half Blinky Bill
Half Sylvester Stallone
Is that why girls caress my curls, and cuddle on the couch
Then suddenly change, and look quite strange
When they come across my pouch

Folk get into a flurry and start to worry
As to where this might all lead
But I for one think it's all great fun
There'll be more when we start to breed
Lots of little genomes sitting on the lawn
And bobbing in and out of cells
We'll soon have a rose that can count its toes
And a bull with big blue bells

But I'm not a blue gene baby
I'm the latest kind of clone
My wife has a head with a left-hand thread
And a built-in mobile phone
And if you think this song is silly
That the human race is pure
Just look at who's sitting next to you
You'll never ever be quite sure

© Bernard Bolan

Pop your heart into my pocket
Tuck my spirit up your sleeve
We've taken tea, we took our time
Now it's time to take our leave
We'll face our own tomorrows
But to help us when we do
Take a moment of me with you
And I'll take a touch of you

What Ho! old friend , we meet again and gladden both our hearts
Here's two old rhyming couplets from a verse that fell apart
Where the letters don't get written and the phone calls only tell
If you're in work , or back o' Bourke , but not if you're in hell
But no need for a health report, your handshake says you're well
A smile that shares the secrets that your words would never tell
We won't tell their latest jokes, we always make our own
In Beechworth, Bourke or Baltimore, it's like we just came home.

So pop your heart………..

Many are the good friends we've been blessed with in our day
Who helped us back onto the track, and warmed us on our way
But we don't give out guidance, 'cos we're hardly ever there
We have no pact, it seems in fact that all we do is care

We've known fears, we've lived our years and managed on our own
Gone different ways, some roads these days are better walked alone
But may the good Lord always guide our steps back
Safely on the way
To that old criss-crossing highway where we met again today

So pop your heart……………..

© Bernard Bolan

We are the Wahroonga Winos and we're meeting here tonight
And we know that tastin' rouge and blanc's not a matter of black and white
Our palates have been polished, our noses are refined
So now we're white and ready to be Rutherglen'd and Rhine'd

The fridge has been defrosted and the claret's corks are eased
The bread board has been breaded and the children all are cheesed
Young folk ye find don't fancy wine, don't seem to see the point
Just grunt in the gazebo with their vodka and a joint !

We all maintain a cellar which we've built up over years
Pop down each night and check it, and enjoy a few quiet beers
But don't think it's just the grog we like , No , not one little bit
It's the culture, and the –culture and the … culture sort of thing

My friends will bring a bottle that's the cream of every crop
So woe betide you if it's got a price tag from a shop
My wine is from the winery , selected from the bin
I only go to Liquorland when we run out of gin

Marcel's brought 2 Margaux-s; one's the wine and one's his wife
She wouldn't know the other if she had to save her life
Wives can be such a problem, like Gerald's woman Jean
Who last time round in bed was found with a bottle of Bailey's Cream

Pierre thinks the Pinot “speaks of somezing ratheur good(e)”
And it takes him half the bottle to confirm the use of wood(e)
And Marcel says his Margaux would be better with more body
At which Jean blinks , then nudge and winks and hands him
      A hot toddy !
     (watch those two)

But now my Epicurean friends have finished off the lot
They talked before of oak and straw, but now talk noble rot
The Tate's discovered Tokay, of which they're clearly fond
She undid all her buttons, he fell backwards in the pond

So now , at last, they've all gone home, I think I'll have a beer
I find it cleans the palate , gets my thinking nice and clear
But it's not the lure of liquor, No! The very thought appals
It's the culture ,Yes the culture. Yes- of talking utter balls !

© Bernard Bolan

The Springtime does strange things to setters
As Digby the dog will attest
The prancing of paw down the driveway
The Woof and the puff out the chest
The notion that next door's old tom-cat
Sleeping at peace in the sun
Would accept a wee nip on the bottom
In the spirit of frolicsome fun

That day this great truth I heard from my pet
As I took what was left of him off to the vet

I suppose upon sober reflection
That wasn't a wise thing to do
That cat's rather a pest , he's removed both my testes
And various other bits too
To seek volunteer vivisection
When I could have let sleeping cats lie
I ask upon sober reflection
Why Why Why?

I'm Bullimore, round-the-world sailor
I'm tired of the telly, and life
They waved me goodbye, on the jetty they cried
My kids and my long-suffering wife
Now I'm south of Tierra del Fuego
Hobart's the next nearest town
I'm getting quite chilly, and I feel rather silly ,
My boat has just turned upside down

In a wet tin can, in a force 10 gale
I told this great truth to a passing whale

I suppose upon sober reflection
I did not take the optimum course
My plan that first day was just twice round the bay
This will probably mean a divorce
Australia has sent half its Navy
The world doesn't want me to die
I ask upon sober reflection
Why Why Why?

