Smartie at Home

it's raining
i'm eating a smartie
at home

the rain came
as we left
the art gallery

we were at
an exhibition called
before and after science

it was part
of the festival of arts
it was crap
let me explain

it was basically just stuff
that artists had put there
hoping you'd see
what it meant

it's raining
i'm eating a smartie
at home

i suppose you're thinking
she takes a long time to eat one smartie.
but there's something you don't know
i've eaten six
and there's something else you don't know
they aren't real

at least i've taken the trouble to explain
and i've taken the trouble
to make it a poem
even though.......( you can finish it )

Ah, the French

So, The VeloDrone has a cold, observed Pliny the Elder. I suppose that means he will be out of action for a few days. Maybe someone else can get a look in.

Oh? I said. Why? Do you have something to say?

I do, said Pliny, and it is something that you may find interesting. I myself have recently attended a Festival event.

Really! How did you afford it?

I have money, sniffed Pliny. But this event was free.

Was it the Festival opening? I asked. At the Victoria Park Racecourse?

Yes, said Pliny. And very spectacular it was. Seventy thousand people were there.

So I've heard, I said. Tell me about it.

It was dark, began Pliny. Everyone was sitting on the grass looking towards the trees. Children were amusing themselves playing with multicoloured luminous rings. There were several loud bangs. Suddenly an Alchemist appeared carrying a bucket of fire. He approached a giant tower at the top of which was a huge cauldron. He climbed the tower and set the cauldron alight. Soon there were sparks and fireballs shooting up into the sky. Three mysterious musicians played infernal music from the top of dark towers. Fireworks shot up behind the trees and smoke filled the air. Men on stilts walked the earth with gigantic catherine wheels shooting spinning sparkling brilliants all around their heads.......

Sounds dangerous, I said.

They were French, he replied.

Sorted

Right! announced The VeloDrone, walking into the office. Everything's sorted.

Enlighten me, said Le Bon David, looking up from his pile of correspondence.

We're going back to Adelaide! said The VeloDrone. The Festival and Fringe start today. Pack your bags.

Adelaide! sniffed Le Bon David. We've only just been there for the Tour Down Under. And what did we get out of that? Not very much.

This will be different! enthused The VeloDrone. This time we've been invited.

Invited? By whom?

By the Premier himself. It's election time. Remember how he invited Lance Armstrong to the Tour Down Under, to make himself more popular?

Yes, said Le Bon David, and Armstrong was paid lots of money. Don't tell me they're going to pay us to come?

Not exactly, said The VeloDrone. But they're going to pay our fares. All we have to do is keep a high profile.

Le Bon David whistled admiringly. How did you wangle that?

I explained to them who we were. We are David Hume the famous Scottish empiricist, I said, and Voltaire, the brilliant French polemicist, two of the most famous philosophers of the Enlightenment. We are willing, I said, for a small fee, to attend and lift the tone of your Festival and Fringe. And, as an added bonus, we will be bringing our bicycles.

But they knocked back the idea of the small fee?

Well, yes as such, but they've allocated us a small tent in the Garden of Unearthly Delights, and they say we can charge admission.

Brilliant! And have you thought what we might do in this tent? Lecture on philosophy? Perform bicycle tricks?

Hmmmm. A mixture of both, I thought. Unless you have any other ideas?

I'm positively brimming with them. Did you know I do quite passable impressions?

No! Who do you do?

Oh the fat ones in comedy duos mostly, Lou Costello, and Oliver Hardy for instance.

David, you surprise me! I too, have a comedic bent. This is exciting! Perhaps we can work something up.

Torrens Lake

It's been raining! Now
the Torrens Lake is filling
up again. Some weeks ago the weir gate
was said to have malfunctioned and the water drained away into the sea.


It was dirty water anyway, with
blue green algae in it. There were rumours
that a council worker may have had
something more to do with it than failing to prevent the great escape.


Anyway. It was a huge
embarrassment. The Film Festival
and the Fringe were due to start
and the confluence of visitors would ridicule us for our stinky mudflats.


The Torrens flowed no more
by Elder Park, the beautified embankment.
Someone offered to donate some water
to refill it from an unused quarry that they owned up in the hills.


That water turned out to be
unsuitable, too high in sulphate. It would
have harmed the water fleas and fish,
so was abandoned as an option and we waited for the rain.


Last weekend I went with Allan to inspect,
thinking it our civic duty. We were
surprised to see the Torrens Lake
filling up a little on its own, drawing water from an aquifer underground.


It looked so natural. The water level
very low, the river banks exposed and tree
roots too, mudflats, now cleared of cars
and wheelie bins and witches hats, bristling with clay-encrusted bottles.


The Popeye barges stranded, at odd angles,
paddleboats lined up along the brink.
The fountain infrastructure looked too fragile,
but the Paper Boats in contrast were supported by huge rusty metal rings.


The stink was not so bad.
There was a smell of creosote
and ducks. The ducks and black swans,
seagulls and one pelican looked as though they'd never liked the Torrens Lake so much.