Little Girl

I learnt something new,

about my daughter today.

How brave and strong,

the little lass can be.

When confronted with

a problem,

that's not quite right.

Her shield of wisdom,

protects her in the fight.

I've seen my little girl,

with eyes full of tears.

When all her hopes and dreams,

shattered into fears.

I know times have been tough, my little girl.

You feel no one cares, about your weird world.

I'm proud of you, and who you have become.

Overwhelmed by emotions, as I watch this plucky one.

You are my hero, and you will be free.

The little girl, that dwells inside of me.

Do you want fries with that?

As a cheeky and opportunistic kid, with an anything goes attitude, I thought I was, just ace.

Now, this did, get me into trouble on quite a few occasions. Some interesting life lessons learned the hard way. More over just a kid getting into trouble, having fun and then trying to talk my way out of it. 


For a number of years, when the local shows came to town, us, the local kids, would get up to mischief. We didn't have the money for entry fees and forbidden to go by our parents, we rallied as entrepreneur's, and we snuck our way in.


The luring smell of dag wood dogs, fairy floss. The excitement of owning a show bag and the adventure of the rides, became to much for our young selves to ignore.


We came up with another great idea, after I was hit in the head by a twenty cent piece. It fell out of the pocket of a Ferris wheel rider.  Suddenly we realised that if we stood around the rides, unsuspecting partons would lose any loose change in their pockets. We just needed to hover close by and pick it up. So we did. It became a tradition that we did every year.


There were five of us, and every show we would congregate together at the rides.
We came prepared, as it was generally a good idea to always wear a raincoat and hat. It wasn't only loose change that rained from heaven. Unwanted hamburgers, shakes and fries that made their way back up the stomach of would be thrill seekers wasn't pleasant.


So, we hung around the rides and sure enough as the ride gained memento, money would fall from the pockets of white knuckled joy riders. We shouted ourselves a free meal or two. A ride on the bumper cars before sneaking back out and headed home. We never got caught.
Naughty, I know, but as a kid, it was brilliant.


Oh and yes, in case you are wondering, I did get chucked on, fries if I remember correctly.



Read more:http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/

Kakadu Poppins

I had made a promise to my six year old son and I needed to keep it, but it involved something that I just couldn't bring myself to do, fly.

Petrified of flying, I couldn't even get on a merry go round. The whole concept of floating around in space without my feet on the ground, made me sweat bullets. I use to carry a brown paper bag everywhere I went, just in case I started to hyperventilate thinking about flying or seeing planes in the air.

I couldn't watch a movie or TV that had planes in them, it freaked me out to much. The last time I did sit through a movie, I passed out and woke up in hospital. Believe me there are not enough words to describe how embarrassed I was.

Every time I looked into his puppy blue eyes, his sadness ripped out my guts. He was so fragile just a little boy, but he was so brave. His mum would have been proud. Four months ago she died of a brain tumour. Together they were inseparable and it made me jealous sometimes. Every night she would read him bedtime stories and tell him of the adventures, she had as a little girl, following her zoologist father around Kakadu. It broke my heart and I would crumble to my knees and cry every time I could hear them giggling and talking. It was a time they needed together and it was a time I needed, but he needed it more.

So when he came to me after the funeral and asked me to take him to Kakadu, tears welled in my eyes and I hugged him tight and said yes.

The day of the flight, I had already been sick three times. He thought it was funny, but I couldn't stop my body reacting. It was on auto pilot. I fumbled the money for the taxi, dropped the tickets at check in and tripped up the stairs to the airport lounge. The handle of my bag broke, the zip on my jacket got stuck and I left my watch on the kitchen bench.

The announcement of our flight ready to board echoed in my ears, but the humming of anxiety made hearing difficult. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. My knees wobbled under me as I stood and leaning down to pick up the bag I nearly fainted.

He, hurried off in front of me, I tried to tell me to wait but no words came out, when I opened my mouth. I tugged at my jacket collar it felt tight. My palms began to sweat. The air hostess ushered me into a seat and he was already in his. I checked our seat belts at least ten times and read the safety pamphlet twenty times.

As the massive engines roared into life and the plane began to hurl its self down the run way, I gripped the arm rest so hard my knuckles were white.
My son tapped me on the arm. I lent down to hear what he wanted to say.