Is your Worship a football supporter?
If so, you should not look askance
That they found me that way, on Cup Final Day
In the fountain without any pants
I'd been drinking Jack Daniels since Thursday
Still was when the police van arrived
So you question my plan, though your worship's a fan
Of my generous offer to drive

Now I'm stuck in a cell and I don't feel too well
My tum's playing up so this great truth I tell

I suppose upon sober reflection
That wasn't the wise way to go
Goodbye my old grog , Farewell to the fog
A clear wind is starting to blow
This road takes a different direction
Now I laugh so much more than I cry
And I know upon sober reflection
Why why why !

© Bernard Bolan

I've got a dog called Ferdinand and a big fine fellow is he, you see
He's got a woolly coat and a pedigree of note and what's more he loves me and he
Is very, very clever and I postulate you never ever saw a dog with quarter of his sense
And if you're not in a hurry let me tell you of my worry 'cos my Ferdinand is plagued with flatulence
Ho ho ho and a ha ha ha and a hum hum hum hum hum!
From his head to his tail he's a champion chap if it wasn't for his bum
So , to the vet I go, but he says "No" when I ask can they cut his bottom off
So its ho ho ho and an oh, dear me and a cough cough cough cough cough

As an aging yuppy I got a little puppy of a somewhat specialised species
I got used to his ways in those early days, his foibles fads and faeces
And my friends that met him would pat and pet him, all took him to their hearts
But their faces every second showed that they had never reckoned with his faculty for flatulation

Ho ho ho ……..
He never knew his father but I think that he would rather think he didn't get the habit from his mum
Because a lady, I mean, is like your cap or the Queen, they're supposed not to blow off
Never hum hum hum ……

I used to take him with me everywhere like last week's Book Club Lunch
Where we all scrape and grovel and crucify a novel with a singularly scaly bunch
I had to leave the hall for Nature's call, "Not be a jiffy" I said
When I got back to my seat, they were mostly in the street and the ones that were left were dead

Ho ho ho ……….
Now I have to leave my dog at home even when I visit my mum
Because though she has got blocked sinuses, when Ferdinand kicks off
Even she goes hum hum oh dear me and a cough cough cough cough cough.

I took him to the vet 'cos I thought I'd let the experts have a try
But when they started to thumb my Ferdinand's tum, a glazed look came in his eye
And when they lifted his tail my face turned pale and I wished that I was not there
Now Ferdinand's no better and the poor old veterinary surgeon's in Intensive Care

Ho ho ho ……..
Now the rates have dropped in the houses and shops that are downwind from his bum
I think a champion he'd be if the judge could ever see, but their vision seems to go right off
As they all go hum hum oh dear me and a cough cough cough cough cough.

He's now quite famous, he's been written up in the New York Times and Tass.
Last week, old Colonel Ghadaffi said that if he'll join his staff he'll make him Minister for Poison Gas
When we go out for a walk I wedge a cork in the middle of his trouble spot
Last night in the park, when he let out a bark two nannies and a Nun got shot.

Ho ho ho ….
I love my hound but you'll see why I'm found so often looking glum
Because the rest of my life will be constant strife while my mates all snigger and scoff
As they all go hum hum oh dear me and a cough cough cough cough cough.

© Bernard Bolan

So it stands to reason , and so it runs to rhyme
That this matter of things mending
Merely takes a little time

The fettler's fixed the engine so we'll soon be on our way
The captain says he's sorry, he regrets the short delay
One moment in a lifetime made as easy as can be
The banker here has had his beer, I've had my pot of tea
And so it stands ……

That plane across the tarmac flew in from some foreign strand
Where former friends and families fight, though no-one needs their land
And elsewhere hot-head holy men of diverse gods and creeds
Speak less of love than liturgies, and bitterness, and beads
And so to whom it may concern, ye fierce and fiery folk!

When will ye please lead kindly light and make ye please less smoke
And so it stands to reason and it stands out by a mile
That the happening of healing has to wait a little while
And so it stands…….

So if I sing of darkest days and all the love I've seen
Don't seek for suspect substances or maudlin magazines
Oh no , old friends, my dearest loves, you don't need me to say
Who waited and who willed me on that I might sing today
Your love holds sway this lovely day, please pass it down the line
That the process of repairing takes the tempering of time.

And so it stands to reason, and so it runs to rhyme
That this matter of things mending
Merely takes a little time
A little time
A little time

© Bernard Bolan

I've got a cat called Basingstoke, he's a cat you must admire
He's black and white, or he was 'till the night that he jumped into the fire
What a night! The tale it must be told
So grip your seat for you're in for a treat that will make your blood run cold.
Basingstoke, he used to be so furry
Till he tried to kung-fu the canary.
Up he jumped soaring ever higher

Then the soaring stopped and down he dropped
In the middle of the fire
In flames and smoke my Basingstoke went roaring round the room
His fiery tum and his blackened bum appeared to spell his doom.
What a cat! Whoever would have guessed
He could stick his rear in a pint of beer while beating out his chest.
Basingstoke, he truly is a trier.
It takes guts to sing when you're on fire
What a cat!
You should have seen him strain
Stuck like glue in the bottom of the loo and trying to pull the chain

