Archive for May, 2015


I offer this in all respect, and gratitude, of all that have followed this blog, this ‘anonymous’  Voice. As I declared from the outset, tis not who the writer may be, but how the words  live,,,,,,,

Enjoy at your leisure my friends, and thank you for travelling with this Voice…..

May your Matilda Awake…..:)  xxx

Foreword by PROF. DENIS RYAN

MATILDA AWAKENING

Prose , Songs and Musings

By

Kevin F. Quarrell

2010

Foreword by Prof. Denis Ryan

Edited by: Damian Brett

Published by: Matilda Counselling Services

Copyright Notification

Title: Matilda Awakening

Subtitle: Prose, Songs and Musings

Author: Kevin F. Quarrell

Published by:

Matilda Counselling Services

Cloghala

Dungarvan

County Kilkenny.

Republic of Ireland.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,performance,broadcasting, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author,

except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review. All public or professional usage must be referred back to the Author.

Copyright © 2010 by Kevin F. Quarrell

First Edition, 2010

Self Published in the Republic of Ireland, Australia, United States of America, and the United Kingdom.

DEDICATION

FOR

These works are dedicated to those people that have experienced life in all its forms, and have still managed to carry on. You know who you are, and yes, maybe, just maybe, it was worth it all.

It is for any lover of the written word, and for anyone that ever wanted to have their voice heard,

We all have experience; and an internal desire to share our thoughts

It is to you, through your sharing, that I become alive,

And it is through your time in reading these works that I feel my heart has been seen.

And through this, I experience my

Matlida Awakening.

Thankyou

Kevin F. Quarrell

EPIGRAPH

 

 

“Shoot straight you bastards. Don’t make a mess of it”.

 

 

Harry (Breaker) Morant

_____Executed soldier and poet

Matilda Awakening

Prose, Songs and Musings by Kevin F. Quarrell

Table of Contents

Title page………………………………………………………………………………………………i

Copyright Notification…………………………………………………………………………….ii

Dedication……………………………………………………………………………………………..iii

Epigraph………………………………………………………………………………………………..iv

Table of Contents…………………………………………………………………………………….v

About the Author…………………………………………………………………………………….vii

Acknowledgements………………………………………………………………………………….viii

Disclaimer……………………………………………………………………………………………….ix

Glossary of terms………………………………………………………………………………………x

PROSE, SONGS AND MUSINGS

How Beautiful You Are………………………………………………………………….1

The Who Is He Man………………………………………………………………………4

When The Tide Rolls In………………………………………………………………….7

Vote For Me…………………………………………………………………………………8

Prospecting The Truth…………………………………………………………………..10

The Dentist………………………………………………………………………………….13

An Exercise In R.E.B.T……………………………………………………………………17

The Number 4……………………………………………………………………………..19

Wishful Thinking………………………………………………………………………….20

The Desperate Client……………………………………………………………………22

In Memory of Packie Peters………………………………………………………….24

What Does It Mean To Be An Australian…………………………………………25

The Letter From A Childhood Sweetheart That Time Could Not Forget.31

Philosophy by Llerrauq Nivek………………………………………………………..34

Three Wishes………………………………………………………………………………37

Nag, Nag, Nag……………………………………………………………………………..42

Little Child………………………………………………………………………………….44

The Shearer’s Yarn………………………………………………………………………45

Ol’ Man Walking…………………………………………………………………………55

The Institution……………………………………………………………………………57

Philosophy Book 2 by Llerrauq Nivek…………………………………………….58

Inside My Mind…………………………………………………………………………..61

The Recollection…………………………………………………………………………65

The Songcatcher…………………………………………………………………………67

A Christmas Reflection………………………………………………………………..71

Ruby, Ruby,………………………………………………………………………………..73

Sorry…………………………………………………………………………………………74

Tomorrow Is Just A Breath Away………………………………………………….75

When You Are Near……………………………………………………………………76

Hello Mr. Butterfly……………………………………………………………………..78

Is It?………………………………………………………………………………………….80

Never Meet Your Hero………………………………………………………………..82

Another Year……………………………………………………………………………..84

You…………………………………………………………………………………………..85

It Feels Like Sunshine………………………………………………………………….86

Insomnia……………………………………………………………………………………87

Philosophy Book 3 by Llerrauq Nivek…………………………………………….88

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kevin Francis Quarrell was born in 1964 in the bay side city of Geelong, Victoria, Australia. He is the second youngest of six children, and spent his childhood days dreaming as most kids do. He first began poetry and song writing at the age of nine and has continued to explore both crafts ever since.

At the age of twenty one he quit his job as a carpenter to pursue his dream of discovering his homeland of Australia, and it is upon these travels that his love of culture was instilled. His love of the Northern Territories brought him back to the tropics where he met an Irish girl that was soon to become his wife.

They resettled in the Republic of Ireland in 1992 and have two children. In 1998 whilst working on a building site, he was nearly killed in an industrial accident, and this was soon to place a strain on his marriage, and as a consequence he became separated from his wife. He continues to reside in Ireland.

He needed to re asses his life and now works in the field of counselling where he holds a B.A Hons Degree in Counselling and Psychotherapy.

It is through this work that he now tries to help other people find a way to discover their Matilda Awakening.

 

 

 

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To Ms. Elizabeth Kett. None of what I have achieved today could have been possible without you in my life. I hope the words in this book can be a testament to you and show others what can be achieved through a simple act of kindness. Thank you for allowing me to swim in you.

To my lovely beautiful children, Jack and Sally, you drive me on, and I drive you mad, but hopefully one day you will understand that we all must drive toward our dreams.

To Professor Denis Ryan, thank you for your kind words and putting your name to this book.

To Mr. Damian Brett, your capacity for semantics has been invaluable, a comma, a colon, to you.

To Mr. Charlie McGettigan, a chance meeting has borne many fruits since, being witnessed and heard cannot be underestimated, and to be inspired by such an accomplished writer is my absolute privilege.

To the people that these works are about, thank you for allowing my heart a way to express my feelings.

To Mum, Brian, Tony, Mick, Jen, and Bill. Soon we shall share the broken bread again around the one table.

And finally, to Mrs. Avis Quarrell, my great aunt. May your legacy live on through many and may I do justice as one of its anointed carriers.

DISCLAIMER

Warning—Disclaimer

This book is a collection of prose, songs and musings by the author.

All works are entirely original and resemblance to the works of other writers, journalists, academics or performers is purely co-incidental.

Every effort has been made to ensure that this book has been proof read and edited to an acceptable standard. However, any typographical errors that may occur shall be deemed, non malicious and accidental, and furthermore cannot be held as the responsibility of the author.

None of the works in this book have been plagiarised, and in the event of any similarity to other works, or accusation therein, legal advice will be taken on behalf of the author in order to protect intellectual property rights and creative integrity

The book is for entertainment and educational purposes only. The author and publisher shall have neither liability nor responsibility to any person or entity with respect to any loss, damage, or offence caused, or alleged to have been caused, directly or indirectly, by the content contained in this book

If you do not wish to be bound by the above disclaimer, you may return this book to the publisher for a full refund.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GLOSSARY OF TERMS

The following glossary of terms are contextualised to the authors works. On occasion these terms may be found to have other meanings. The definitions that follow are given to assist the reader in better understanding their usage within the text. Any ambiguity or misinterpretation is entirely unintended and accidental.

Canyons: A ravine, usually formed by rivers or rainfall over millennia. Ordinarily, dry and accessible by foot.

Gorges: A ravine which is essentially a canyon with a river flowing through it.

Golden Rule: A rule deemed more important than most.

Dixie’s scent: Refers to the air of the land of Dixie. A farm land where my father was reared.

Terang: A country town in rural western Victoria. Australia.

Redback: A small spider of the widow family. Deadly and venomous. Similar in appearance to the black widow of America, however it is native to Australia. It is distinguished by a flaming red streak displayed upon its abdomen.

Eucalypt: A native tree to Australia.

Walscott: A reference to a street name.

Giddings: A reference to a street name.

Khaki: A colour associated with work or military uniforms. It is usually referred to as being a hybrid of yellow and brown, thus forming a ‘burnt’ looking green.

Hat of the sunburnt ear: Refers to the Military ‘slouch’ hat worn by Australian servicemen. The left hand brim side of the hat was pinned upwards to the main body of the hat with the badge of the Anzac soldier. Thus giving a brim up, brim down appearance and potentially causing one sunburnt ear. This look was adopted by the Anzacs to distinguish themselves from other allied nations.

Present arms: In this context the term is used to call for volunteers to the services.

Fluke of birth: Refers to the lottery that was used to conscript Australian soldiers to the Vietnam war. Servicemen were conscripted by their date of birth.

Cats: The Geelong Football Club. A founding club of the Australian Football League. The mascot of the club is the cat.

Pavarotti: A world renowned Tenor.

Corryong: A rural town in Northern Victoria. Australia.

Boort: A rural town in Midland Victoria. Australia.

Camperdown: A rural town in rural western Victoria. Australia.

Hume’s pipe: A two metre concrete pipe stituated on a stand two metres above ground level. It was the symbol of the Hume’s pipe factory wish we used to play in when we were kids.

Kokodo’s track: A jungle track in New Guinea which claimed the life of many Australian servicemen during the second world war. It has now become a tourist destination for the more then adventurous tourist.

Ruck rover: A player in an Australian Rules Football team

Black and whites: The colours of the Guernsey of many Aussie Rules teams. Vertical stripes of black and white.

Kamikaze: The Japanese fighter pilots that sacrificed their lives in combat rather than surrender.

Rabble: Generally refers to a disorderly group of people.

Up sped: A play on words in order to rhyme. Sped up is the context.

Blue shirts: Refers to the Fine Gael political party of Ireland. Known as the ‘blue shirts’ since the foundation of the state.

Greens: The universal terms used to describe the Green Party in politics.

Left wing pinkos: A term used by Mr. Charlie McCreevy of Fianna Fail in Irish politics. Essentially it was referring to any one in opposition to his policies as a governing finance minister. A derogatory terms not dissimilar to ‘bleeding hearts’ or ‘do gooders’.

Wet behind the ears: Refers to enthusiastic people who may not have yet gained the gift of wisdom.

Prospecting: A mining term that depicts the endeavours of a freelance miner.

Terranian: A word of poetic license. It means of land, terrestrial.

Mother lode: The ultimate find for any prospector.

Midas: The Greek king of Phrygia. Bestowed with the power to turn everything to gold by a simple touch.

Smite: To cause pain or affect deep feeling.

Halitosis: Bad breath

Interred: Imprisonment of an individual without trial for the protection of society

Family jewels: A slang term referring to the testicles of a man.

