A Word Not Often Used

It ain’t a word I use that often

Could it be my brain has softened

With Google and therarus checked

I write it off with ‘what the heck’

Casual phone call to my daughter

A dad and kid talk as I oughta

And then a word so rarely seen

A morning jolt, she QUICKENING


Sex Laws

Thehobartchinaman rarely reblogs, why start now?

This reblog is in defence of Tasmania.

Y’all only need read the first two paragraphs.

All Taswegians spoken to have never seen this custom enacted, or are aware of the law.

Friends, please come to Tasmania, be assured we do not follow this custom, not sure about Gippsland though


#ThesaurusDay, #NationalThesaurusDay

The challenge was to use a word from each of these lists:

   bellow; clink; drone; jingle; quiver;
   clamour; dissonant; rip-roaring; tempestuous; vociferous;
   dulcet: honeyed; poetic; sonorous; tonal;
   blabber; cackle; dribble; gurgle; seethe;
   beseech; chant; drawl; embellish; intone

ScoMo’s* drone creates more fear,

Of unvaxxed who are dissonant,

His honeyed dribble is not of cheer,

As he drawls on above their chant.

copywrite © thehobartchinaman

.* ScoMo – Aussie PM

Writing Reluctance – The Joy Of Unfollowing

Sometimes I sit and ponder why,

Then grab the swat to whack a fly.

The muse has left me, seems perverse

Disabling thoughts to pen a verse.

Doom scrolling through the works of others

Frankly I wonder why they bother

Down to my navel I then glance,

I’m sat here in my underpants

So why contribute to this stream

Expectiing piffle will be seen.

Then I recall what started this,

Uncomfortably I need a piss.

Unfollowing authors gives me joy

No longer will their thoughts annoy.

Once chasing them now one hundred under

Feel so delighted I could chunder

Posing Promonade

Against a tree trunks shady rough bark

Lithe graceful and so lean

Across the grass her dog did bark

Indifferent to her lean.

Her dog accessory, not a pet,

Bought glances to designer clothes

Dog’s slobber her hands did not wet

Be seen by those you know

A different age the wheel still turns

Post chaise once rumbled on a lark c

And now pedestrian passion burns

To promonade in grassy park

Poo Bucket

One last time to empty out,

Picked up the droppings all about,

Last traces of a life past by,

Drying tears from last time I cried

Not a chore like last I did it

Meditating on Samson’s shit

Massaging The Message

Fascinated by the failure of the recently implemented light rail system in Sydney I wandered into the CBD for a gander.

Surprised to see several routes still running, a street sweeper man told me it was only one route affected by stress cracks in the tram’sunder carriage. These cheaper Spanish trams came with only three bogies per set when four might have been indicated for a more robust design. Whilst similar failures in such trams have been noted in other cities world wide,not so in Melbourne, where more expensive trams have four bogies per set.

The street sweeper moved on to whisk away the city detritus and fallen plane tree leaves, leaving me better informed. I contemplated the consequences for being cheap

Looking from up from the street bench I think I see another example of government frugality. A cheap means of communicating messages to drivers, in this case driver 651, directly cross the road.

Looking more closely it was in fact massages being offered at 651 George St.

My bad!