“Don't worry Dad,” his voice reassuring, “Mum said to tell you that Mary Poppins is sitting on the wings.”



Read More: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/06/trauma-behind-magical-mary.html

http://www.femail.com.au/mary-poppins-she-wrote.htm

The Queen of Everlong

The heavy thick fog of mist valley started to lift and squirts of brilliant sunshine peered through to reveal the small quaint village of Everlong. Hidden by the tall ancient elk trees, a clan not seen to the human eye roomed free among the forest litter.

Rows of blue cottages housed the females while the males lived in rows of pink cottages on the outer skirts. Their service to protect the inner village and more over guard their queen.

Queen Shajul ruled her kingdom kindly. She spent her days nonchalant and frolicking in the garden grounds of her majestic mansion. Her every need catered for and surrounded by plentiful women of natural beauty.

The males slaved their days frantically, working on ways to enrapture and capture the essence of the Queen. In doing so become her betrothed to sire the next royal offspring.

A menacing task daunted most of the males who among themselves found contentment and pleasure. On the phase of the golden night circle, the males, who were brave enough entered the realm. Demonstrating their genius to impress the Queen.

The keeper of the roosters sent his son bravely to address the Queen. Full of confidence and buck, he walked steadily through the beauty that laid revealingly across the floor. Coming into the presence of the Queen made a lump form in his throat and his hands shaking held out a statue of a black cock. Bowing his head in grace he said, “Your majesty I present this black cock to you, so that your kindly eye can look upon it in your garden grounds.”

The Queen summoned a beauty off the floor and whispered into her ear. The beauty stood before the young male and said, “The Queen has no use for a black cock, be removed from the royal chamber.”

Two hefty women stormed into the palace room and grabbed the young male. He dropped the black cock on the floor and it shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. The Queen erupted into laughter and the beauties swooned around her, grooming and pampering. The Queen looked at her beautiful temptresses and smiled as she develled into raw passion.

The Big Things

The Dunn family had been part of the small close knit community for several generations. Immigrating from Germany, Wilhelm August and his wife Wilhelmine Caroline set foot on virgin soil. Together they obtained a land lease from the government. A small holding of one hundred acres, near Wagin in Western Australia. There they planted potatoes and maize, which Caroline tendered. August logged and cleared the farm of the forest and bush. It took many months of hard and labouring work.

Eventually they had saved enough money to buy twenty head of Merino ewes. Within ten years, they had made enough money to buy a neighbouring station and they ran over twenty thousand sheep. As sheep, wheat and cattle producers pushed north looking to open up more territory, August and Caroline with their nine children, thrived on the land.

Flynn Dunn a sixth generation sheep farmer opened the telegram with anticipation. The government had accepted his proposal to build a big ram Merino statue, as a memorial to his ancestors August and Caroline Dunn. Part of their contribution to Australia being founded on the sheep's back.



See the Big Ram: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Wagin_Giant_Ram,_Western_Australia.jpg

Murder at the Big Mango

Part one

The yellow and red police tape that cordoned off the area blew gently in the afternoon breeze.
The unmistakable big mango shadowed over the nearby bush that hide the decomposing body.

A strong police presences kept a congregation of news reporters at bay. Forensic scientist wearing white overalls paced frankly back and forth between the crime scene and their unmarked van. They were unsure how long the body had been there, but preliminary detection of the bloating indicated four days.

The towns people were shocked that a body could lay undiscovered for so long at the popular tourist spot. But curiosity got the better of them and a group of locals gathered near the road side. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the victim. Prompting the question, was he/she a local?

The heinous act of the murder put shivers through Detective Sergeant Floyd of the local police. He had never witnessed such a horrific crime. Floyd had spent his entire career as the local Detective and felt an unsettling fear for the residence of the small sleepy town.

With all the commotion no one saw the two sisters sitting in their red car.



Read more: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/

Fetching Stick

Meredith let the sea breeze blow her long brown hair in a mess as she sat of the jetty. She watched the dive boats take tourist out to the reef. To dive among the ancient corals and spectacular marine fish. The odd turtle, dugong and whale spotted always a treat.