REBT: Rational Emotive Behavioural Therapy. An approach used in psychotherapy founded on the works of Dr. Albert Ellis

Maradonna: Argentinean soccer player regarded as one of the best to ever have played the game

Madonna: Female pop artist that liked to court controversy.

Madonna: Religiuos Icon. The mother of Jesus Christ. The spiritual and universal mother to many.

Chesney Hawkes: Pop star.

Togs out: Refers to putting on the colours of your team.

Lionel Ritchie: Black American pop and soul singer.

OCD: Obsessive compulsive disorder.

Freud: Sigmund Freud. The father of psychoanalytic therapy.

Rogers: Karl Rogers. The creator of Humanistic therapy.

Perls: Fritz Perls. The originator of Gestalt therapy.

Travolta: This refers to John Travolta, American actor, who made his breakthrough in Saturday Night Fever, a movie about disco dancing.

Down Under: An affectionate term for Australia.

Skink: A small slender harmless lizard.

Gecko: A lizard found in the tropics, and very at home on household ceilings.

Cricket: A black grasshopper that emanates a sound like a whistling purring cat at night time.

Cicada: An stout bodied insect that likes to live in trees. Their drone is usually heard in the afternoon sun before sunset and is symphonic at times.

Wattle: The botanical emblem of Australia. To my understanding its botanical family is the Acacia. It colours are green and gold and are represented as the colours of any Australian sporting team.

Indelible: Permanent, cannot be removed or erased.

Paterson: Andrew Barton’Banjo’ Paterson. Author of ‘Waltzing Matilda’ which is accepted by many Australians as their unofficial national anthem.

Jackie Howe: A shearer from the 1800’s. Unless I’m mistaken he still holds the record for the most amount of sheep shorn in a day using hand shears. This stands at 321 sheep. The traditional navy blue singlet that was worn by the shearer, is affectionately known as a ‘Jackie Howe’

Matilda: ‘Banjo’ Paterson coined the phrase: ‘Who’ll come a waltzing Matilda with me’. A ‘matilda’ refers to the ‘swag’ or the belongings of the swagman. The bushman traveller. I see the term as a symbol of one’s life, and find myself frequently using it in this context. If you were to look into my swag, my belongings, you would see my life. Therefore I see Matilda as meaning life.

Eden: The biblical garden where all of life began.

The dreaming: The Aboriginal spiritual force.

Billabong: A pool of water, usually caused by the overflowing of a river or stream. A kind of inland lagoon whose life source is from a nearby flowing river.

Fair dinkum: An Australian slang term, it means Is that true?

G’day: Australian slang for Good Day, or Hello.

Have a go: Usually pronounced, ‘Aveago’. It is the core principal of Australian culture. It embodies its history, its present and its future. It basically states, Don’t worry if you get it wrong, or if you’re afraid, just try anyway. To not’have a go’ is an anathema to the true Aussie.

Lest we forget: The last line of the returned soldiers prayer.

Anzac: This is an acronym. It represents the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps.

Southern cross: The dominant constellation in the southern hemisphere. Represented on the Australian flag.

Melbourne cup: The biggest horse race in Australia, held on the first Tuesday of November.

Lawson: Henry Lawson, along with Paterson, one of Australia’s finest wordsmiths.

Simpson and Donkey: Simpson and his Donkey are revered in Australian history, They risked their lives and placed themselves in peril in order to rescue fallen and injured soldiers in the battlefields of World War one.

Tiger snake: One of many venomous snakes in Australia and at times a little bit too social in rural communities.

Roo: An abbreviated form of Kangaroo.

Rules: A slang term meaning Australian Rules Football.

High bloody horse: A position referred to as a person being on a bit of a rant or taking the high moral ground in a conversation.

Mcdowell Stuart: One of Australia’s early pioneers. The Stuart highway which travels from south to north in central Australia is named after him. This highway is over 3000 klm’s long and follows his pioneer trail.

Blackfella: A colloquial term used in northern Australia that refers to an aborigine. In my experience in the North this was not an offensive word, moreover a part of acceptable language. The white population were referred to as whitefella. In the southern states of Australia the use of the term ‘blackfella’ may be seen as derogatory.

Anneas Gunn: The female author of ‘We of the Never Never.’ Anneas ‘Jeannie’ Gunn was one the outback’s first ladies. Her book documents life in a hostile environment that was predominantly occupied by pioneers and frontiersmen. The place known as the Never Never is an area now known as Mataranka Homestead. She coined this phrase as a way of saying that this land, this place, casts a spell and you never, never, want to leave.

Never never land: Refer to Anneas Gunn

Monkey Mia: A bay on the coast of outback Western Australia where dolphins will swim amongst swimmers, completely naturally.

Gagadju Bill: A custodian of the national park known as Kakadu in the Northern Territory of Australia. Unfortunately he is now deceased. Gagadju is the aboriginal pronunciation of the anglicised word Kakadu. I met him once by pure chance, what a moment, what a privilege.

Uluru: The largest monolith in the world situated in central Australia. An aboriginal sacred site. Formerly known as Ayers rock.

Sheila: A colloquial term used by Australians to describe a woman. My understanding is that it stems from the convict days when many women that arrived to Australia were named Sheila. This then became an affectionate  way of describing a woman that you didn’t know the name of.

Pome: A Pome in the modern day is an Australians way of referring to anybody that comes from England. There is some debate as to its origin, however it’s posited that Pome is derived from the print on the convict shirt which bore the letters P.O.M.E.  This was meant to label the convict as Prisoner Of Mother England.

Bairn: A Gaelic or Scottish word that refers to children.

Poppies: A perennial flower that grows tall compared to its stem. Successful Australians often lament the ‘tall poppy’ syndrome which refers to anyone that is perceived to be achieving and forgetting their roots.

Lonsdale’s point: Point Lonsdale is a seaside town that swells with summer visitors. A beautiful location that graces Port Phillip bay on the Victorian seaboard.

Colac: A rural town in the western district of Victoria. A hub to many of the satellite towns and villages.

St Helens strand: An idyllic beach within the city of Geelong. Victoria. Australia.

Fidelity Hall. A small hall in the city of Geelong, which I believe was originally used for trade union meetings.

Kookaburra: Native Australian bird that is part of the kingfisher family. Known for its call, which is affectionately referred to as the ‘Kookaburra Laugh’. The Kookaburra stands around 25 cms tall and there are two varieties. The most common being the brown, yet in the northern climes there is a blue wing variety which is stunning to behold in flight.

Kimberley’s range: A rocky mountain range that resembles an escarpment in places. Situated in the tropics of western Australia, sometimes it is the only company you will have on a long outback drive.

Dreamtime: The essence of Aboriginal culture. It is earthen and spiritual. To call it a religion would be disingenuous. However this metaphor may be the best way to help others to understand. My interpretation of the Dreamtime is that it is omnipresent. It is a higher power and we are always connected to it. It is a giving spirituality that offers fruits on your journey in life and comfort in the crossing to the dreaming It is a teaching, a learning, and a being, all in one.

Llerrauq Nivek: A pseudonym. He purports to be a much misunderstood antipodean philosopher, one of his favourite expressions is; ‘if you take time to reflect, you will find the answer’.

Niggers: A word that is usually used in derogatory terms toward African American by non black people.. Its origin stems from the word Negro. It is considered highly offensive to use this word in the era of the new twenty first century. It’s usage here is meant to cause no offence in its context.

Honkies: A word that is usually used in derogatory terms toward white Anglo People by predominantly African Americans. I am not sure of its origins but I offer an understanding that it has something to do with the Honky Tonk bars run by whites and exploitation of black musicians in particular occurred. I am open to correction on this.

Guiness: The Traditional Stout brewed in Ireland.

Ronan keating: Pop Artist.

Kerry Blue: A Terrier Dog that has a jet black tight wired coat. In certain light it’s coat will shine blue.

Ipod: Device for holding and replaying electronic music files.

Doggy bag: Traditionally known in restaurant circles as a bag that contained unfinished portions of meals that patrons would treat their family pet with.. In the context of this song, it is his dinner and he can go and eat it outside because he was late home.

Wag: Early twenty first century term describing the partners of wealthy footballers. Wives And Girlfriends.

Lid: This refers to a hat, as in, something that you place on top. So as a shearer you always needed a ‘lid’ to protect yourself from the sun.

Jumbuck: Australian slang for sheep. Origins unknown.

Deck: The floor where all shearing activity took place.

Not to shabby: Slang for, a reasonable effort or standard.

Tar boy: A young boy, too young to shear, that would apply tar to a sheep that had incurred a cut. This was believed to quicken healing and reduce contamination of the wool.

Critter: A generic slang word to describe any animal form of nature, although some humans are not spared this moniker at times.

Squatter: A land owner.

Bludgers: A layabout, a taker and not a giver,

Tally man: The man employed by the squatter to calculate work done in order to calculate wages earned.

Dung. Dried animal poo.

Gun: In this context a ‘gun’ refers to a ‘gun shearer’. This is a term that generally describes anyone that can shear more than two hundred and fifty sheep in one day using hand cutters

Dunny: An Australian word for toilet. Traditionally it was an outside toilet.

Moonshine: Any form of illegal alcohol.

Black cigarettes: Illegal tobacco.

Three score and ten: A measurement once used in times past. Equivalent to seventy. Still found in modern day poetry

Oxymoron: A phrase or word that is contradictory. E.g. ‘deafening silence’

Usain Bolt: The fastest man to run the 100 metre sprint.

Mona Lisa: World renowned painting by Leonardo Da Vinci.

Eiffel Tower: Famous Parisian Landmark.

Rubik’s Cube: A puzzle game that swept the world in the 1980’s.

Dalai Lama: Tibetan Sage. Purported to be chosen by the Gods and to hold many of the wisdoms of all men.

Darwin: Charles Darwin. Scientist and founder of the theory of evolution by natural selection.

Bungee: An elasticised rope.

Chippie: Australian slang for a carpenter.

Brickie: Australian slang for a bricklayer.

Spark: Australian slang for an electrician.

Songcatcher: A word that came about from a conversation with my brother. It describes the kind of people that take interest in retelling history or events. Some people create an experience and some people record the experience, some people do their best to retell a memory, the song catcher will share the experience as close to truth as possible.

Ya: Generic term for You.

Caracticus: King Caracticus. A really enjoyable, playful song by Rolf Harris. A quintessential Australian.

Apoplexy: a result of lack of oxygen to the brain.

Craic: An Irish word used to define fun of the highest order.

Tuesday’s Child: This is a reference to the song by the Rolling Stones. Goodbye Ruby Tuesday.

HOW BEAUTIFUL YOU ARE

How can I say that you’re beautiful?

What words or deeds can fit the bill?

