September 2

This is Father’s Day

This is Father’s Day

Waking up at 5:45
To the whimpers of your 3 year old
Crackling through the baby monitor
Finding your slippers in the dark
Because you forgot to plug in your phone
So now you have no light to guide you
Shuffling through the cold house
Sneaking into her room
Trying not to wake her
Seeing that her kid feet
Are tangled in her sheets
And her bunny is out of her reach
You peel back her doona
Untangle her feet
The brief moment of cold
Causing her to stir
You quickly tuck her in snug as a bug
And place her lost bunny
Into her empty arms
She hugs it close
Snuggles into her doona
And in the dark you hear
The sweetest sound
“Thank you daddy”
You shuffle back through the cold house
With those three words warming you
Better than slippers ever could

This is Father’s Day

 

(37)

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June 12

Betty Botter’s Batter – An expansion on a classic

From Wikipedia:

Betty Botter is a tongue-twister written by Carolyn Wells. It was originally titled “The Butter Betty Bought.” By the middle of the 20th century, it had become part of the Mother Goose collection of nursery rhymes.


I used to be into tongue-twisters as a kid and my favourite was “Betty Botter”. The version I committed to memory was:

Betty Botter bought some butter. “But”, she said, “This butter’s bitter. If I put it in my batter, it’ll make my batter bitter. But if I buy a better butter, it’ll make my batter better.” So Betty Botter bought a bit of better butter and that made her batter better.

A nice tongue-twister, but not very exciting. She has a problem with some butter and she just goes out and buys a replacement.

Well, I thought I might be able to expand the Betty Botter story a little bit. Here is what I came up with…


Betty Botter’s Batter
My expanded version of a classic tongue-twister

Betty Botter bought some butter, “But”, she said, “This butter’s bitter. If I put it in my batter, it’ll make my batter bitter. But if I buy a better butter, it’ll make my batter better…

But Betty’s brother Buddy Botter said, “Why not try adding water?”

So Betty Botter blended bitter butter with a bit of water that her brother Buddy brought her. But no matter how much water, the bitter batter wasn’t better. All it was was a bit wetter.

“Wet and bitter batter isn’t better!” Betty barked, but before her brother said rebuttal, Betty’s mother butted in. “I’m sure it could be a bit better. Why not add bit of feta? Salt’ll balance out the bitter, and absorb a bit of water.”

Then Betty’s father Mr Botter contributed to the banter. 

“Back when I was but a boy, my best friend Billy’s neighbour’s, barber’s brother was a brilliant baker. He always bragged he blended better with the best electric beater. Your broken, busted baby beater is why your batter isn’t better.”

Though it sounds bonkers, Betty Botter couldn’t let this batter beat her. So Betty, bartered, begged and bought a brand new, bright blue, Breville beater! Then with the best electric beater she beat the batter mixed with feta, blending water Buddy brought her in with bits of bitter butter.

And in the end this beaten blend of wetter, bitter, feta batter, was just plain bad and Betty muttered “I shoulda bought a better butter.”

Her brother Buddy smiled and bade her, “Come on Betty, don’t be bitter.  Sure we botched a basic batter, but we’re blessed with something better… You see, what matters is not batters, but bonding with our fellow Botters.”

THE END

(134)

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April 13

“When Santa Shared the Gospel” – a sequel

“When Santa Shared the Gospel”

A sequel to “When Santa Learned the Gospel”.


When Santa shared the gospel, he went first to Easter Bunny.

He wasn’t sure how he’d respond – if he would find it funny.

He wasn’t sure if he would scoff, or if he’d turn his back.

In truth, he had just no idea how Bunny might react.

But Bunny was a friend of his and so what could he do?

The gospel had transformed his life. It could bless Bunny too.

The gospel had led him to Christ and he’d been born again.

So Santa knew he couldn’t keep this good news from his friend.

He loved his friend and had to share he was a new believer,

But he didn’t want to jeopardize their solid friendship either.

And so when Santa knocked upon the Easter Bunny’s door,

His heart was filled with hope and fear (but fear a little more).

The Easter Bunny greeted Santa with a smile of joy

“What brings you ‘round?” He laughed, “Or have I been a ‘naughty boy’?”

“Well funny you should say that.” Santa said as he sat down,

“I’ve actually had that whole system of thinking flipped around!”

“I’ve got something to tell you. I feel awkward. A bit scared.

I know I don’t know all that much, but what I know, I’ll share.”

So Santa shared the gospel. It was simple. It was short.

And when he stopped he couldn’t tell at all what Bunny thought.

He worried he had caused offense. Was their long friendship wrecked?

But then his friend said something Santa didn’t quite expect…

“That’s great.” smiled Easter Bunny. “Yeah, I’m really glad for you.

You probably didn’t know, but guess what? I’m a Christian too!”

“What news!” cried Santa joyfully, “This must be brand new, is it?

How’d you learn about the gospel? Did my elf friend pay a visit?”

The Easter Bunny laughed, “Nah, my folks are Christians too!

I was brought up with the gospel. I’ve always known it’s true.