She would close her eyes and see in her minds eye, resting her hand on the tanned muscled shoulder of the young sexy dive instructor as he tugged at her wet suit. Being embarrassed about spitting in the goggles to keep them fog free. The smell of the ocean air filled her lungs as she sucked in deep breathes. The seagulls barking noise overhead. The bounce of the boat bobbing over waves. Laughter and chatter from people as their own experience heightened. To feel the water wash over her skin, purifying her senses.

The alarm on her watch beeped 2:00 pm. Time to head to class. She spun on her wheels and pushed herself down the road. She wasn't as aware any more about people staring, the women covering their mouth to hide the gasp, kids pointing and the guys turning away. She had learnt that it was not about them. It was about her and what she wanted to gain from her life now.....now she was in a wheelchair.

That drunk driver may have taken away her legs, but he will never take her spirit, her drive, her push, her desire, her longing, her want. It took several months before Meredith would realise that she had lost something more than just the use of her legs. She lost a part of herself that wanted to live. Thinking that being a cripple stopped her from achieving her goals and dreams, had blinded her.

She started attending dive classes a few weeks ago. After being inspired by seeing a dog that had had his hind legs amputated after being hit by a drunk driver too. He was fitted with a wheelchair of sorts. A home made device that attached to his body on wheels. So he could still use his front legs and his hind legs were replaced by wheels. The smile on his face every time he retrieved the stick left Meredith in awe. He didn't under that he had no legs, but the game of fetch was all that concerned him. The game of life.

Meredith could see herself floating in the warm ocean waters of tropical north Queensland and as she confidently pushed herself through the doors to her class she smiled, she was going to fetch her stick.

The Upside Down Lion Fish

“Excuse me,” Eli said. “but I think that fish is dead,”

Eli directed the keepers attention to a fish floating upside down.

The keeper a mid aged woman with nice tanned skin giggled through her hand.

“Oh no that's just a lion fish they do that sometimes, if they feel threatened they flip over,”

Eli nodded in thanks. It was his first trip to the coast and the young girl behind the tour desk said a trip to the aquarium was good value. He shuffled through the pamphlet there was nothing in it about an upside down lion fish.

He caught his reflection in the glass window and almost didn't recognise himself. He had lost weight and his face withdrawn. A full beard hid the flaws of grief. He looked at his reflection's eyes and they were sullied. It had been two years since the accident.

Eli felt a strange sensation wash over him. He looked at the floor and it moved up and down in wave like motions. He staggered to the wall and steadied himself. He stared at his reflection in the glass window and saw his young brother smiling back, he rubbed his face with his hand. He couldn't breathe, his throat tightened and the tunnel closed in on him.

He gasped for a breathe but the hands of grief squeezed his lungs. Beads of cold sweat ran down his face from his brow, red tractor, his vision blurry he closed his eyes, hot white lines burned into his pupils, quickly opening his eyes black spots popped in and out of his vision, red tractor rolled on, his fingers and hands tingled pins and needles, he tried to shake the feeling back but a deep knot tightened in the pit of his stomach and his heart raced draining the blood from his face, he turned pale.

Dizzy he staggered a few steps before dropping to his knees, shaking his head wildly to regain clarity, red tractor rolled on his little brother, he propped himself on his hands and let go of the feeling and vomited.

“Hey mate, hey buddy you alright?” a stranger asked. Gently shaking Eli by the shoulders, who had rolled onto his back. Eli opened his eyes and warmly smiled at the good Samaritan.
“Yes I am,” he thought fondly for a moment and said “I'm doing a lion fish.”

Read more : http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/06/asio-australias-king-spy.html

Motorbike Chick

I have the letter 'H' burnt as a scar into my leg. The 'H' was positioned on the exhaust. My leg got trapped under the bike and the red hot exhaust with it's 'H' burnt through my jeans and into my leg. It's a little faded now, and more noticeable when I have a tan. But if Honda ever needed a reason to think chicks weren't into bikes well I have a brand to prove it, albeit accidental.

Motorbikes, a family blood trait that purrs or growls depending on what motorbike you are talking about in my veins. My Dad especially liked bikes and at a young age I was a bike nut too.