Is it my smile whilst in your company

or is it some love magic inducing pill

That lets you know I mean what I say,

And that it can only ever be the fool,

Who can’t see that nature itself even knows, just how beautiful are you.

Is it possible that I have grown blind

thru the time travelled year upon year

Or do the rose tinted glasses that I wear

show everything so clear

Do I long for you still, because I’m on my own now,

or do I long for you from a heart that’s true,

Only you will judge these words that I write that say how beautiful are you,

I’ve crossed the globe and seen the world,

been lucky even when my luck seemed out,

I’ve seen nature display like a peacock in spring,

and have not thirsted within its drought.

And of all the canyons, gorges, rivers and seas,

of the great desert under the dome of blue,

Beautiful as they surely may be, they are only a reflection of you.

How can I say how beautiful you are?

It’s like asking how long is a piece of string,

Of all the words in this language we know,

you’d think I could find one to describe what I’m feeling,

Pretty, kind, funny and sexy,

yes they are accurate,

but still not quite the tool,

That can explain to you how much I think that you are so beautiful,

Perhaps beauty is just there,

like a testament to the simplicity of existence,

It’s about being in the presence of something

that drives us all to sing and laugh and dance,

It remembers you, even when you don’t,

and it never seeks a toll,

It can’t be bought or traded or copied, it belongs to the heart and the soul,

So somehow, I guess I’m trying to say,

That I don’t know much about the golden rule,

All I know, is I recognise ,

When something is beautiful,

So I offer you this, as best as I can,

Think of me as a night time star,

Look up and remember me,

In the universe,

Still searching for words,

That describe

How beautiful you are.

With love always,

Kev. Xxxxx   16/05/2010

WHO IS HE, THE REASON WHY, WE ARE HERE TODAY?

A tribute to Brian Lindsay Quarrell  30/10/09

By Kev Quarrell

  1. Born of simple folk in the post war years, where Dixie’s scent would occasionally blow by,

A western boy with the blood of Terang, where his ancestor’s bones and his childhood still lie.

A place where shearin’ men could still be found, where soldiers returned to still build their nation,

A redback in the woodpile, the eucalypt, the open Aussie air, were his formation and foundation.

  1. Then a move when young, to the suburban working class, where houses are lined in the street,

It became the home of the ‘who is he? man.’ And he quickly found his feet.

He’s lived in Walscott, and lived in Giddings, where the magpies always sang

Where he chipped his tooth on the backyard step, and he spilt the blood of a boy from Terang.

  1. He grew to be a lovely boy,……. according to his mum, but my memory of him as a man I know had barely just begun.

For just as he reached maturity, I had just learnt to walk, and I suspect he held me when I cried, and he probably watched me like a hawk.

  1. But there’s a photo of this ‘who is he man?’ that will speak more words than mine,

It’s a photo of when he was full of character and life, of a young man in his prime.

A khaki uniform, worn of many great men, with the hat of the sunburnt ear,

Just a smile that said,” You can count on me, today, tomorrow, and next year”.

  1. Then the call came to present arms, and only by fluke of birth, did this ‘who is he man’ stay at home, whilst friends and comrades left this earth.

But he soldiered on within that void, where that song of gratitude and sorrow rang,

And he carried himself, with a dignity that flows deep in the blood of a man from Terang.

  1. So from his Service days and Hippy ways he went on to build a career,

I suppose that’s the bloody reason why for the ‘who is he man’ we’re here.

He gettin’ on, his hair’s all gone, and if he smoked can you imagine how short he would be?

And he yells for the Cats like ten men would, like a student of  Pavarotti.

  1. From Koriyong to Boort, to Camperdown, and all the way to New Guinea and back,

From falling out of Hume’s pipe, to completing Kokodo’s Track.

When taking a role in a country play, he was never a shrinking violet,

And as a ruck rover for the black and whites he was like a Kamikaze pilot.

  1. So, who is he? This ‘who is he man’. The aforementioned words don’t really suffice

No, they’re, just a sample, or an attempt to describe, so let me give you this advice.

This man is where he is today because he has a quality that you cannot buy,

He has faced challenges that would paralyse us all, but he refused to lay down and lie.

  1. Who is he? This who is he man. Well in conclusion this is what I offer,

He’s the kind of man that holds you near, that helps others to help people proffer,

He seeks no gain, above his fellow man; moreover he’s like no other,

He’s a friend, and I’m one in five,

that is proud to call him my brother.

WHEN THE TIDE ROLLS IN                    by Kev Quarrell               27/05/09

Sittin’ on the beach as the tide rolls in, Soakin’ up the sun, and just feelin’

There’s no place I would rather be

The warmth of the sand, the fresh sea breeze, Holding your hand, feelin’ at ease,

Oh, How I wish everyday could be, like a day by the sea.

CHORUS

Skippin’ stones, laughin’ and talking, the sound of the surf and sea gulls squawking

Oh, it’s the best feelin’ that’s ever been,

A seaside kiss, a warm embrace, the white water making it a magical place

I just wanna be there with you, I just wanna be there with you,

Oh yeah, I wanna be there with you, when the tide rolls in.

Sharing time, being with each other, the shoreline calling like a long lost lover,

There’s no place I’d rather be,

Feeling the calm and tranquillity, feeling the warmth of your beauty,

Oh How I wish everyday could be, like a day by the sea,

Chorus

Skippin’ stones, laughin’ and talking, the sound of the surf and sea gulls squawking

Oh, it’s the best feelin’ that’s ever been,

A seaside kiss, a warm embrace, the white water making it a magical place

I just wanna be there with you, I just wanna be there with you,

Oh yeah, I wanna be there with you, when the tide rolls in.

BRIDGE ( and a very poor one at that) (sample from I can see clearly now)

Look all around you nothing but blue skies,

Look all around you nothing but Blues skies,

CHORUS

VOTE FOR ME      by Kev Quarrell    27/05/09

You know who I am, I’m the government man,

I’m your local representative, that’s who I am.

I’m your foot in the door to the master plan,

Vote for me.

I listen to your trials and your tribulations,

I hear your complaint about the state of the nation,

There’s only one way to rid this infestation,

Vote for me.

Chorus

 I am the man who will bring you the party plan,

You will benefit if you just trust my integrity,

All the men and the women in the opposition,

Should be held to account by an inquisition,

They’re a rabble, they’re a fraud,

They’re hopeless, there a hoax

Vote for me.

I know that you mother doesn’t have a bed, she’s lying on a trolley with a fractured head,

If you want this situation to be up sped

Vote for me

The opposition policy of previous times has left this lovely country so far behind,

My party and I, will see this refined,

Vote for me,

Chorus,

You sit in your car in a traffic jam, too many hours to work and back home again,

This was all created by the previous man,

Vote for me

Your opinion of this government, is sadly misplaced, you know our intent,

My party, and I, are 100 percent,

So vote for me

Chorus

I know I promised you a bed for your health,

Low income taxes, the rest by stealth,

The system is designed to generate my wealth

Vote for me,

I don’t give a damn about the social tension,

No tribunal in the land will ever catch my indiscretion

I’m only in this game for my minister’s pension,

Vote for me.

……they’re a rabble, they’re a fraud, they’re hopeless, they’re a hoax, they’re blue shirts, they’re greens, they’re left wing pinko’s, they’re wet behind the ears, they haven’t got a hope,

Vote for me, vote for me, vote for me……..Vote for me!!!!

 

INSOMNIA

 

Well I just try to skip and jump, and I always come down with a thump,

And I can never figure out why the clock is always reading 4 a.m.

And I try to go to bed with all the thoughts I have in my head,

But I just can’t help it,

It’s just the way I am.

PROSPECTING THE TRUTH

Walking innocently through the forever winding roads of life,

I arrived at a stop sign, or is it more of a road block, perhaps a detour, To be honest it seems more like a calling, a seduction, a promise of serenity,

Like a terrainean mermaid’s siren beckoning me to her breast.

 

The valleys and vales that have welcomed and challenged me, in equal measure,

Have been but just mere obstacles and occasional refuge on my journey,

As I prospect for the truth,

My prospecting, never focused, nor deliberate, but always curious,

Has revealed many gems, and a thousand more disappointments and false dawns,

 

One hundred failings can only fulfil the belief that the mother lode is nearby,

Just under the surface, or midway on the rise of the valley,

Lying peacefully undisturbed like the beauty waiting for the princely kiss, she lies there

Waiting in anticipation, to give the touch bestowed upon her, by Midas,

Upon my life.

 

Prospecting for the truth, becomes a tragic, obsessive pursuit, that can render me blind and weary,

And smite my senses to the very presence of the miner’s grail,

The idiocy that prevails in determination, serves only to highlight the capacity of the fool and not the perseverance of the man,

 

For he would be alive to the knowing through experience, tribulations, triumphs and travails,

If he were not so consumed with the prospecting, as to the prospect

Of the truth.

 

And yet she lies there, in tranquillity, ready to blossom as the eternal poppy, ready to flower  as only beauty can,

For she is the truth in all its form.

Alas she is caged and cannot be free until the prospector finds her,

For only then will she live and only then will he have found an end to his searching,

 

When my eyes opened, when my heart held the rhythm of the land,

When my ears heard only the siren of angel,

And my feet could not move,

I found myself at this stop sign,

You were there, before me, I was captivated, spellbound,

Like a drunken sailor I couldn’t resist the allure,

And as a prospector I knew its worth,

I offer you my kiss, and although I am not royal, I feel as a king amongst men,

And as you break free from your cage, I will lay my shovel down,

And prospect no more,

For I have seen and found the truth

In you.

By Kev Quarrell 10/05/09

THE DENTIST

Original poem by Kev Quarrell   16/06/09

Well I woke up in the morning, with an aching wisdom tooth,

And my wisdom told me, that I had to take, the dreaded route,

To my local dental clinic; which I had avoided for twenty years

And if I recall my last experience, I’m still reduced to tears.

I was thirteen years of age, and I was dragged there by my dear ol’ mum,

The plaque upon the door said; Dr. Blood. Dental Surgeon.

He had wispy hair growing in his ears, and halitosis to beat the band,

A cold sore on his lip and a festering wart on his left hand.

He said, “Come in, Come in, sit up in the chair, let me take a look in your mouth,

His eyes were like a compass, one looking east, one looking south,

And as he reached for the hypodermic needle, I saw the blood stains on his shirt,

He smiled a grin, like a fox does rabbit, saying, “Relax, now, this won’t hurt”

That needle went in, and went in, and went in, it felt like the pain would never end,

Dr Blood said, “Oh I’m sorry, I’ve missed the spot, I’ll have to do that all again”

I took a drink to rinse my mouth of the overshot anaesthetic,

And in the cup, was someone’s teeth, and I proceeded to be sick.

