Sanderson Media

I went down to Ikea to learn a new lingo, It isn’t enough to speak the Aussie fluent dingo, The Swedish words that confronted me, Appeared like Scandinavian bingo, And when I started to say those words, My eyes lit up with the jingo. I went to Ikea see their kitchen wares and was drawn to a lovely gradvis and the Swedish stares; An emet, a kapaster, a hovista or medfora, With an optional saxborga and a functional medfora. Who could not hack some Knackerbrod rag, This Rye crispbread was made for Aussie dags, And Knackerbrod flerkorn you could eat for a week, Unless Skorpor kardemumma is your special treat, Basically these Cardamon crisp rolls as a food are quite neat, Take a backpack full to Sweden, it could feed you for a week. And what of the meat balls we all love so much, They are more addictive than anything Dutch, Then wash it down with Swedish coffee or tea, And finish with Kaferrep, bikkies, Before you shop have a pee. I saw mountains of furniture, that was free from rat sack, W

No dog in a film ever asks you to be violent, No dog actor wants you to kill, When there’s a dog in the script, The movie is hip; If you need a true baddy, it’s usually a cat, If you feel like some biffo, a chill pill will fix that; So Wots in the mind of the average dog; ?? when it lies around like a log? not much really; but it hopes sincerely; it can give u love; designed by God above; ? there’s an itty bitty trace, when it licks your face, Of dog-love unseen, In its hairy dog scheme, Guess where it’s tongue has been;?although it looks quite clean “My butt germs are safe”, Thinks dog to itself, “I could never dream, of hurting your health” A dog thinks more than a selfish cat,? Dog waits obediently on its Comfy matt?? It may never get a movie role, But it will star in your life, to play and hold”?? ?Dogs dream of life in paradise, free from fleas, prejudice and strife?? monkeys dream of better trees, as they fly through the air in a monkey way, taking anything they can seize, But th

Wake up to bush poetry Why not wake up to a sando poem When u see your friends remember to show em Loneliness will flee, and you’ll be in a state of glee, Because words are like seeds when u sow em. This poem thing began when I lived in the bush, I felt connected as I sat on my country tush, On the back of a horse while mustering cows, I noticed the interaction between their four stomachs and bowels. They would eat their lucerne and chew their cuds, I had a mouthorgan in the pocket of my working class duds, And on the trip home my dog chomped on a toad, While our happy little cows inadvertedly painted the road. So how does that connect with poetry you ask, Well I started writing songs while doing my tasks, I was at peace with the world of vowels and things, No matter if they had fur or flew with wings. I was living on a farm with no access to television, You’re crazy if u think that’s caused me a schism, I spoke to the cows and listened to the owls, And saw through this prism with non

Why would a farm kid write poetry Such an odd thing you hardly ever see, But I can imagine a snotty farmer’s kid, hanging out of a tree with the billy lids, Or standing with his cattle dog, while both decide to pee on a log, I can remember a farmer with allergies, Having a sporadic sneeze, and then a wheeze, Snorting in the grass and dust with pollen, Many boxes of tissues that sniff has stolen, And farm chemicals too dodgy to trust, He hopes his lungs won’t turn to rust, As he wipes his nose on a handy sleeve, The constant drip is his greatest peeve, With a country sigh to heave, and a hug, I imagine him drinking from an enamel mug, While listening to the old cheese unplugged, Her random bush talk just draws a shrug, The mug is chipped and the lady quips, That enamel spreads disease to your lips, I can see them swimming their horses, that’s hip, in the local creek that smells like dip, Or singing as he musters cows at noon, while struggling to hold a country tune, The cows are tolerat

Ralphie and Freddy’s bird gang, it lived out on the street, Performing many feathery feats with 50 lorikeets, It flew through countless trees and yet never came to grief, Ralph and Fred had the life of riley but never washed their feet, Each day they dodged and weaved, with their high pitched irritating squeaks, But nothing made their joy complete, Like their noisy corroboree treat. Oneday Ralphie addressed his crew, outside old John’s shack, “Am I chairman of this motley crew, Am I leader of the pack? “As your CEO I say to you I get whatever you lack, “Although you have everything your brains desire, “You never pay a zack, and you can even fly higher, “So hear me out so I don’t need to shout, “And show a bit of love back. “So what about this strange grey guy, “Who’s been feeding us for years, “Whatever it is he wants from us, “It mustn’t end in tears, “Let’s raise a feather without any fuss, “Have a shot at how this appears. “We really could eat somewhere else, “Let’s vote with our sq

His favourite colour was banana yellow, At 2am he felt kind of mellow, Outside my window he began to bellow, So how did he know he could wake me up, He was as noisy as a young fox terrier pup, Dutifully I filled his enamel cup, Giving him bread and honey to sup. In the spectrum of noise, in the pantheon of squeals, How would a creature say thanks for a meal, I’ve heard nice birds and the hairiest of herds, But to describe the sound of possum they haven’t invented the word. Think of someone who coughs far too much, Or a heavy smoker who spits out stuff, It’s basically a guttural sound of clearing the throat, At 2am it scrubs your dreams with carbolic soap. Possums love fruit, it’s in the book I read, I just had to convince Pete and get it into his head. The hairy thing looked doubtfully At my pear or pomegranite, He much preferred some bread and jam, Reminds me of the people who only eat spam, So what does it do to his stomach juice, Imagine what happens if Animal Welfare breaks loose,