A Volley I know suggested an incredible addition to their tribe; “Cover ME in fish scales, attach bottle tops to my ‘souls’ and I will carry you over rocks to your favorite fishing spot”. They can play squash, and I understand have ventured on to a tennis court and won many titles. They will have notable success in the building industry; they have led our country to great heights in combating the housing shortage.

The Volley is a living thing, and deserves to be treated so, it has a heart and lung of its own. It has its own particular endorphin glands; you will feel yourself being dragged to places against your wish. When the seemingly magnetic attraction abides you become aware of something very strange; if you look down there is all these Volleys with people standing in them.

A Volley is a proud personage. When they are born they arrive into the world in many colors, now isn’t that strange, no it’s not!

Think about it, underneath they are just like you and me, they live and draw breath and deserve to place in society, just like all colored people.

They have this need to return to a basic color, washing machines and scrubbing brushes they will not tolerate, they recon we all should be color liberal, and remember Volleys will revolt when any mention of an ‘odor’ is made in their presence. A Volley once told me; “He who complains of a smell ‘down under’ has two options, vote Labor or wash your feet”.

Volleys are a copyright issue, they are intellectual(s) property of Australia, Mr. Dunlop has the father rights, Mrs. Dunlop is the Mother of all Volleys. © john Farley, AKA; johnfarlsbrunz.

Only a sand shoe? I have got news for all the skeptics.

ME VOLLEYS.

© John d Farley. 2008

There’s a whimper on me front porch, it’s being goin’ for a while.

Guess it’s time to talk the walk and take in a country mile.

Me dog your wondering? I would do to if I was you, and would probably surmise.

But give a minute, three at best, it’s not me dog, I’m not trying to give you all a rise.

Yep, I have had me share of man’s best friend, had the pleasure of many a faithful canine.

But the whimper’s not coming from the pooch on the porch; it’s from another (Read staunch), real good friend of mine.

My best friends are made of rubber, the heading gives a clue.

It’s name is real Australiana, ©VOLLEYS is it’s name, and no other name will do.

And so I pulls them on and off we goes, we are chatting all the while.

Spinning yarns of days gone yonder, many with a smile.

Do you remember Pancho, when we owned the Milk Run, Avalon Parade.

We braved all weather you and I, had good times us three, no time for life’s charade”.

“Clareville Beach, bloody Torpedoes, spiders and other stuff we went through”.

Can I have the stage, cogitate and disseminate, give a thought or two.

We can’t separate our existence our experiences, and recollections we have been through

Me Volleys and I must offer some info’, in regards to family history.

Your faithful dooorg, your frivolous Pussy, have a life expectancy, for certain, and that will be.

Me Volleys are one, contextual, they are all encompassing; from one special place they come.

One Mum, one Dad, one son gender changing, like a Seahorse progeny, like, life is goin’ on.

And now I’m in the SES the VOLLEY© legend will live on and please forget the folly.

A Floodboat “deckie” is out of PPE without their precious VOLLEY©.

All that went before concerns close relations, pre-dispatched they are, but in fact they are free.

Me sand shoes are part of me, like Vegemite, Victa and Aborigine.

Losing time and space, your author, an explanation for the comments past.

Mister and Missus Dunlop had an IVF kid, however the egg came from a boot makers last.

I will conclude this narration; some will say prose and “Bushy” theme.

If you detect an odor from Downunder, vote Labor or wash your feet you bastard, VOLLEY© reigns supreme.

© anybody Australian, john d Farley.

THEN IT WAS TIME FOR ANOTHER DIGRESSION, YOU WILL CALL IT A FRAGMENTED HEAD.

THE REASON FOR ALL THE BRAIN SNAPPING RHYMING PROSE, A TRAGEDY.

After all that’s happened in Australia, in fact world wide, this story is a bit of an anti-climax. This is a small histrionics of how mother nature can come along and spoil the party. However, the attached verse was the motivation for this pitiful attempt at penning what can only be described as a pisspoor book.

A next door neighbor perished.

IT’S NATURE’S WILL. Brunswick Valley Floods 2008.

WHAT A DOWN POUR, AND probably ISN’T OVER YET.