“Oh me oh my”, said that dental disaster, “not another patient feeling ill,”

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up in a minute, now lie back again if you will.”

Well the smell was just horrendous, and that was just from his breath

Five minutes in his dentist chair, was less preferable to death.

He stuck me once, he stuck me twice, and on the sixth attempt he got it right,

I was a thirteen year old pin cushion that was strapped in good and tight,

My mouth went numb, and then my ears, and then my fingers and toes

He said “You should be feeling numb now” as a sneeze escaped his nose.

He reached across for the drill, and the life drained out of me,

We were about to dance the dance of ages to the dental symphony.

My knees began to rattle; my temples began to pound,

My heart skipped a beat or two as I heard that dreaded sound.

The drill went ‘zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz’, I went, uuuuuuurrrrrrgggghhhh, he said “Relax, this won’t hurt a bit!!”

The drill continued on,  zzzzzzz, zzzzzzz,  zzzzzz, I mumbled, “ I tpink  ur a Lubatic!” ( I think you’re a lunatic in numbed mouth speak)

“Dr. Blood, please stop, I tried to yell, “Please stop” I tried to blurt,

“Just sit back and try to relax young man, I promise you this won’t hurt!”

“So are you going anywhere for your holidays?” he asked, and I answered uuuurrrgh and aaarghhh,

“Did you see the game the other night?”    This guy is a loo lah!

Mmmmmm, I see, yes, uh huh, that’s right,    I haven’t even said a word.

If I had the law upon my side I’d have this nut interred!

Then I heard those words, those sweet, sweet words, I thought would never come.

“You’re a great boy, and very brave, I think that we are done”

“Sit up, take a rinse, and when you’re feeling ok, give me a sign,

And I’ll strap you back into the chair, and do the other nine!”

Well I had been put through the pain barrier, as if it was the barrier of sound,

And nine more times with this butcher would not see me hanging round

So I grabbed him by the family jewels as if my life depended on it,

And said “Relax; now Dr. Blood, this won’t hurt a bit!!!”

His southern eye headed north, his eastern eye had gone west,

His cold sore burst a blood vessel, and he was looking all distressed,

I told him we were finished now, and as my grip tightened to stress my view,

And he said “Mmmmm, uh huh, I see, that’s right.” And I disappeared from view.

And so twenty years on I make the trek, to the scene of trauma passed,

And the pain in my wisdom tooth has brought, the memories back so fast.

Now Dr. Blood, has long retired, but alas, I’m still driven completely insane,

For the plaque upon the door today reads; Surgeon. Dr. Payne.!!!!

APPENDIX 3

AN EXERCISE IN REBT

The following is a transcript of an exchange between a therapist and a young man named John. The therapist is Eggbert Allis, the inspiration behind the development of REBT.

John: “Good morning Dr. Allis.”

Eggbert: “Is it?”

John: “Well I think it is….”

Eggbert: “ You think it is? What makes you think it is a good morning? Where is the evidence?”

John: “Well…I …er….the sun is shining, I’m here on time, and I am here to work through some of my problems…”

Eggbert: “That seems rational enough. Yes the sun is shining, you are here on time, and you are in the right place to work through some of your problems. So all in all, it appears to be a good morning.”

John: “Er, yes.”

Eggbert: “So what is your problem John?”

John: “My father..”

Eggbert: “Your father? Or is it your relationship with your father?”

John: “Well, it could be both; you see my father never seems to give me enough time.”

Eggbert: “Is it your father or is it time that is the problem?”

John: “I see,….maybe it’s time…”

Eggbert: “But surely you have as much time as anybody else, so why is this a problem for you?”

John: “ I know I have time, but I want to spend more of this with my father….I need to communicate with him, let him know what is going on in my life, seek his wisdom, just have fun together and so on…..but ……he is always so busy with his work.”

Eggbert: “Have you tried talking to him?”

John: “I have, but he just asks me questions all the time and doesn’t let me say what I want to say.”

Eggbert: “So you do spend time with him then?”

John: “Well,…er….yes,….I suppose I do.”

Eggbert: “If he is so busy, working to make a living, provide for his family, to pay the bills etc, why should he neglect all this responsibility just to spend more time with you?”

John: “I see what you mean.”

Eggbert: “Maybe you should make an appointment to see him, contribute to his time instead of taking from it.”

John: “Yes, yes, I think I could do that; that sounds like a good idea.”

Eggbert: “I’m am sure if you were to pay for his time you would view the time you have for free with him in another light, don’t you?”

John: “Yes, I can see what you mean. I think I can work with that Dr. Allis, thankyou.”

Eggbert: “Not at all. You have done good work today John. Come back next week and let me know how things have progressed.”

John: “O.K. I will…….. Thanks Dad!!!!!”

N.B. This is a humorous take on a session of REBT. It includes elements of the ABC model by identifying the problem, acknowledging rational beliefs, indentifying and disputing irrational beliefs and setting of homework through an active directive dictate by the therapist. Although this may appear flippant I believe it to be an accurate example of how Albert Ellis believed humour could sometimes demystify the way we perceive certain situations. I was encouraged to submit this piece by my lecturer.

THE NUMBER 4

The number 4, the jersey worn, of many a player on the field,

The number 4, that says defence, has your back and won’t ever yield,

The number 4 asks you only one question, and that is, to try your best,

Our number 4 is our first to leave, and so we lay this jersey to rest.

 

Let the numbers worn from one to ten, or twenty, or whatever your number may be,

Remember the number 4 of our son, brother and friend, the man called the ‘one and only’.

To claim him as our Maradonna  would be travesty to folklore,

For his moves belonged more to Madonna, and Chesney Hawkes, did our beloved number 4.

 

But remember this; no club can ever be a team, without a number 4 that togs out and turns up,

A number 4 that knows every loss and win, every medal and every cup,

A number 4 that is there with you, training in the mud and cold and rain,

A number 4, that’s shared your laughs, and stood by you in your pain,.

 

So today one of our numbers has kicked his last ball,

And will play the game no more,

Let every game, this club ever plays,

Remember our number 4.

By Kev Quarrell   24/04/2010

In memory of Mr. Patrick ‘Packie’ Peters R.I.P.

In Memory of Packie Peters.

I want to heal the pain,

Take away the darkness near.

And although I know that sometimes I lose,

 and other times I gain,

My strength can’t overcome the fear,

 

I want to feel the laughter,

Take away the tears I cry,

And although I know there’s a here and now,

 and a happy ever after,

My will to live can’t overcome, my will to say goodbye,

Sleep easy tonight, and rest your soul

For my soul now sits easy and I’m in peace,

The darkness has gone from my life now

And I rest in heavens arms with ease

Let no search for answers or the pursuit of why

Be the harbour for sadness to sing,

Just let it be,

 and know that I’ll return to you,

In every daffodil,

 in every spring.

By Kev Quarrell 22/04/10

God bless Packie, May you rest in peace.

THE DESPERATE CLIENT

 

Apparently I’ve got OCD, I’m manic and depressed,

All my problems, if you talk to Freud, are sexual and repressed.

Rogers would stay there with me, exploring why I feel rejected,

And Perls would have me ‘talk to a chair’, and they say I’m the one affected!

With the therapist, I umm and aaah, my body language like a mime,

My attempts to transfer my problems are rebuffed each and every time,

I’m adult, I’m child, I’m parent, my past becomes the here and now,

I’m more confused than I ever was; I wasn’t looking for ‘why’ and ‘how’.

I dance around my issues like Travolta on Saturday night,

I fidget with my hair and hands, my eyes twitch left and right,

The counsellor looks straight through me, like a cat would stalking bird,

And I wonder if a condescending nod amounts to being heard.

I’m told that I can’t change the past, but that I can surely learn to cope,

So I begin to explain my predicament to this psychiatric Pope,

I try to discuss the issue, but my heart begins to sink,

I stress I’m looking for an answer and then I’m asked for ‘what I think’!

‘You’re making terrific progress’; as I wipe the tears I’ve cried,

I feel despair and disbelief; I’m being taken for a ride,

‘I wasn’t crying half as much until that door I came through,

If this is your idea of progress, then I’ve got news for you!’

‘You’ve told me my childhood was abusive, that my teacher was a bully,

My desire for nicotine and alcohol has been explained to me quite fully,

My head is spinning, I think I’m losing ‘it’, I don’t know where to turn,

I feel like running out the door, but you have the answer that I yearn.’

‘So, taking all this into account, with your highly tuned listening skills,

I remind you that you’re here for me, to facilitate my wills,

When I came in through your door today, I had just one question on my mind,

I’ll agree I’m lost, but I’m really o.k. Tis’ the toilet I wish to find to find!!!!!

Kevin Quarrell          16/02 /07

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE AN AUSTRALIAN

28/07/2010 Kevin Quarrell

What does it mean to be an Australian, how can I explain that I come from Down Under

Well it lies in my knowledge of mother being, both nurture and nature, of feeling the heartbeat as deep as thunder.

Perhaps it’s just lying lazily in the searing sun as skinks and geckos swift and flit upon lava stone

Or the appreciation of the cricket’s night time song, or the cicada’s evening drone

 Is it the giveaway sign of calmness that cloaks me when I smell the sweetness of the wattle

Or the friendly humour that emanates whence I consume burnt sausage and cold bottle

 

What does it mean to be an Australian, to come from this great vast land,

No black, nor white, or Asian man can ever refuse her hand,

Her tattoo is left indelible, and yet there is no visible sign,

Sometimes the only way you can ever know, is when I say, I’m proud to be Austral-i-yne

Is it my love for Patterson, is it because I still wear a Jackie Howe,

Maybe it’s a fact that after twenty long years from her shores, my matilda longs for her still somehow.

 

What does it mean to be an Australian, well let me try to give you some

Kind of example that lets you know what it’s like to feel as one

Of her children; one of her flowers, one of her seeds, that has survived desert rains and flooding drought

How sometimes her power can put you in that place where you have to stop and think it out

She is the Madonna, the Eden, the Dreaming, the promise that will never yield,

And for those that seek to find her, shall find her fruits, in every river, mountain, billabong and field

 

What does it mean to be an Australian, what does it really mean.

Is it ‘Fair dinkum’ , G’day, or ‘Have a go’ or does it carry a deeper seam?