I attend my local church each week, and mid-week Bible Study.

Hey! Now that you’re a Christian, we can be church-going buddies!”

At this Santa was puzzled. He’d known Bunny now for ages.

He’d never seen him go to church or turning bible pages.

He’d never heard him talk of Christ or sharing the good news.

And Bunny said, “Look Santa, I can see you’re quite confused.”

“See, I’m not much of a talker. Definitely no evangelist!

I’ll answer questions if I’m asked, but if not, I won’t insist.

My philosophy is simple. It’s a saying I once heard:

Preach the Gospel at all times. And if needed then use words.’”

“I like that motto. Words are hard! I’d rather preach through deeds.

And so instead of talking I’ve been sowing subtle seeds.”

“Like, you know how every Easter I make you a hot cross bun?

Well, I hoped that cross might vaguely point you the ‘Jesus’ one.

And the eggs I paint each year are symbols of the resurrection.

I guess I hoped you’d see the subtle gospel-rich connection.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Santa asked, shaking his head.

“Well, I didn’t want to force my faith upon you.” Bunny said.

“I had really hoped to ask you if you’d come to church with me.

But for years I’ve just been waiting for the opportunity.”

“Oh Bunny”, Santa sighed, “I’m sorry that you felt that way.

I understand you feeling awkward but there was no need for delay.

The gospel has the power to save, you shouldn’t feel ashamed!

You’re the Easter Bunny after all. The gospel’s in your name!”

“When I first learned the gospel, I was told it by an elf.

Her example showed me all you need to do is be yourself.

There’s no need to be clever. Don’t have to try to sell it.

You don’t have to be subtle. All you have to do… is tell it.”

“Look, I’m all pretty new to this, so don’t think I’m comparing,

But if Jesus is alive, my friend, that’s good news that’s worth sharing!”

“You’re right,” said Bunny sheepishly, “I’ve wasted time I know.

I could have shared the gospel with you years and years ago.

“Well, no regrets!” smiled Santa, “Let’s go out and celebrate!”

The Easter Bunny grinned and said, “You know what? That sounds great!”

His bunny eyes were twinkling as fresh joy brightened his face,

“And while we’re out how ‘bout we go swing past Tooth Fairy’s place?”

(1330)

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December 13

MaGloon’s Balloons – A Poem

magloon

 

I love the way the Scottish say a word with double O’s.

It has such length, such gutsy strength. I’ll show you how it goes…

(say the rest of the poem in a Scottish accent)



MAGLOON’S BALLOONS

A poem by Simon Camilleri

written 6/5/2010

One afternoon, Lachlan MaGloon was driving to the Melbourne Zoo.

His young nephew was turning two and he was late, so off he zoomed!

Inside his BMW he had a bunch of blue balloons.

He’d give them to his young nephew as long as he could get there soon.

But as the Zoo came into view, the blue balloons across him flew!

He canna see through! They blocked his view! So blindly he sped to the Zoo.

With a mighty BOOM he crashed right through the front gate to the Melbourne Zoo.

The guard said, “HEY YOU!! You canna do that, you must park and then pay too!”

But like a hoon, Lachlan MaGloon sped off into the busy Zoo

Past kangaroos and cockatoos and lions left looking confused.

Right past emus and turtles too and lizards with their tongues of blue,

Straight past gnus who just said “moo” and doves so scared they lost their “coo”.

Past brave baboons who flung their poo, but none could stop his journey through.

Until he reached the Court of Food, or “food court” as it may be known by you.

The children screamed as at them he flew. What was Lachlan MaGloon to do?

He couldn’t see! He has no clue! Those darn balloons still blocked his view!

He slammed the brakes, while praying to the God he knew would see him through.

His screeching BMW crashed to a halt as if by glue!

Now bruised, confused and woozy too, with messed hairdo and one lost shoe,

Lachlan MaGloon emerged to view his car just missed his young nephew.

“It’s you! It’s you!” cried his nephew who round his neck his arms he threw.

Then from the car Lachlan MaGloon, retrieved the bunch of blue balloons.

The crash had sadly popped a few, but when he viewed the smile of a boy aged two,

Despite all he’d been through,

yes he knew it was true,

he was glad he had come that day to the Zoo.

(2320)

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November 1

The Florist, The Baker, The Photograph-Taker

gay-cake-northern-island

Rub-a-dub-dub,
Two men feeling snubbed,
For some can’t join their celebration.
A florist, a baker,
A photograph-taker,
Declined their wedding invitation.

It was not born of hate,
It’s just when they create
For them there is no separation
‘Tween their work and their art
And their conscience and heart,
Such that they feel it’s participation.

Now you might think their stance
Is misguided perchance,
But if “tolerance” is your expectation,
Don’t be butchering bakers.
Don’t be livelihood takers.
Lest tolerance ain’t your motivation.

(1311)

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Category: Poetry | LEAVE A COMMENT
June 10

The Man in the Moon – a poem

man in the moon

 

The Man in the Moon

a poem by Simon Camilleri

 

Let us pause and consider the Man in the Moon,

For he glows with a light that isn’t his own.