Before Crusty Demons were even out of nappies, I was heel clicking, wheelies, and standing on the seat and jumping. I was totally insane and loved every minute. I even tried to lay the bike down and slide under the truck, it all was working out great until my shirt got hooked under the truck and the bike kept going. Dad was none to pleased that I had dented the fuel tank and bent the handle bars.


One day, I was trying to impress this person (lets just leave it at that, no need to name names) I sat backwards on my bike and went as fast as I could along the gravel track. Until I forgot to look were I was going, after all and in my own defence I was sitting backwards. I ran into and flipped over a fence. The bike got hung from the top wire, but I twirled several times in the air...practising my ballerina moves for later that night...and landed flat on the back. Oh, and I have a scar from that one too.


But I think the best was, while both vehicles were moving. Chuck a wheelie and land the front wheel of the bike onto the tray of the ute. Seen it in some movie and thought I can do that. I did too on the very first go. However it was the second attempt that didn't fair well. The driver of the ute (and yes I swore so much at him even the troopers blushed) braked and both me and the bike slammed into it. The bike back flipped and landed on top of me. I was badly winded and had the worst case of gravel rash on my back and well let's just say sitting down for the next week was very uncomfortable too.


I was mad, insane and crazy, but I always wore a helmet.

Jack

The old commer truck had seen better days. Half the floor was missing, the drivers door was held closed with a piece of wire and the wipers didn't work properly. Why and how I never got pulled over by the cops all those times, I'll never know.

I had just turned off the highway and onto the gravel road that led to the farm, when a mob of kangaroos jumped out in front of me. One jumped clear in front of the truck. I had no time to swerve or brake. The truck ploughed into it. You never forget that haunting noise. Flesh against steel. THUMP.

I stopped and went back to check to see if the kangaroo was still alive. If that was the case then I'd have to shoot it, but to also check for a joey in the pouch. Most country folk stop to check.

It was a freezing cold night. The wind howled and the driven rain stung as it hit my face. The kangaroo was dead. I was thankfully for that. I wasn't looking forward to shooting her. I put my hand in the pouch, it was cosy warm. I felt something wriggle. I grabbed hold of it's legs and pulled out a little boomer. I held it up by the legs and looked into its eyes. Scared, confused and cold, its defence was to hiss at me. I giggled at the feeble attempt.

I carried it back to the truck. I couldn't leave it there, it would die without it's mother. But I was not going to dong it on the head either. I found an old hessian bag under the seat and wrapped the little boomer in that and then shoved the whole thing down my shirt. The hessian was itchy and I had a rash for days. But knew my body heat would keep the little bugger warm until I got home.

When I got home I tucked the little roo into bed with me and this was the routine we took for six months. I can't begin to tell you how many times I changed and washed the sheets.

He grew fast and bounced around the yard like a wobbly spring. I named him Jack.
By the time Jack was twelve months old, he would venture out into the paddocks during the day and then make his way back to the house at night. But one night he never returned.

From time to time, I would see this lone kangaroo sitting on the ridge. I used the binoculars one day to spy him. I could never tell if it was Jack, after all most roos look the same. But I believed it was him.

Wishbone Bend Creek

It had rained heavy for four days. The ground was soaked. It couldn't hold any more water.

I was busy doodling on my maths assignment when the classroom door flew open. Mrs Flannel barged in, “All the kids have to go home now, the rivers are flooding,” she yelled.

We had had many drills in this scenario. We stopped what ever we were doing and got up and walked to where the school buses normally picked us up. No bag, no books nothing.

I was the last one on my bus and before I had a chance to take my seat, Mrs Cod the bus driver took off. I was the last kid that would need to be dropped off. Mrs Cod was mumbling something to us kids about if the creek was over, she'd have to turn around. We would then end up sleeping in the school library. Oh gawd no, they will only make us do homework.

As the bus rattled down the muddy and slippery road we came to the first creek. There was a wash of water over, but we crossed it ok.
The kids giggled, it was an adventure. More so that we got out of school.

I waved goodbye as the bus drove away. I was the last kid to go. Mrs Cod always grumbled about how far away our farm was. There were two creek crossings, the most notorious. Devil's creek and Wishbone Bend creek.