Is it the ‘Lest we forget’ when the sun rises in the east, and remembering the Anzac brother

That gave me the freedom to see each Australian as an equal to each other

Is it the realisation that in her gain there is always a tandem loss,

Or that the heavens that we pray to are lit by her beautiful southern cross

 

What does it mean to be an Australian, maybe the meaning is the same for every earths son,

Is it the fact that were continental, and islanders, all in one,

Is it the blood on our hands, or the hereditary frown, or the twinkle of the loveable rogue,

As he sneaks a drink from the Melbourne Cup, or is it the twang of our convict brogue,

Perhaps Lawson defined us all, as bushmen that were great pioneers,

Or maybe it’s the story of Simpson and Donkey, that lets us overcome our fears

 

What does it mean to be an Australian; well maybe Mother Nature speaks it best,

She allows you to succour like a new born child upon her native breast,

But she carries a fury, a devils curse, a retributive power, that daren’t not be foresaken,

The rules that which her land runs by, are not for the unawaken,

No…., Mother.. Mother Nature here, is the vessel of life, beauty and sin,

She’s the sound and colour and smell and touch that is every Australian

 

What does it mean to be an Australian, sometimes it’s rhythmic connection to season,

It’s the feeling of being Australian in the beat of every season,

It’s the knowing of the redback, the tiger snake and roo,

It’s the knowing  that no matter where you are there’s still an outdoor loo,

It’s cricket on a summer’s day, it’s rules if your born in Vic,

It’s Rugby, up in Sydney’s Harbour, It’s warm beer that makes you sick,

 

What does it mean to be an Australian, well far be it from me to cut a long story short,

So whilst I’m up on my high bloody horse, let me tell you about the sort,

Of things that I identify with, that makes me feel like I’m one of her sons,

It’s McDowell Stuart,it’s the blackfella, it’s the drovers on their runs,

It’s the spirit of Anneas Gunn, the lady of Never, never land,

It’s the dolphins at Monkey Mia, the cave art of Gagadju Bill’s hand

 

What does it mean to be an Australian, it’s about falling down and never losing face,

It’s about growing away from your family, and remembering your base,

The true Australian, the one that you know, possesses a heart as big as Uluru,

And arms that stretch to coasts east and west, as a welcome for just you,

She is a Sheila, and he is a Pome, and there’s many other names that sit therein

But you will know one when you meet one, for there’s one thing Australian

 

It’s the one thing that defines Australians, it’s unique to all her bairn,

All traits are carried by her nature’s gifts, by all her women and men,

From her deportees to her free settlers, there’s nothing to keep them apart,

It’s the place where tall poppies can grow and be cut down for a fresh new start

It’s the land of eternal hope, that offers to every child, woman, or man

It’s my red dust patch, my matilda’s awakening,

That’s what it means to be an Australian.

 

Kev Quarrell

Original piece 01/08/201

THE LETTER FROM A CHILDHOOD SWEETHEART THAT TIME COULD NOT FORGET

From Lonsdale’s Point, to the Colac plains, to the salted air of St Helen’s Strand,

The images dance around in my mind like some far flung fairy land,

I recall a letter once passed to me in the car park beside Fidelity Hall,

And although time has faded my memory somewhat, this letter still has me in its thrall.

It was back in a time when such letters were penned, when innocence was still treasured,

Your hand had scrawled those simple thoughts, each word most heartfelt, and most measured.

We were just kids then, growing up in a different age, when a ‘crush’ represented love eternal,

And through my journeyed life I know now, that love cannot survive without a ‘crush’ as it kernel.

My mind wanders now and finds your smile, and I find myself self smiling at the thought,

It’s as if a rainbow shines out from your inner heart, it fills the room with the sort

Of warmth that can never be matched by anything man could ever make,

No, it’s your smile, which could stop any man, and cause his heart to break.

The sweet scent of the eucalypt; and the sweet song, of the kookaburra in season,

The whisper of the bay side waves, exist for just one reason,

You see, if I had never met you, then how could I ever understand or recognise beauty,

I thank you for this special gift, for you are in everything beautiful I see.

Your beauty knows no confines; it’s far greater than Kimberley’s Range,

No opal, emerald, sapphire or diamond could match it in exchange,

The Dreamtime Gods if given a say, would claim you as their own,

You are a queen amongst all women, and beauty is your throne.

I write you now simply because courtesy and etiquette demand a reply from any letter,

So here I am, thirty five years on, I suppose better late than never,

And as our lives move on, through the challenges, I hope you know I haven’t forgot

that day in Fidelity’s car park, when your letter stopped my heart like a clot.

I read it once, and twice, thrice more, until its edges became frayed,

And although life has been kind at times, it’s there I wished I’d stayed.

Knowing that somebody could love you, and had the courage to tell you so,

Is a gift that comes only from beauty, and you are the reason why it is beauty that I know.

Back then I was just a boy, today I am a man,

and the thought of you still fills my day as only someone like you can.

I think of you, your beauty, just like an ANZAC as he quietly watches each sunset,

This letter, though late ,is sent with love ,

To a childhood sweetheart that time could not forget

x

with love,

Kev Quarrell 18/12/09

PHILOSOPHY

By Llerrauq Nivek

  1. Once bitten, once stupid.

 

  1. Never walk alone, but always be prepared to do so.

 

  1. If you are lucky enough to live a long life, don’t wait to find out.

 

  1. When you meet people that turn you on, don’t turn them off.

 

  1. Achievements are only possible with the knowledge of loss. Otherwise how can you know that you have achieved.

 

  1. Self belief is not a crime; it is the very thing that drives us on to keep searching for peace.
  2. Celebrity may offer the promise of fame and fortune, reality offers more.

 

  1. Music is the language we use to say what we can’t speak, it is earthen, spiritual, loving and healing, and in these moments we need no words.

 

  1. Niggers are black, honkies are white, and my piano harmonises perfectly.

 

  1. When you meet somebody that is evil and nasty, maybe they are reflecting yourself, or maybe, just maybe, they are evil and nasty.

 

  1. They say that drinking alone can be bad for you, so in the future order your pint with two straws.

 

  1. Shit happens, before breakfast, or after breakfast, shit happens,

 

  1. So you may dream to be the king of the world, what will you do when you get there?

 

  1. Every child is an adult in waiting, sort yourself out, lest they become like you.

 

15.Nothing beats being a kid, jam sandwiches, colouring books, and Bob the dog, look at your life and shake quietly as you realise you’re still a kid, but without the innocence.

 

  1. God bless the drunken uneducated white racist brought to safety by the black paramedic.

 

  1. Aspiration is the first step to perspiration.

 

  1. Writing a novel is easy, believing you can do it, well that’s another story.

 

  1. If you judge a book by its cover, do you do that with people too?

 

  1. Making mistakes sucks. Not learning from them sucks even more.

 

  1. A harp is such a beautiful instrument, a symbol of angels and of Guinness, be careful of your interpretation.
  1. If someone hugs you without holding you, then you are just an obstacle in their journey.
  1. All governments hold you accountable; why not try doing the same?
  1. When you were young did you want to be something or be rich? Being rich won’t make you something, being something will make you rich.
  1. The crazy part about being positive is that you are always striving for something better; the crazy part about being negative is that you are always looking for something better,

Philosophically speaking maybe being crazy isn’t so mad after all!!!

THREE WISHES

By Kev Quarrell 13/12/08

 

  1. So they say we’re in recession, well what the heck does that mean?

The government, try to convince us, that it is a societal vaccine,

A dictionary definition defines it as an act of ceding back,

Whilst my granny’s fight for her medical card brings on a cardiac.

  1. Ceding Back?…. Oh come on!.. Did we ever cede ourselves forward?

Now I know that progress has been made, but has it been all that straightforward?

My granny said, as she lay prone, as her heart ceded back its beating,

“My life is flashing…..I recall great music,… Mozart, not Ronan Keating!”

 

3.”And wait!” she crowed, as her heart beat slowed, she was now in the realm of impunity,

“I have a vision, a distant memory, oh yes it’s an image of community.”

So she lay there drifting, like a government, ebbing in and out of conscious thought.

And mumbled something about a trolley, and dignity she was taught.

  1. And as I sit past midnight, with my granny and her failing heart,

She props up on her elbow and says “here’s the crazy part…”

“I cleaned your clothes on washboard, when you were just a child,

I chopped the wood for fireside, and was granny, and I smiled.”

5.”An indoor toilet was a concept, for ours was found in the backyard,

And sometimes I miss those things I had, just like my Medical Card!”

 I recall, in haze, for my heart beats weak, when I cleaned and wiped your small backside,

The joy of Dev, our Kerry Blue, who never left your side.”

  1. I listened once, I listened twice, and I knew the heart had stopped,

But the heart was mine, and not my gran’s, for on the elbow she was still propped!

“What’s wrong son?” She gently probed. “What is it that you’re thinking?”

I lay her down and comforted her, and felt her body shrinking.

  1. “Gran!” I said. “I love you deep, and trust me, this is very hard,

Your legacy is not lost in me, not like your medical card.

And my time, sometimes, is taken up, with the backside wiping of my clan,

But rest assured, the person that I am today, has something to do with you Gran.”

 

 

  1. “I know they never let you take a job or let you have the vote,

And through it all, you ne’er complained. You just kept the ship afloat.

Now I know that life is different now, sure I’m more concerned about my ipod,

And in your day, your main concerns were food and heat and God.”

  1. “Three more beats.” she says to me: “Use each one as a wish.”

And I realise now in hindsight, she was gifting me, wisdom on a dish,

I held her hand, her last warmth, and her last breath filled the air,

A privilege, A privilege, A privilege to be there.

  1. Wish one. That she is now at peace, and reunited with Grandad Joe,

That the love they shared here down on earth is filled with afterglow.

Wish Two. That every ounce of knowledge, wisdom, and compassion that she showed me,

Is not wasted on another’s Gran, left to die on a trolley.

  1. Wish Three. Is now your possession, and it contains three wishes for you,

To grant as you see fit, so see what you can do,

And as this is also my last wish, I feel my heart is beating hard.

So,

I wish for the grace of God, and Gran, and her right to a medical card.

NAG, NAG, NAG, NAG, NAG!!!!!

By Kev Quarrell    08/07/09

Never wrong, never right,

It’s always black and never white

It’s like some kind of eternal fight,

When you’re married to a nag!

Never early, always late,

Three days to prepare for a date,

Oh god above is this the fate,

When you’re married to a nag!

HER: No you can’t, yes you will, if you know what’s good for you,

Don’t bother thinking for yourself, I’ll do the thinking for you,

And you can take yourself outside if you want to smoke that dirty fag,

And the last thing that I hear is “Nag, nag, nag, nag nag !!!”

Never happy, never warm,

There’s never calm, just the storm,

Never off the bloody platform,

Is the one they call the nag,

Never taking, a breath or rest,

Always laying out some new test,

As if she’s swallowed a huge wasp’s nest

Is the one they call the nag!

HER: Where have you been? What time do you call this?

And I dare not say a word as I stare into the abyss,

Eat your dinner outside, it’s over there in the doggy bag,

And the last thing that I hear is “Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag!!!”