To all of the people affected by the inundation in the BRUNSWICK VALLEY and in particular northern NSW and southern QLD, please stay safe. The damage to property and infrastructure will be horrendous and present many interruptions to normal life for some time. To ALL my colleagues in the STATE EMERGENCY SERVICE and supporting agencies, RFS, NSWFB, VRA, DOCS, THE POLICE, ST VINNIES, RED CROSS, SLSC and all the other people from other agencies, KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN.To all the holiday makers and visitors to our areas, BLOODY SORRY about that, you will come back? PLEASE.

To the people stranded with limited food and essential commodities’, everything is being implemented to assist you in your time of need. Every logistic avenue will be investigated to get you some help; IT’S THE AUSTRALIAN WAY. Keep out of harms way.

And to anybody who thinks they can tackle those flooded causeways, GET A LIFE, cause you’ll lose it if you throw caution out the window. In our little region of the BRUNSWICK VALLEY, Northern NSW, no less than 7 motor vehicles have been swept from inundated crossings, 3 were YOU BEAUT four-wheel drives, some with multiple passengers. Some haven’t been seen yet. All lives were spared.

OUR ADVICE TO YOU; DON’T BLOODY DO IT!! We are not a towing service. Our members don’t need tragedy in our patch. AGAIN, to our affected citizens, please wait it out, help will come.

FLOODS, BIG TIME. Jan 2008.

HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT THE TOTAL FOR MOTOR VECHILES WASHED FROM FLOODED CAUSEWAYS HAS RISEN TO 12, that’s right, one dozen. You wanna be No.13? Do you know the BRUNSWICK VALLEY Northern NSW, MAIN ARM and WILSONS CREEK? Go on temp the Devil’s number; we’ll be very cross.

We can’t blame the 4-wheel drive Manufacturers, they use professional drivers and they tell us just that, and, 50% of the cars were sedans, however all are irresponsible impetuous drivers. My organization don’t need you, get your act together.

Many lives have been lost in our little area; TAKE YOUR HAND OFF IT.

AND THEN IT HAPPENED, SO SAD, SO NEEDLESS.

ODE TO THE FLOODED CAUSEWAY.

©John d Farley 2008

That buggers come up again.

That was quick, so they were right, but what would they know, this my domain.

Lets have a go, will I, nah, take the shoes off and wade a little,

Seems ok, what’s the staff gauge say? Only one meter? gees I must have a piddle.

I’m nervous, I’m anxious; calm is the antonym, which knows better.

Have a go yer mug, maybe one day the word is r.i.p. That’s it, let her rip, me names god, so send me a letter.

So bloody easy, didn’t I tell yeah? I’ll drive her fast make a wave think of the Ark.

Well, the light’s growing dim, so what, I’ll be home for tea and family stuff and hear old faithful bark.

And howl and whine and fret and act like a lonely animal without a friend, she knows darn well what’s up.

I’ll get there, didn’t I tell yer, I am invincible, I am a’winnin.

You beauty, nearly there, piss of log, don’t need you, or more got the bastards got me, I’m go’ in swimmim.

Strange emotions, many odd thoughts, peaceful stuff.

Me life, me mates, me wife and kids, the old bitch.

Must learn a better word for me dog, now here’s the pitch,

‘I’ve bugger him up’ and all’s getting black, heaps of bubbles.

Bubbles, I can use them, yes I can. Their fleeting things, I grab for them. I knew now I’m in very deep troubles.

Upside down, I don’t have a clue, the air I breath is, its, well just like tea.

Is this the end? No coming back, no more you, no more me?

The feeling of release is somehow strange but relaxin’.

What have I done, I don’t blame myself, it was somehow stupid but now it’s quite, and real perplexin’.

I didn’t have much time for prayer, but nows a pretty fair time.

Look after me wife and kin please god, oh, and that bitch of mine.

When yah find me, someday soon, wields that bloody cudgel.

All I want’s is my wife, me kids, me bitch, and the mates at Billinudgel.

Here we go there’s that last bubble, peace has got me, me wife, my kids, me old dog.

me wife me me dogs kid.

me wife me kids me dog,

I made a bad choice, better next time, forgive me and learn.

Me wife me kids and me dog.

I would still be here but for that friggin’ great log.

copyright, john D. farley.

LITTLE BABY CHERRY, LOST.