If either of those creeks were flooded, you could be stranded for days. Mrs Cod stopped the bus and told me to stay seated while she sussed out the depth of the water when we came to Devil's creek crossing. It looked ok and we crossed. Water swept in under the side door and for a moment I pooped my pants.

When we got to Wishbone Bend Mrs Cod swore. I got up from my seat and moved to the passengers seat. More for reassurance than anything. Wishbone was flooded. The bus would not get through. However there on the other side of the raging water was the big blue tractor. It ploughed into the water and parted it like Moses and the Red sea. The cabin door swung open and Charlie our farm hand popped his head out. A grin from ear to ear.

“Thanks Mrs Cod,” I said as I scrambled out the door. Looking over my shoulder as the little school bus rattled away. I did hope she'd get home ok. Even if she was an ole battle axe sometimes.

“Come on,” Charlie shouted “the rivers rising fast we have to go NOW!”

I climbed into the tractor and we ploughed back through the water. The tractor lost grip and slid sideways, water seeped in from around the door seal. I gave a little scream and dug my fingers into Charles arm. The water level was half way up the tractor. I couldn't see the huge back wheels, they were totally immersed. Charlie floored it and a big bellow of black smoke puffed from the exhaust and the tractor surged forward.

“We did it we did it,” I screamed in joy. Charlie straightened his shoulders and with a nervous crackle in his voice replied “Of coarse.”

Wishbone Bend creek broke its banks and recorded the highest level of flood water in history. Five metres. It took three weeks for the waters to recede and it was the only time we had our supplies dropped by plane. Oh and Mrs Cod did make it home safe.

The Roger Falls

Together they seductively used their female prowess to flirt and lure him into their bed.
His head filled with fantasy. A threesome. He couldn't believe his luck.

They made him buy a bottle of Bollinger champagne and promised to lick it off his chest.
Slowly pulling the lace strings undone with a finger, their cotton shirts fell to the floor.
They helped one another teasingly undress, he shuddered as tingles stimulated his body.


His mind preoccupied as soft sensual hands wandered his torso. He never noticed the rohypnol they slipped into his drink.


Closing his eyes as his pleasure intensified, he didn't see the baseball bat in her hands. His skull cracked and crumbled, causing a massive intracranial hemorrhage. Still alive and semi conscious, he was aware when they wrapped him in plastic. Gasping he asphyxiated.


They drove along the rough country road in silence.


Roger falls was in full flood. Monsoon rains had dropped plenty.
The water roared over the jagged rocks. Swirling and thrashing.


They threw the corpse into the roaring water and watched it float away.
It smashed onto rocks and vanished beneath the foaming white water.


They giggled like silly school girls and sang along to girls just wanna have fun, as they drove back to the city. Blocking and dissociating. A pact made to never speak of what they had done.
Two sisters.



Read More: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/06/over-and-up.html

The Big Red Pom Pom

Charlotte scratched around in her mum's knitting bag looking for scraps of wool.

With an armful of colours she head towards her bedroom.
“Were do you think you are going with that?” her Mum asked.
“I'm going to make a big pom pom,” Charlotte replied.
Charlotte's Mum shifted through the armful of wool she was holding and promptly removed several balls.

“Ah Mum I want to use the red,” she protested.
“No I need it for something else,” her Mum replied.
Charlotte was left with only a couple of small pieces of wool.
Her pom pom now became little.

Not to be deterred, She matched off and continued her mission.
It took a couple of hours to finish and Charlotte was proud. Green, blue and orange radiantly shone.
She hung the cute little pom pom from the door handle.

Satisfied, Charlotte went out side to play.
When she returned she noticed her pom pom was missing.
Charlotte went running to her mum, “Mum Mum someone has taken...,” she didn't get to finish her sentence. Laying on the table shredded, what was left of her cute little pom pom.
Charlotte was really upset and started to cry. Her mum gave her a big warm hug to comfort her.

Charlotte's mum explained what had happened. Moggy their grey persian kitten had taken a liking to the inviting pom pom, just hanging there. Within minutes the lovely green, blue and orange pom pom was torn to pieces. Holding it in her back legs and kicking at it wildly the kitten revelled.

Charlotte was cross with the kitten, but she could see how the pom pom would of looked very enticing and giggled.