Never stopped, never thought,

The day the wedding ring was bought,

That all my efforts would come to naught

For the one they call the nag

Tried the chocolates, tried the flowers

Tried everything within my powers,

Tried counting up all the lost hours,

With the one they call the nag.

So now I just nod, apologise, and I nod again,

And walk the cowering walk of all nag-ged out men

I could have been a footballer with a flash car, money and a wag

And I now I have nothing except for “Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag!”

LITTLE CHILD    By Kevin Quarrell 22/05/09

Little child, runny nose, freezing cold little toes,

Pleading eyes, to passers bye, and winter’s lacerating throes,

The season’s song goes on and on, and on to the point of heresy

And your begging cup, fills with the drip, drip, drop,

As your hands begin to freeze

 

A crust of bread, a soft warm bed, a hot drink to warm your heart

A mothers hold, escape from cold, a wish for a new start.

And as you fall down and down and down, to the point of feral existence

Your begging cup fills with the drip, drip, drop,

As you cry out for assistance.

 

The executive gives ex-ple-tive, as his path is forced to detour,

The averted eyes, of the ones on high, extol ignorance so pure

And as you shiver, wither and wither, and wither to the point of letting go

Your begging cup fills with the drip, drip, drop,

As rainfall turns to snow

 

Little child, runny nose, the spirit always shows,

That your house of card, is far too hard, for all the high street Joes’

And as you tumble, crumble and crumble, and crumble without a fight

Your begging cup fills with the drip, drip, drop,

As life becomes eternal night.

 

Little child, runny nose, freezing cold little toes………..

 

IT FEELS LIKE SUNSHINE.

 

Standing here, in this moment now, I have the feeling that you somehow,

Are with me here, even though your touch is far,

When I think of you, and how you used to, make me laugh with the things you’d do,

I think of you as I gaze upon that star

And I struggle with the words that I want to say,

How it is to be so far away

I struggle with the distance and time,

And yet in my times of quiet, it all comes right,

Because I think of you, and it feels,

Yes it feels, just like sunshine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE INSTITUTION

By Kevin Quarrell  22/05/09

1.Big halls, big men, white collars, chil-dren,

The keepers of faith, keeping on with denial,

The black cloth of the abuser, serves as a confuser,

To the dependant young with no right to trial

2.The truant, the poor, the bold and the cripple,

All housed in a mansion of hell,

Where the use of a smile, was punished with bile,

Until you were beat(bet) back into your shell

3.The sun, moon, and Venus, the white collared penis,

Were more frequent than a regular meal,

Only education, beating, and masturbation

And for a child just couldn’t be real

4.Three score and ten, damaged women and men,

All years later, the tears still haven’t flown,

For the anger and resentment, cannot reach contentment,

Until the truth and justice be shown,

5.The sisters, the brothers, the buggering fathers,

Were preying, but not as you and I might,

For they closed their mind once, twice, thrice and more

As they raped and abused every night

6.Let no truce defuse the abuse, or exempt the hypocrites of God

Let judgement be metered by the victims alone

Retribution, absolution, or some form of resolution

For those that called the Institution their home

 

 

OLD MAN WALKING    BY Kev Quarrell     01/07/09

D                                       G

Old man walking, with old man bones,

D                                       G

Huffin and a puffin with old man groans

D                              G

Walkin by all the old tombstones,

A                                             D

 Reminds me I’m alive and free

 

Old man runnin’  with old man time,

Rejoicing in the choices of this life of mine,

Runnin by the young ones in their prime

 Reminds me I’m alive and free

CHORUS

A                                   G

Once punch drunk, once flat broke,

D                           C

Once I was the kinda bloke,

A                                        G                                    D

that could sell you black cigarettes and old moonshine

A                                         G

once my hair was long, once jet black

D                                                            Bmin

had a chip on my shoulder and the world on(at) my back

G                   Emin                            A                                D

but now I walk the roads as an old man walks the time.

 

Old man winning, with old man goals,

Duckin and a divin’ all the old man holes

Not letting age interrupt these strolls

Reminds me I’m alive and free

 

Old man listening, with old man ears,

Trembling and assembling all the young man’s fears

Thank god for the wisdom of all these years

For it reminds me I’m alive and free

Chorus………………….

BRIDGE

F#min                           Bmin

Two steps forward, one step back,

F#min                           Bmin

Old man walking through life’s great track

F#min                                    Em

There’s plenty of time for sittin on back

A                                                              D

When the church bells ring their chime

 

Old man singing his old man tunes,

 A clinkin and a clankin on his old man spoons

Still dancing under late night moons

Reminds me I’m alive and free

 

Old man kissin his ol sweetheart

Reelin from the feelin in his old man heart

And if I go to hell in an ol handcart,

At least I lived a life so free

 

PHILOSOPHY BOOK 2

By Llerrauq Nivek

  • Everyday we look in the mirror; do you ever stop to think that others don’t see the same image as you?
  • Sometimes not knowing something is the most important thing of all.
  • If you aspire to reach the top, does that mean you enjoy looking down on people? 
  • If death and taxes are the two certainties of life, then why haven’t we killed off tax?
  • Today I am depressed, it is my preferred option, there once was a time in my life when I was glad to be gay. 
    1.  
  • Political correctness. Is that an oxymoron?
  • If I tell you that I love you, I mean it, I don’t use these words lightly, if you question this, then ask yourself why? Being loved should be the most satisfying thing in life. 
  • One day you will become old; don’t let that day be tomorrow.
  • If somebody tells you they don’t care, chances are they don’t. 
  • Celebrating victories is easy. Celebrating losses can bring victories.
  • Sex is an option for us all in life. But it can only happen through someone else’s choice. 
  • A dog wants to love you. When you feed it, play with it, cuddle it, train it, enjoy its welcome, and have the pleasure of experiencing that your dog knows you better than most, then treasure it. For dog is just God spelt backwards.
    1.  
  • If your legs are broken, then don’t attempt to walk. If your spirit is broken then start walking, one step at a time until you can live a life where you can break a leg. 
  • There are many dangers in life. Do your best to not be one of them.
  • Cancer always seems to hit people with dreams. People without dreams just rot away.
    1.  
  • If Usain Bolt can run the 100 metres in 9.5 secs, what is he running from?
  • It is quite possible that everything you know in life is true; it is also possible that everything I know is true as well.
  • Mankind has created the Mona Lisa, the Eiffel Tower, and the Rubiks Cube. God created the great oceans, the mountain peaks, the majestic valleys. Only you can create happiness.
  • Complexity is the semantics way of making something simple appear interesting. Simplicity is quite complex, semantically speaking.
  • If you have ever made a fool of yourself in public, then why did this not spur you on to a career in politics?
  • If the Dalai Lama is the wisest man in the world, why does he accept living in a persecuted nation?
  • When a horse wins a race, through its effort, many men can benefit, what an interesting philosophy. Imagine if it was a man instead of a horse.
  • If you could take back all the money that you have spent on lottery tickets, and scratch cards, would you still feel lucky?
    1.  
  • Does road kill test Darwin’s theory of evolution?
  • If you have to force it, then don’t.

INSIDE MY MIND

Dedication to my love and muse’    by Kev Quarrell   28/11/09

VERSE 1

I’m sitting here alone inside my mind, searching for an answer, just trying to find,

A way of escape from this bind, of being alone inside my mind.

Searching for some kind of relief, from this soul destroying robbing thief,

I’m ready to crumble like an autumn leaf, alone  inside my mind.

CHORUS

And the grey skies seem to be turning black, I see people moving on as I step back,

It’s like I’m living in a heart attack that I can’t break through,

The symphony inside my heart has been has been pierced by the conductors dart,

Let’s rewind back to the start ………… when there was just me and you.

VERSE 2

Running like a hamster on a wheel, running round in circles is how I feel

No sweet violins, just a glockenspiel, playing inside my mind

Chasing bubbles like a new born pup, milk spilling over from my cup,

Swinging on a bungee cord that doesn’t bounce up, alone inside my mind.

CHORUS 2

And the grey skies seem more frequent now, I see people moving on as I wonder how,

The maker in the heavens could take back his vow, the whole damn thing aint true,

As my life blood flows to the Arctic plate, I never thought I’d reach this state,

Oh how I wish for our first date,……….. when there was just me and you

CLOSING VERSE (3)

Swimming like a fool in a money pit, struggling with the part that lets me sit,

With the reality,…….. that this is it,……. me and you,……. alone inside my mind.

THE SHEARER’S YARN

 

Davey was a hard working man, his skin was leathered by the wind,

He rose before the sun, took a shave, paid no heed of the day comin’ in,

Most men were scratching their balls, or fartin’ or rubbin’ their sandpaper chins,

And Davey, grabbed his lid and turned, and left the hut yellin’ ‘Come on, Get up, Get in!’

‘Jumbuck!’ yelled Davey, and it echoed round the deck,

‘Jumbuck!’ he called again and wailed, as he rubbed his sweaty neck,

The scuttle, the hurry, the bleats, the kicks, they could make you a nervous wreck,

But today Davey, was a steam train working, a special day on the deck

Now, he took the first and cleaned her in a 2 minute 57 time,

Not  to shabby for the first of the day, not great, but not sublime,

‘Jumbuck!’  he called again, and by the fifteenth his clippins’ fine,

And as he wiped his brow on completion, his comrades had still made no sign.

Now, ‘Russian’, who was Czechoslovakian, peeled his way on board,

Same build as Davey, same singlet of navy, same weight, and same jawed,

‘Mornink!’ he said, and Davey nodded and ‘Jumbuck!’ he once more roared,

And the ‘Russian’, who was Czechoslovakian, stood in amazement as the 23rd sheep was shorn.

The dawn was way past the Anzac and the pens were thriving with life,

Rodge was sheering in bloody good time, and the Pom was strugglin’ and in strife,

The tar boy used ten sweeps for the Pom, and offered him a knife sayin’

‘It would be more human to kill the poor critter!’,

And then Digger took a dive,

‘Squatter!’ screamed the tar boy, ‘Christ Almighty!’ yelled Malacouta Mick,

A Jumbuck had bucked and collected Digger, and burst his upper lip,

The Russian was quick, but not as quick as Davey, who jumped ten pens to arrive,

‘Piss off ya bludgers!’ yelled Davey, ‘Give him air, get him outside!’

Digger was taken back to quarters and Davey returned to the mire,

He walked up on deck and whistled and caught every shearers eye,

Some nodded in deference, some in respect, and others with a zealous ire,

‘Jumbuck!’ yelled Davey, and he worked like a man on fire.

The squatter nodded and the tar boy called ‘Lunch!’ and every shearer dropped his blade,

A half hour for lunch,  5 minutes there and back, every minute had to be saved,

Davey had broken a sweat, and the Yank made a snide remark,

And the ‘Russian’, who was Czechoslovakian, promised to introduce the Yank to the dark.