Now life's no joke for Basingstoke so runs the ugly rumour
That the fiery hob did not just rob him of his sense of humour
Poor old chap! The prospect it appals
Just one jump and down with a bump
And he's burnt off all his undergrowth.
Basingstoke, his tale is truly tragic
Fire and smoke, they have robbed him of his magic
The former spring-pawed terror of the tiles
Just sits and sighs with tears in his eyes
'Cause he only raises smiles.
Basingstoke, he used to be a charmer
Now ladies joke, they talk of fried banana
Poor old chap! He was too young to retire
Once he was happy, handsome and hairy
Just a red-blooded pussy with a taste for canary
Now he comes somewhere between a fritter and a fairy
Since he walked the fire.

© Bernard Bolan

"Eric Bogle once said:
'And I thought I was half mad until you started
writing songs about turtles running banks.'
He's probably right." - Bernard Bolan

I've got a little pet and his name is Frank
He's always very wet, 'cos I keep him in a tank
In my office, in a city bank,
A long-necked turtle is my little mate, Frank.
A long-necked turtle, his mother called him Myrtle,
'Til he started doing what a Myrtle doesn't do
But the bank's been booming since he came on deck
'Cos he isn't just a pretty face and one long neck.

I got him as an egg at a very early age.
I thought he'd be a budgie, so I put him in a cage.
Got a little ladder, and a little bag of seed,
And a book on budgies for my wife to read.
When she saw him hatch out, she saw there was a catch out -
"Funny bloody colour, and he's got four wings!
"Isn't very cuddly, in fact he's bloody ugly,
"Falls off his ladder, and he never sings."

But once in my office, and swimming in his tank
He soon became immersed in the business of the bank
Noted each deposit, and every payment made,
Who was overdrawn or who had not been paid.
He continued learning,
soon he showed a yearning
To influence decisions that I had to make.
So if you were penniless and had a loan to take
His neck would waddle and his head would shake.

Last week, Frank created quite a stink
When his pocket calculator went upon the blink
Banging on his window, water everywhere,
Threw his bowler hat in my maiden hair.
Soon he got a better one, albeit a wetter one
Back in business was my little mate Frank.
Tap tap tapping, he was underway,
We took over Westpac the following day.

Very soon the profit of the company had soared.
Frankie was appointed as the Chairman of the board.
A company tank with water weeds and lights
A little lady turtle to warm his nights
When he started wooing, nearly brought us ruin
His mind was of'n'on the job, - and he was too!
But the phase soon passed, and we all gave thanks,
Now there's lots of little turtles, little Franks and Myrtles,
Shaking and a'nodding all the livelong day.

So if you're having trouble with your banks,
Be sure to be kind to the turtles in the tanks.
And if you get your money, you can all give thanks
To the little Myrtle turtles and their long-necked Franks.

© Bernard Bolan

I can't say that I don't love you today
Even though, better it were so.
I can't say that I don't want you to stay
Even though, well I know, best you go away.

Is it you , or just the number of years
Thus makes my heart to break.
Is it sad, or just a number of tears,
Who can know, but even so, tears their toll can take.
Songs may say, Regret rien.
Ah mais, je regret beaucoup
Too many times, too many days,
Too full of me and you.

Would though I could know that time would deaden the pain,
For wise men surmise that this is so.
And if I knew why blue sky turned one day into grey,
Easier then, to touch your hand, turn and walk away.

Is it you , or just the number of years
Thus makes my heart to break.
Is it sad, or just a number of tears,
Who can know, but even so, tears their toll can take.

© Bernard Bolan

I talked with a weevil I met just today
He was chewing my cherry tree to shreds
I said " Please now pause and present me with cause
As to why I don't punch all your heads "
He said "Please sir see , this is my family tree
For my ten thousand kids and my wife
And let me say anyway, as you reach for the spray,
It's just one way of living your life"

It's just one way of living your life
Not the best not the worst
Not the last nor the first
Some days may be blessed
Then sometimes they seem cursed
Maybe next time around we'll be better rehearsed
It's just one way of living your life

I bid him good day and I went on my way
And I pondered on what he had said
That he was just he and, like me and my tree
We were all better living than dead
Now I don't love weevils but they don't eat me
And the tree says it don't give a stuff
So maybe I'll learn when I slash and I burn
To know when enough is enough

I ran into the street , a fine girl I did meet
I said " Come , let us roll in the hay "
She said " But my husband's there mowing the lawn
Would it help if we said you were gay ?!"
I said "Well I'm not, but I don't care a jot
What the world and the neighbours might say
You often find rules are concocted by fools
Who can't see that there's more than one way
More than..


So if you ever feel down or you're the talk of the town
Just remember my weevil my loves
Whether my tree you're chewing or under it screwing
Just be sure you're in heaven above
And if you don't conform to the neighbourhood norm
Or the world starts to sharpen its knife
Just hold hands and sing that the tiniest thing
Each has one way of living its life
More than…

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