“I do have a surprise for you,” Charlotte's Mum said.
A big red pom pom. Dangled in front of her eyes.



Read More: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/06/we-ave-of-life.html

Shell Shock

Pulling his reading glasses down and folding the newspaper away, Jack stood, annoyed by the distraction. There was a great racket outside his house.

Yelling, screaming and squealing.

He pushed the creaky weathered fly screen door open and peered outside.

A gathering of people stood on the road.

He grabbed his walking stick and haunched over slowly shuffled outside.

The group parted as he approached. Their silence deafening his ears.

His neighbour compassionately patted him on the back as he stared at the body.

Shell shocked back to trenches of war, Jack could still hear the screams and the smell of death burnt scars of horror in his memory.

“I'm sorry granddad,” A little voice from behind said.

Jack looked at the boy. He could see his son's face reflected in the boys smile.

“It's ok,” Jack mumbled.
The boy gently vanished and Jack shuffled back inside.

The Paddle Steamers

The Eli Henry and Alice Matilda meandered up the Eweram River. Beautifully lined with a calibre of red gum trees. The pristine calm waters reflecting mirror imagines. Except for the occasional ripple of a fishes tail. Quiet and peaceful, the river system gave way to serenity. The only time that that serenity was broken was when the whistles of The Eli Henry and Alice Matilda blew. The warming salute to acknowledge the arrival of the paddle steamers.

Like a loving dedicated husband and wife, working side by side as they tolled their land, The Eli Henry and Alice Matilda effortlessly thrust up and down the river system. Collecting the bales of wool from the Arnela Sheep Station. Pastoralist Kelton Dunn ran the biggest Sheep Station in the southern hemisphere. A run of over four hundred thousand sheep. The station boasted a twenty stand shearing shed. Able to turn out over forty thousand bales of triple A graded wool a year.

The Eli Henry and Alice Matilda, were notorious legends. Craved from the very hardwood of the red gums that lined the Eweram Rivers banks. Like the little engine that could, the two paddle steamers continually expedited expectations and broke record after record.

The wooden barges that they towed could carry two thousand bales of wool and creaked under the weight. Never a bale lost or a man over board. The Eli Henry and Alice Matilda would gather their flock safely home.

A time of thriving enterprise and adventure the two paddle steamers invoked a spirit of belonging. Opening up areas of this rugged and expanding land, they became founders of tradition and mateship. Long gone, the Eweram River now silenced. Forced off their land by old age, the husband and wife retired to care.
The Eli Henry and Alice Matilda.



Read More: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/06/his-old-paddle-steamer-came-to-live-in.html

The Bungarra and The Gilgie

I ran as fast as I could. Ashley was chasing me with a gilgie and I wasn't going to let it nip me. (Noongar Aborigine word for fresh water crayfish).

When we felt like a feed of gilgies, we would head down to the dam. It was a favourite past time.

Now there is a method to this, so pay attention.

Take a left over piece of meat or meat scrap and then using a long length of baling twine, attach the meat to one end.

Then toss that into the dam, securing the another end by tying it onto a small stone.

Wait say, five minutes.
Pull the baling twine in slowly, just enough so that you can see the gilgies antennae poking out of the water.

Using a scoop net, home made of course. Scoop in behind the meat and bring the net up on the dam bank. Voila dinner.

The female gilgies are always thrown back. You can tell which one's they are because she will have eggs under her tail.

Now one day while I was tying the meat onto the baling twine. I was rudely interrupted.

A huge Bungarra (silent g),(Also known as a Sand goanna or Lace monitor) leisurely meandered over the dam bank.
He took long forceful strides, his sharp claws dug in and left gouges in the hard dam wall. His keen sense of smell had lured him out. A relentless forager, I had a fight on my hands.
He sauntered in my direction. Oh shit. He didn't see me as his prey, but as his rival.


The bungarra grabbed a piece of meat in his mouth and promptly turned and strutted off. I grabbed the other end of the baling twine and so began a game of tug o war. Oh it was all fun and games until...the bungarra let go and stood up on his hind legs and made a run at me.


Normally if a bungarra runs at you, you lay down. In their defence to get away, a bungarra will climb something tall. Tree, human all the same. So if you see a bungarra charging in your direction drop flat and lay down.