All the hard men were fed, the soft men as well, all had their mash and peas with gravy,

The last shadow to leave was the parishoner’s son, the first belonged to Davey

‘Jumbuck!’ was called…the pond fell silent…and everyman turned his head,

The Yank had worked his lunch break, a fate worse than being dead,

Davey whistled and called for the tally, and the tally man obliged,

‘Davey 192!’ , ‘the Yank is five behind!’

‘No way! Not true! Couldn’t happen!’ Was the murmur, and the ‘Russian spoke his mother tongue,

Then Bert, the five foot Queenslander, spoke out for everyone,

‘You’re nothin’ but a low down, cheatin’, lyin’ piece of shit,

You even kept on shearin’ when the jumbuck broke up Digger’s lip,

If Christ himself was on the deck, you wouldn’t even wash his feet,

You’re a disgrace to Yanks, a disgrace to shearers, you’re a no good bloody cheat!’

Well, the omnipresent silence was tasted by its’ smell,

Of sheep dung, sweat and red dust, and a feeling of ne’er do well.

‘Count and clear the tally!’ yelled Davey, and everybody gasped,

‘Pay these men their dues, and double it if they ask!’

‘Yank!’, he said, ‘Choose your cutter! From anywhere on the deck,

You can walk out now with nothin’ or with your self respect!’

‘So you’re callin’ me a liar, thief and cheat! That’s what you’ve done,

Hey pal, I’m a  great Yankee shearer, in fact I’m a bloody gun!’

‘O.K., McGregor, I’ll take your bet, and raise your fricken stakes,

Whoever shears the least amount, has to leave the God Damned state!’

Now if the Yank could shear with his mouth, he’d be the best shearer in the land,

But bullshit and bravado, don’t belong in a shearin’ man,

The ‘Russian’ said, ‘I’ll call the starck!’ and dropped his handkerchief,

And the shearing battle of all time began,

Between Davey, and the cheat.

Even Horace grinned with anticipation as the two combatants chose a pen,

The squatter allowed the indulgence and sat back to watch these men,

The tar boy, brush at the ready, concentrated on the Yank,

Cos’ Davey never cut a sheep, he was money in the bank.

‘Tar boy!’ was called, and the Yank looked stunned, with his deep and furrowed brow,

And as the tar boy leapt over to the Yank’s pen,

Davey yelled, ‘Tar boy!’ get here now!’

Blood was flowing on the deck, Davey had made a cut somehow,

And the ‘Russian’ wanted to help Davey out, but the rules just wouldn’t allow.

You see, as the jumbuck left the traps and hurried into the evening rain,

He’d kicked the cutters, that sliced through like butter, three fingers to the vein,

Davey threw his hand into the tar bucket, and all watching drew the pain,

And with sweat, or tears, running down his face, Davey started shearin again.

The outback God was laying down, the day drawing to a close,

The squatter nodded, the tar boy called ‘Time!’

And the battlers like statues, froze.

‘Not a cut further’, said Rodge. ‘Lay down your blades!’ and as Horace picked his nose,

The memory of Jackie Howe hung as the tally man rose.

‘Davey!  Your my winner!’ and not a cheers from his mates was borrowed,

‘But Davey, I hate to tell ya, the Yank will be shearin’ here tomorrow,

‘Yank 97, Davey 96! I’ve never known a greater sorrow,

‘ A better gun shearer I’ve never seen, none more precise, or quick or thorough.

A slow hand clap echoed around the shed, and Davey began to say goodbye,

And the ‘Russian’, who was Czechoslavakian, felt a tear form in his eye.

‘Squatter!’ called the ‘Russian’.’ One more hour, please comply!’

And every shearer worth his weight in gold, rallied to the cry!

‘Well Yank?’ said the squatter, ‘Are you prepared to have a go?

‘If you’re half as good as you think you are, then everyone will know.’

And with every eye upon him, he said, ‘Look I don’t know,

Sure I won the battle, but Davey won the war, I think that I should go.’

And with that Davey leapt the pen and offered him his hand,

That was covered in tar and sweat and blood and belonged to a shearin’ man,

‘Fine words you’ve spoken Yank, they’re not written in the sand,

Let’s catch the mornin’ sunrise and go on workin’ just as planned.

So all the men took their quarters, not one needed a push,

And they chatted and squabbled and drifted, like all men from the bush,

Each man would take his ritual, still talking by the dunny mirror,

of the day the myth became a legend, of Davey, the gun shearer.

WISHFUL THINKING

A phone call across the oceans, and a quiet hello across the seas,

A young child cries in his night time slumber as I sip green tea in the summer breeze,

Two islands sitting a world apart either side of this fine planet’s equator,

And still two hearts can merge through this, and nothing could be greater

 

Just to hear your tone of voice evokes memories of young love lost,

It rips me back to that special place and it’s there I see the cost,

Oh how different our lives may have been if our paths were of the same destiny,

No one can know, but as a foolish guess, I suspect your voice would still be music to me.

 

And although you’re not singing down the telephone line, your melody still rings true,

And still today, when I hear Lionel Ritchie’s ‘All Night Long’ I remember my first dance with you,

But it’s that space between us, that brings me most joy, it’s a space of freedom expressed,

And this special gift that we water each day means both of us have been deeply blessed.

 

For you see, not time, or distance, wealth or looks, can ever quench the purest desire,

And the tastes of life we’ve travelled since, has still untouched our fire,

So remember this, tomorrow brings a life of blossom and growth, no longer any shrinking,

And to share that with you for eternity,

Well,

There’s no harm in wishful thinking.

X

With love, Kev,  16/06/2010

The Recollection

Try to sit still now; try to sit in the quiet,

Try to just think of nothing, and that everything is right,

Try to imagine the world as we know it, has in a moment, just stopped spinning,

Try to think back to that feeling, way back in the beginning

Recall the’ nothingingness’ that revolved around you then,

Recall the weather, the clothes you wore, recall them if you can,

Recall that feeling of how you swirled, and how time had stopped turning,

And when you have arrived at those crossroads, I’ll be waiting there, with the same yearning

 

Crazy though it might appear, I would care little for how the weather may be,

Crazy though others may think, these crossroads are special memory,

Crazy, yes, perhaps it is, in trying to recall the past,

But craziest of all is, how long these memories last.

 

For I speak of the moment when I first realised that time was not so clever,

Yes I speak of the moment, that one chance in life, is ingrained in me forever,

Oh I speak of a moment in my life, and one thing I know is this,

I try my best to be the best I can,

I recall people of value, and others I dismiss,

I may be crazy every now and then,

 But I speak the truth when I say it was bliss,

That day we stopped the world spinning;

So if I’m crazy now,

it’s all because,

I recall our

First kiss

                                                         x                                                                                                                                                   By Kev  Quarrell 19/12/09

THE SONGCATCHER   by Kev Quarrell  14/04/09  (c)

D                                          G                              D                                 A

When I would sit on my granddad’s knee; and he would wax lyr-i-cal,

Em                              Em7            G                       A

Every story that he told me; I swallowed like a fool,

D                                         G             D                                          A

He’d talk about his childhood; and the risks that he would take,

Em                              Em7           G                                           A

Tall tales about my mother; and the shed he built by the lake,

G                                                                                  D                     Bm

And every now and then he’d just sit there giggling, with a wry grin,

G                                        G/F#                       Em                                A

And I would look him in the eye and say ‘Hey! Granddad, are you lyin?’

(and he would say)

D                                                                                      G                G/F#          Em         A

Son, I am a chippie, and I worked with brickies, the sparks n plumbers and a thatcher,

A                                                                                   G                                      A

The most important man I ever did meet is the one they call the song catcher.

D                                                                                                                G          G/F#       Em                     A

He ‘ll make you laugh, and make you cry, make you wonder why your culture screams out to grab ya,

G                                                      A                                   G                                          A              D

So when you kneel and pray, at the end of the day, give thanks for the song catcher.

D                                                               G               D                            G                  A                  D

And he would sing ‘Hiddle I doh, Hiddle I dum, Hiddle Rah a diddle Ram Diddle Rah Do,

D                                                                   G      G/F#     Em

And he would giggle, and he’d tickle, twist me in a riddle

A                                                D

As only a song catcher can do.

Verse 2

He’d sing about the war; the donkey next door,

About Harry’s dog that thought he was a cat,

The heroes on the field; crops that never yield,

And the time when the beer went flat,

He would have me in stitches; when he sang about the britches on the witches of Caracticus,

And how the crickets in the night; make sure the songs are right

Before they give them to the song catchers

And he would always get me; in a state of apoplexy, with the laughing tears I was cryin’

And I would look him in the eye and say ‘Hey! Granddad, are you lyin?’

(and he would say)

Son, I am a chippie, and I worked with brickies, the sparks n plumbers and a thatcher,

The most important man I ever did meet is the one they call the song catcher.

He ‘ll make you laugh, and make you cry, make you wonder why

your culture screams out to grab ya,

So when you kneel and pray,

at the end of the day, give thanks for the song catcher.

And he would sing ‘Hiddle I doh, Hiddle I dum, Hiddle Rah a diddle Ram Diddle Rah Do,

And he would giggle, and he’d tickle, twist me in a riddle

As only a song catcher can do.

Verse 3

So come all ye child; come all ye girls

Come all ye mad craic seeking men,

And sing your song; out loud anon,

Let those singing lines breathe again.

And let it be said, I think you’re better off dead,

If your song re-mains quiet;

For the song catcher, can make it live, in a faraway session tonight

And my Granddad said, as he’d put me to bed, it’s all about the tune and the rhyme,

And I looked up into his eyes and said ‘Granddad, I think you’re right this time!’

(and he would say)

Son, I am a chippie, and I worked with brickies, the sparks n plumbers and a thatcher,

The most important man I ever did meet is the one they call the song catcher.

He ‘ll make you laugh, and make you cry, make you wonder why your culture screams out to grab ya,

So when you kneel and pray, at the end of the day, give thanks for the song catcher.

And he would sing ‘Hiddle I doh, Hiddle I dum, Hiddle Rah a diddle Ram Diddle Rah Do,

And he would giggle, and he’d tickle, twist me in a riddle

As only a song catcher can do.

And he would sing ‘Hiddle I doh, Hiddle I dum, Hiddle Rah a diddle Ram Diddle Rah Do,

And he would giggle, and he’d tickle, twist me in a riddle

Bm

As only a song catcher can do……as only the song catcher can do

A CHRISTMAS REFLECTION

ORIGINAL POEM BY KEV QUARRELL  12/12/08

 

Oh! Fireside glow, and warm this room,

And dance with the twinkle of the tree,

Oh! Candle as you flicker

Will you light the way for me?