AS I BEGUN TO WRITE THIS POEM I BECAME TRANSPOSED INTO THE BODY AND MIND OF A LITTLE GIRL, THE POEM BECAME MORE OF A NARRATIVE AS SEEN THROUGH HER EYES. TAKE YOU MIND INTO HER WORLD, ALLOW YOURSELF TO SEE HER MISTY VISIONS.

In 2000 a little 6-year girl went “walkabout” from the yard of her home near Broken Head Northern NSW. She wandered off with her pet dog. Her mother had been in constant voice contact.

The terrain behind her home was dense bush leading into heavy coastal forest. About 4/5 kilometers east was the Broken Head Caravan Park, a small hamlet near the ocean.

The time was late afternoon; conditions were calm and cloudless, then. Little Cherry did not answer her mother’s call. Her mum began calling her from the back yard, Cherry had disappeared. Her pet dog appeared from the bush behind the house, but no little girl.

Frantic calls for assistance to the local Police commenced a protracted search, it’s getting on to very dim light, and it will soon be dark. Members of the Police with a helicopter and sniffer dogs commenced to search behind the property.

Members of the Police Force, State Emergency Service, The Volunteer Rescue Assn, the Rural Fire Service and some local residents, a total of upwards of 50 people, commenced to conduct a sweep search in dense woodland, in total darkness aided by torches. For several hours we searched to no avail, the search parties are instructed to return at first light with more volunteers.

LITTLE BABY CHERRY.

© john d farley 2008

CHEERRIIEE BABY. That’s mummy, “nearly time for tea darling”, yummy.

“Here I’m is out here with doggie wwoolfie”, gee he is a sook.

A butterfly flutters it’s all blue “come on doggie lets take a look”.

Its wings are pretty and it flies out the gate, “wont be long mummy”

I think I said.

The pretty butterfly.

But it’s gone, it’s gone in the bush, where? We will find it. Mummy will love it, Daddy will smile.

Where’s doggie, where is this place, mummy and Daddy will find me, I’ll just walk, gee the trees are nice.

Can you hear, that’s an Owl, Daddy told me that, it’s dark now Mummy, I want my tea.

I see things really good, wish daddy could be here, that’s a big bird, I want my house, oh here’s the little creek.

Oh very smelly, is that a cow, can I take my shirt off mummy, and I’m really hot. Dogs are barking, dogs are scary; I’ll go this way.

Scared Mommy, lights and noise are coming through the big trees, Daddy why the wind.

All the lights, loud voices, cranky voices. Daddy said.

A voice, a little boy, “go this way”, my tea, Mummy and Daddy. The little boy, “go this way”.

A little animal, “hello”.

Mummy I’m very tired, can I go to bed, “no Cherry I’ll get you home, you’ll see”. But that’s not Mummy.

It’s really really dark, the little boy is in front of me, he’s only little, he calls to me.

We know.

The naughty sounds, the cranky loud voices, the dogs, I’m not scared now, a long way away. Mummy will find me.

Sounds in the bushes.

“Don’t lie down, come with me, let’s play, can you hear the beach”. The little boy said.

I want my bed, I’m ready for ‘jammas’, Mummy, look at me, oooh it’s cold.

Daddy said I’m a little girl and always smile, Mummy said I’m pretty. Why is nobody here? Just the little boy.

It’s dark, where’s my home, why is our home got lost.

Little boy, where are you, the light is just in front, it’s like a little home. “Your safe” he said.

Mummy said be nice, if I bang on the door and be nice.

I know what to say; “HELLO I’M CHERRY, I’M GOT LOST”.

Dedicated to little Cherry and her very relived Mum and Dad, © john d Farley 2008.

PS: THE OLD COUPLE AT THE BROKEN HEAD CARAVAN WERE GOB SMACKED, here is this totally naked little girl tapping on the door of their caravan around about dawn. The searchers had described a dead cow in a creek, the Police Helicopter, the barking Police dogs, the sounds of men and women calling in loud voices. Cherry described all of these things to her Mummy, she “was scared Mummy”.

Could the ‘little boy’ be an apparition? Have little kids hidden intentionally to escape the suspected dangers from all of “naughty sounds, the cranky voices, the dogs”. Maybe another “walkabout” can answer this enigma; his name is Stephen Walls, (circa 1978), “Little boy lost”

Cherry walked out of a very dense littoral forest, she was completely naked. She had, by some calculations, walked 5 kilometers during the night, ALL STOOD DOWN; there was not a dry eye in the town.