However, if the object of the bungarra standing up on his hind legs to run at you is food orientated...get the hell out of there. Bungarra's are also known by the name racehorse goanna, need I say more.


In my hasty retreat, I slipped on the gravel and grazed my knees. The commotion stopped the bungarra dead in his tracks and content that he had injured his rival, he again turned and strutted off. Not forgetting to grab the piece of meat he had so gallantly fought for.


The things we go through for a tasty feed of gilgies.



Read More: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/06/getting-paid-to-go-slow.html


More Info:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sand_goanna
http://www.fish.wa.gov.au/docs/pub/IdCrayfish/IdCrayfishPage03.php?0304

The Bridge holds a secret

The city sparkled on that crisp clear night.
A celebration of parties danced and laughed through the last minutes of the year.


The count down began...12, 11, 10, 9...


The year had been ferocious. It had taken more than it was entitled. None more so than from Taylor.


Taylor had accepted the promotion, it was a five year plan dream come true. The ad agency was thrilled to have her amazing portfolio in their high pedigree stables. However, moving to the city from the small country town she grew up in, was a rough transition. It was meant to be a new start, new city, new career.

The last day of the year is meant to be jubilating, a time of reflection and new year resolutions. Of affirmations and joy. But it didn't start that way for Taylor. The fiancee she had left behind, had turned up on her door step, flowers in hand. Begging her to come back. They could get married tomorrow, New Years day. Romantic, he said desperately.

Taylor spent the morning consoling him. She explained why she didn't want to marry. She was career driven and he was not. She waved good bye to him from her door way.

The phone rang, her boss. A million dollar client wasn't happy with an ad release. Taylor's boss pleaded with her for damage control. I have my family to be with, you don't, he said. She spent the afternoon, wining and dining and selling her soul, to keep the old buzzard happy. Finally, home. Hot shower, dress and taxi to the party.


...8, 7, 6...

Taylor stood near the full wall windows and gazed out. Red wine in hand, she marvelled at how beautiful the bridge looked at night. Not one noisy car in site and all decked out in lights.

...5, 4, 3...


Suddenly fear surged through her body and a cold sweat shook her. Covering her mouth, she silenced a scream. The figure of a person standing atop the bridge caught her eye.

...2, 1...Hap....pee New Year...The room cheered and laughed and shouted. People grabbed strangers and friends alike and traditionally...The fortune of luck be upon them...kissed the New Year in.

The fire works erupted, lightning the bridge in all its glory.

No one saw the body fall.





Read More: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/06/steelers.html

The Old Tree - Gender Reversal Experiment

No voice for them.

As diggers fallen his mates no longer stood.

Cut down.

He is a dignified old tree. The aeon of life scared upon his branches, worn proudly as a badge of honour. His dendrochronology had dated him to millions of years old, as far back as the Devonian period.

The evidence of his tree rings, revealed periods of extremes. Life sapping droughts and rejuvenating floods. Blistering hot summers and freezing cold winters.

The existence of life played out before him: His Indigenous custodians, banqueting on his fruit...Europeans cruelly hacking at his bark...Among his long beard a secret held, the rifle of Ned Kelly kept...The jumbuck and the swagman sheltered under the canopy of his branches...The lead bored deep into his trunk from the soldiers of war...An activist.

His shaky weathered old branches don't bare fruit any more. His leaves have turned grey. His cycle of life choked on the dirty pollution of progress. His love of life hung in disrepair.
He is the patriarch of what is left of the forest.

I apologised to this quaint old tree for the imposition of the chains.
I would not let them take him. He is a legacy of our history and he deserves respect and distinction.

As a father, I want my sons to meet this gentleman tree, as he is now tall and proud. Not as wood chips scattered over the playground beneath their feet. I hugged his trunk as if I had shaken his hand and no matter how long it took, I would stay here, chained.

The Old Tree

She was an old tree. An aeon of life wrapped in her branches. Her dendrochronology had dated her to millions of years, even to the Devonian period.

The scars of her tree rings, revealed periods of extremes. Life sapping droughts and rejuvenating floods. Blistering hot and freezing cold.
She had witnessed many a spectacular event. The existence of life played out before her.