And present wrapped in paper’s gift,

Do hide beneath the bough,

And magic and wonder please greet the child

For I need your spirit now.

For the match girl, weary, plies her trade

Still deep into the night

As I reap the warmth of your fire glow

And the lighting of my Christmas night.

The young ones lie asleep with haste

For tonight Santa Claus will come

And the gifts that teach them how to play

Have come through the gift of the almighty Son

And yet, innocence and selfishness

Are the joys of being a child,

There but for the grace of God

Are they not match sellers, and the exiled.

I look at all my earnings, that

Are modest like most men I know

And they have manifested in gifts for mine

To create a Christmas glow

And still the match girl preys on my mind

As I silently pray for her.

For my wherewithal won’t provide a gift,

Or from winter’s cold, shelter.

So gather Christian, Pagan, or other,

And enjoy your Christmas unfurl,

And spare a thought, as you light a candle,

With a match, from the hands of the match girl.

RUBY, RUBY

Ruby, Ruby , a colour and shade,

A treasure in stone from the land,

Ruby,Ruby, is a Tuesdays child,

And the ring upon my girl’s hand,

Ruby,Ruby, sounds just like a beating heart,

And my heart beats as strong as the one she does give

Ruby, Ruby, is an angel in dance,

And a reminder of ,

The reason,

To live.

Happy Birthday Ruby

Kev Quarrell.xxxxxxx

10/07/2010

SORRY,

Talk is cheap, and so is money,

And the wheels of change can take forever,

And justice is flawed and tied up in the law,

And your life a testament to endeavour.

The religious, the state, did all to negate,

Your claims of abuse by your keepers

And still in the house, you sit like a mouse,

As the suits give you the gift of the reaper.

Sorry, so sorry, walk not alone in this time,

Your truth has won out through courage,

And we’ll carry you, to where you wish to you climb

Sorry, so sorry, for the cross you were forced to bear,

Know that your heart has a beat with mine,

And that your truth has found an ear,

Sorry, so sorry, walk on without fear.

TOMORROW IS JUST A BREATH AWAY

Tomorrow is just a breath away, and it brings the promise of a better day

It will always appear come what may,

So throw out your arms and embrace tomorrow,

Yeah, tomorrow offers you so much, like a piece of fine art that you can’t touch,

It gives you relief from today’s rush,

So keep on believin’ in tomorrow.

The future that lies in your dreamy eyes,

Has already been seen by tomorrow,

You are on top of the heap but still have to keep,

Yesterdays troubles, today’s tribulations, to reach the realities ( reap the rewards) of tomorrow.

Tomorrow is like a blank slate, you can choose to be in Hell’s kitchen or to make tomorrow great,

But if yesterday was your foe, then tomorrow is your mate,

So throw out your arms and embrace tomorrow

Tomorrow never comes said the fool that died today,

When the sun was shinin’, he sat there whinin’ refusing to make hay,

And if you can make it someday,

Then keep on believing in tomorrow.

WHEN YOU ARE NEAR

Music and lyrics by Kev Quarrell (c) 12/03/2010

When you are near my heart beats strong

With you beside me, I know, I, can, carry on

When you are near, I be-gin to believe

That every thing I’ve hoped for, can be,my reality

When you are near

When you are near the future seems bright

With you beside me I know I can see the light

When you are near life feels so true

And every thing comes alive when I’m with you,

When you are near.

TURN

And when -ever I am on my own,

I know just what to do

I reach for the love that I have known,

And I find myself right back there with you

When you are near, there is always a new day,

With you beside me, I feel strong and l feel safe.

When you are near I know love can be true

And I am fulfilled when I think of you

When you are near

Hello Mr. Butterfly

by Kevin Quarrell 02/08/2010

Hello Mr. Butterfly, or should I call you Emperor sir?

I wonder if your wing pattern is different from all other Emperors,

I’m sure you’re special and quite unique, oh how I wish I could fly like you,

To rest in the blossom of all those plants, that’s something I’d love to do.

 

The scent would calm me and soothe my mind, give me sanctuary when I’m feeling glum,

I could fly away, for some quiet peace, each time those fights happen with Dad and Mum,

Maybe you could tell me Mr. Butterfly, cos you’ve surely explored the world,

Why my daddy makes my mummy cry, like a little frightened girl

 

I wish my Dad was more like you, an emperor, a noble and proud being,

But he comes home late and I hear their shouts, I hear ‘drink, and ‘money’ and disagreeing,

That’s when I’m supposed to be asleep in my bed, instead of under the covers crying,

And it’s in those moments Mr. Butterfly, I wish I was just like you, where I could escape this all by flying,

 

Oh and you used to have a cocoon to hide in, I wish there was one big enough for me,

Cos then I wouldn’t have to listen to those big bad words that Mum gets from my Daddy,

And sometimes he throws stuff at her, and here’s one of the weirdest things,

That the stuff he throws doesn’t travel as far as you can with your wings.

 

Well, I have to go back inside now sir, I think Daddy’s gone away again,

I have to try to find mummy’s smile, cos she finds it hard to smile when,

Daddy yells, I wish he was like you, cos you let me talk and think out loud,

So Mr. Butterfly, if ever I become a Dad, I will try to be like you, with your royal coat, and try to make you proud.

Is it?

by Kev Quarrell 21/12/08

Is it the thought, or is it the touch,

Perhaps it’s just the simplicity of your smile,

Is it the times that we spend with nicotine and caffeine

Or is it the time we spend in exile.

Is it the truth, or is it the hope,

Perhaps it’s just the idea of being in love,

Is it the chance of living a dream

For happiness, for both, thereof.

Is it the pain, or the crossing the line,

Perhaps it’s just the fear of the unknown,

Is it a fact that my love for you,

Is so deeply felt, and yet unshown.

Is it so right, or is it so wrong,

Perhaps it’s just how things must be,

Is it a statement of misunderstanding

To you, when it isn’t from me.

Is it the knowing, is it the tears,

Perhaps it’s just a vessel for further growth,

Is it a question from the sweet hand of God,

To be answered in honest, by both.

Is it the joy, is it the laugh,

Perhaps it’s just that we enjoy each other,

Is it really the thought of a crazy man,

That you are friend, trustee and lover.

Is it the hope, or is it the faith,

Perhaps it’s just pure destiny,

For the is, it is, never has been a doubt,

The is, is my love for thee.

NEVER MEET YOUR HERO 

by Kev Quarrell   11/07/09

Now I know that I’m not as good as him

But I’d surely like to be,

He’s everything, an inspiration, just as a hero should be

And if I compare myself to him, he’s a ten and I’m a zero

But he tells me I’m a ten just like him, that’s why he is my hero

He plays guitar, he sings the songs, tells jokes and has the banter,

His skill, is that I feel, that I’m invited on this canter,

And he tells this story of a songwriter he met on the internet,

And to my shock, it wasn’t me, for that’s how we had met.

He’s just a cyber whore, like the ones before that added me as their friend.

Promising to keep in touch with a message that they’d send,

I travelled an hour, through a hail storm shower, to bring my virtual friend to life

And my hero was there with the other one, and I like a spurned wife

Never meet your hero, just keep the dream a wish

For your hero lives in a bowl just like an old goldfish

He’ll pretend that he remembers you, that you’re someone he’d like to know

He’s not to blame; he has no faults, because he’s a hero.

More fool me for believing that the virtual world was real

And the emails that we’d sent meant there was a lifelong seal

I can’t tell you how, on that stormy night, I was feeling used and cheated

So my hero now is still a dream, not virtual, just deleted…..

ANOTHER YEAR

And so another year has rolled on,

And we wonder what did it mean,

We’ve forged on regardless of the nay sayers and the tears,

To drink from the cup of Auld lang syne as we’ve done in previous years.

In a hundred years from now, will they still sing that old sweet song,

Will they look back and reminisce of the people that have gone,

Or will they just always think forward of the dreams that can be,

As if yesterday is just a way of forgetting, and a timelag necessity.

Well it’s the new year now, and every time it comes,

We seem to remember that time’s precious, and once it gone it’s gone.

So I raise a glass to you today, for you are all now here,

And I wish you everything that’s good for you in this new year.

YOU

It takes a while to all sink in, but I think you’ve got beneath my skin

And I can’t seem to walk or run away,

I feel like I am on the moon, when you walk into the room

You’ve caught me like a summer’s day.

PHILOSOPHY BOOK 3

By Llerrauq Nivek

  • Academia is the field of proven research, allegedly.
    1.  
  • When you wish upon a star, do you realise it is thousands of light years away? 
    1.  
  • I once dreamt that I couldn’t sleep. What a dream!
    1.  
  • Having choice in life is important, having a life is more important. 
    1.  
  • If your daughter plays at being a princess, then don’t be a right royal Bastard by ruling her life.
    1.  
  • There are six sides to a cube, three sides to a triangle, and two faces to every living person in mankind. 
    1.  
  • The funny thing about laughing is why we stop?
    1.  
  • The guy that said “Idle hands do the devils work”. Must have been a wanker. 
    1.  
  • Being a virgin is one thing; just don’t let it be in the field of wisdom.
    1.  
  • A fool and his money are soon parted. Become an opportunist and surround yourself with fools. 
    1.  
  • You may care for how I feel, you may care for how I think, but if I don’t behave according to your standards, then I suspect you will care very little indeed.
    1.  
  • You are not actually entitled to anything, get over it. 
    1.  
  • The greatest thing about life is death; the greatest thing about death is life itself.
    1.  
  • All psychotherapists have issues, all counsellors have issues, and all clients have issues. If someone would just give us a ‘T’ then we would all have tissues and the world would be a better place. 
    1.  
  • If you believe in reincarnation and that a cat has nine lives, does that mean at some stage we have all been a lion, a tiger, or a pussy.
    1.  
  • When you are looking down the barrel of a gun, you are in the wrong place because of choices that you have made.
  • Politicians offer you promises and taxes. One thing is for certain, promises never turn up in legislation.
    1.  
  • A bottle of fine red wine can help you cope with life’s tribulations, the morning after can help your desire for fine red wine. 
    1.  
  • Practice makes prefects.
    1.  
  • Going forward, I intend to reflect on the past. 
    1.  
  • How much does feeling good actually cost?
    1.  
  • If you are really happy with your life then stop seeing faults in others, but if you stop seeing faults in others will you really be happy?
    1.  
  • I have had several lovers and only one wife. One swallow does not a summer make. 
    1.  
  • Owning a fast sports car cannot conceal the fact that you are still a dickhead.
    1.  
  • Having an addiction is God’s way of saying Ha! Ha! Having a soul mate is God’s way of saying Yee ha!

“Matilda Awakening”

Posted: May 15, 2015 in Uncategorized