Created to shine in the darkness of night

By reflecting the glory of another’s light.

 

For it’s by the sun’s light that the moon can be known

And it’s by the sun’s light that its beauty is shown.

It’s the sun that now holds all the orbits in place.

If the sun let it go it would be lost in space.

 

Yet the man in the moon wishes he could break free.

He thinks of his orbit as like slavery.

Every lunar eclipse, to the earth’s furthest side,

The moon tries to escape, and like Adam he hides

 

In the shadow of earth where he thinks none can see,

And there in the dark, he declares “Now, I’m free!”

“Now it’s my time to shine. My own light fill the skies!”

So he tries to shine light. Yes he tries and he tries…

 

But he can’t. He’s a moon. Not a sun. Not a star.

And you can’t be enlightened lest you know what you are.

Still as the moon’s orbit from the earth’s shadow slips,

The moon vows to try harder, the next lunar eclipse .

 

The moon is a fool. Just like you. Just like me.

There’s a reason why madness is called “lunacy”.

The moon thinks he’s so big and the sun looks so small.

If he only could see the sun’s not small at all.

 

Even to us on the earth, they both look the same size.

But it’s due to perspective, it’s a trick of the eyes.

You could fit 64 million moons in one sun!

Yet the man in the moon thinks that he’s “Number One”.

 

So later tonight in the moon’s bright reflection,

Do your own reflective introspection.

See the man in the moon. Cos if you can,

You’ll see that the moon is there in the man.

 


 

“I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen:

not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.”

– C.S. Lewis

 

(1250)

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February 4

#LETTHEMSTAY – a poem

letthemstay


#LETTHEMSTAY

~

Through dark and watery passage they arrive

With empty hands, for all that they possess

Is the desperate desire to survive

And the beating heart within their chest.

~

They have not come because they had a choice.

Where else on earth are they supposed to flee?

They have no power, no freedom, no voice.

They come to us like an innocent refugee.

~

But will they find upon their journey’s end

A welcome home? A door open or closed?

Will they meet an enemy or a friend

When our shared humanity is then exposed?

~

Sure, this is our home, and this is our life,

And they have arrived uninvited,

But how can we turn our backs to their strife?

We can’t close our eyes once they are sighted.

~

Will we insist on our right to turn them away,

Condemning them unto a watery tomb?

Or will we hashtag “let them stay”

For those tiny refugees in the womb?

~

(1394)

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May 1

The Death Penalty in Australia – a poem

crosses

THE DEATH PENALTY IN AUSTRALIA
a poem by Simon Camilleri

I weep as lives are taken

By a law so cold and strange.

I wonder why the government

Has not done more for change.

I shake my head at such a waste

Oh, what their lives could give!

Who knows what good they could have done

If they were free to live?

I hope one day we’ll value

Every life as having worth,

And learn that killing will not solve

The problems of the earth.

So do you #standformercy?

And will you stand with me?

And will you weep as lives are lost

Due to this tragedy?

Well, just before you answer,

Let me clear something please…

I’m not talking about the deaths

Of Aussies overseas.

Though stopping the death penalty

In Bali’s a good cause,

We have a worse injustice

Right at home upon our shores.

It’s Australia’s own death penalty.

Abortion is its name.

And every single year

100 thousand lives it claims.

I weep as lives are taken

By a law so cold and strange.

I wonder why the government

Has not done more for change.

I shake my head at such a waste

Oh, what their lives could give!

Who knows what good they could have done

If they were free to live?

I hope one day we’ll value

Every life as having worth,

And learn that killing will not solve

The problems of the earth.

So do you stand for mercy?

And will you stand with me?

And will you weep as lives are lost

Due to this tragedy?

(1567)

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February 2

One More Year – a poem

Simon 37

 

ONE MORE YEAR

a poem by Simon Camilleri on his 37th birthday


Today I turn 37
One more year closer to heaven
One more year further from birth
One more year of life on earth

One more year to live this life
One more year to love my wife
One more year to raise my baby
Four more months to get sleep… maybe

One more year to serve and bless
To write the scripts for GSF
To direct a great carols event
To help guys fight the elephant

One more year to know God’s grace
To grow in love and hope and faith
To each day live closer to Christ
And daily thank him for this life

I’m 37 for one more year
Yikes… 40 is now feeling near

(1456)

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August 12

A Poetic Reflection on Robin Williams’ Death

robin_williams_img_704

Robin Williams (1951-2014)

Another sad and tragic case
Of outward smiles and funny face
Hiding a pain no one could hear
Over the laughter, praise and cheers

Two times divorced would take their toll
Depression, drugs and alcohol
He slipped into a darker hole
He’d gained the world but lost his soul

But wipe away the comic mask
And deeper questions there you’ll ask
Is what this world will call “success”
Enough to cover up our mess?

The crowd’s applause his talent brought
His breathless death has now made naught
He has escaped only to run
Before an audience of One

Farewell Robin, you made me laugh
But now I’ll weep on your behalf

(2389)

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