In her prime, her fruit was the most desirous. Her shade was beckoned upon.

She had not bared fruit for many years, and her leaves weren't as vibrant. Her cycle of life choked on the pollution. Her love of life hung and she stayed as she could.
She was the matriarch of what was left of the forest.

I told her I was sorry for the chains, but they were for her protection.
I would not let them take her. Cut her down like some old dead forgotten tree. She had beauty, class and distinction.

No matter how long it took, I would stay, chained to her trunk.
 
 
 
 
 
Read More: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/06/in-figgy-forest.html

The Lighthouse

O Lighthouse, O Lighthouse,

Why no light for me.

Light a safe passage,

The world to see.

Oceans and ships,

Reef and shorelines.

You are our guide,

Our lightning, our pride.

Read More : http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/06/from-her-eye-house.html

Waving at Kangaroos

In a small farming community, fifteen families lived.

Every so often we would get together for a hoe down.

The adults would talk about grain and sheep prices and who had the better yield.
We, the farmers kids, massed together. We drank and smoked and talked shit.


Grabbing what booze we could steal, we would head off somewhere quiet and away from prying eyes. We would drink and drink and drink. If you found yourself in deep conversation with a rose bush, you knew your alcohol limit had been breached. We didn't care, the object was to drink as much alcohol as we could. We were young and invincible, so we thought.


We played games, spin the bottle, strip drinking, blind dolly, kiss chasey, and scull.
Scull was the best or maybe worst now in hindsight. We would sit down with four cans of beer. The object was to be the first person to scull all four cans. If you won, you got to pick someone to take their clothes off.


Run to Paradise screamed out the stereo spurred me on, I was going to win this time. I had had enough of getting my gear off.
I sculled all four in record time. But the boys were playing me, pretending to drink. Matthew paid the price, he flopped around trying to poke us girls with his ego.


Bored, we ended up back at the eskys, a bottle of rum, some vodka for good measure and whatever the green stuff was. We drank.


Whatever happened at the party stayed at the party. Some dumb motto, we thought up. More over to keep our reputations in tact.


We got a little wild and funky. We were very experimental.
We would pour the booze into each others mouths and then with eyes closed someone would have to kiss it out. Disgusting, I know, but we were drunk and didn't care.
We would strategically place a shot glass on different parts of our bodies and by drawing straws, the winner would drink it off.


Silly as a cut snake and wild as wombats. We partied hard.
As the night turned into day, one by one our names were called and homeward bound we would go.
Hearing my name, I'd swagger to the car, climb on the backseat and hope I didn't vomit.


The next day, my head spinning and my mouth feeling like at cat's hair ball was stuck in it. I'd recall the mischief I had been up to. Like trying to act sober and hanging out the car window to wave goodnight to the kangaroos.




Cheers.






Read More: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/06/atropa-bella-donna.html

The Bird Stalker

Her kiss was soft.

Leaving my lips, she let hers trail down my neck.

She wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me closer.

Her hands wander up under my shirt.

My body responded. My nipples hard.

Take me, take me.

She stopped. No no don't stop now.

I kissed her neck.

"Stop," she said.
"What?"

Your kidding right, get me all hot and aroused.

She moved her lips to my ear. Omg that's the best part, go on do it, kiss, kiss.
Nothing. Huh.

Her lips moved and I felt her warm breathe whirl onto my neck.
She whispered, "We are being watched,"
I flung my head back and looked at her.
The pounding in my chest was now for another feeling, fear.

My expression asked the question.
She nodded her head in the direction of our stalker.
I didn't want to look.
"What shall we do, call the police?" I said.
"No, I don't think the police can help us here...,"
Oh gawd, its that bad. I tightened my grip around her waist.
"...no I think we may need a zoo keeper,"

What did she say...puzzled...a zoo keeper.
I turned and saw this white, beady eyed bird, bopping its head looking at us.
Relieved but gobsmacked, I laughed.
"Shit I really thought we were being stalked,"
She laughed.

"So why the long face?" she asked.
"I got droopy nipples and an unsatisfied arousal,"

She took my hand in hers and cheekily said, "I can fix that,"



Read More : http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/06/he-longed-to-start-day-with-some-random.html