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Open Poetry #10
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Melbourne Cup
| Open Poetry #10 |
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Melbourne Cup |
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Kethry Member Rara Avis
since 2000-07-29
Posts 9082Victoria Australia 
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Here in Victoria, that's the place I still reside We have a cuckoo custom that takes us all aside The first Tuesday in November, the jockeys all will ride And everyone is present, to see those horses slide We get a public holiday, most people think that's fine And for those not gambling, there are picnics serving wine The crowd is weird and strange for TV coverage they are vying But all heads turn to the post as the horses cross the finish line It is a huge occasion and everyone is there Flemington's the place to be, though people stop and stare Look there's a man who's wearing only underwear Near the course chook and champagne is the standard fare The horses off and racing, late afternoon the race By this time the hoons have gone, with sunburn on their face And all the police have turned out, to clean up this base On course,a betting spree begins to choose a win or place A race day of the nation, is what we always hear And Flemington's the place to be at this time of year A time of celebration, for punters who draw near And poor and rich alike do bet, and do it with great cheer. Although I love the holiday, for Tuesday mid week grin I understand in another place, a new president's battle will begin It's close, the polls show no sure victory, with no one romping in I'd much rather be in Australia, where a horse is backed to win Growth demands a temporary surrender of security. Gail Sheehy |
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| © Copyright 2000 Lynne Dale - All Rights Reserved | |||
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EagleOne Member Elite
since 2000-03-07
Posts 2829Between a laugh and a tear... |
Exactly!  "The heart and soul have no illusion of boundries when friendship is the quest" ~ My Angel. |
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SEA 
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 2000-01-18
Posts 22676with you |
Very well said! -SEA |
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Marge Tindal
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
Kethry~ Well ... at least you know by now who won !  Fun write, gal. ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ noles1@totcon.com |
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