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All of Joy's poems are put on the website with the kind permission of her daughter Janet King.


This is the age of progress,
I'm sure you'll all agree,
An age of high technology
We all can plainly see.

Gone are the hoops and spinning tops,
Now kids with fancy names
Sit pressing keyboard buttons
As they play computer games

Cowboys and Indians are out,
They all play spacemen now;
Know more about a spaceship
Than they do about a cow.

We don't have money anymore,
Just little bits of card,
And remembering all those numbers
Is a feat that's really hard.

We've gone through the atomic age,
And the age of "nuclear fishin"
Where there's no sign of a rod and line,
And they don't know what they're missing.

We've all seen the computer age,
With discs that flop and flip,
Now the wheel has turned full circle,
It's the age of "fische" and "chip"!


Little business, money comes in,
Think I'd better buy bigger money bin;
But before I put my hand in the till
Think I'd better pay electricity bill:

Make more money, think new car I'll buy:
knock-knock on the door - pay insurance guy!
Work daylight to dark, make as much as I can;
Think I'll buy bigger house; pay taxation man!

Business going well, get a boat big and new:
Letter in the mail saying rates overdue:
Make plenty money, think I'll buy a farm
Interest on mortgage fill me with alarm!

Work even harder, feel about to drop.
Bills come in from everywhere, never seem to stop.
Forms, accounts and paper work drive me up the pole!
Think I'll sell business, go on the dole.

Just lie around all day out in the sun:
No more worries, no more forms, have lots of fun.
Think I might get hungry, nothing much to eat;
Have to go to work again or wind up in the street!

Little business, here I go once more,
Working very hard to keep wolf out of the door.
Everyone wants money: What's it all about?
Who was it invented financial roundabout?


Hate winter driving! Don't like arriving
When it's foggy, wet or freezing,
Or the wintry winds are breezing,
And I know I'll soon be sneezing,
It's no fun!

I don't like going to where it's snowing,
When we're bundled up in jumpers,
And our boots are outsized clumpers,
And there's icicles on the bumpers,
Want'a run.

I like things palmy, where nights are balmy;
Where banana trees are growing,
Little wave a moonbeam towing,
Little star so brightly glowing,
That's for me:

I like being where I'm seeing
Sandy beaches, white and pearly,
Wavelets sparkly, green and curly
When the sun is rising early,
Where I'd be.

Think I'll settle, put on the kettle,
Brew up tea all hot and steamy,
Whip up scones all jam and creamy,
Play sweet music soft and dreamy,
Never roam.

I won't be packing, or vehicle stacking
With packages large and lumpy,
Traveling roads pot-holed and bumpy,
That would only make me grumpy,


They're rattling the door
As they're pounding on the floor
When the couples retreat and advance.
Though there's many a fall
They can laugh at it all
Enjoying the Baldry Bush Dance.

There's plenty of steak
And the salads they make.
On the barbie the snags are all sizzling.
The chops aren't too tough
And there's more than enough
To go round, so we shouldn't be grizzling.

There's slices and cakes,
And we heap up the plates
Saying "What a great evening, you betcha"
If you say "I can't come",
Or "I'd rather stop home",
They'll most likely come round and getcha.

Les' Bush Band
Plays the music so grand
To start our feet merrily tapping,
And we sing right along
To a well-known old song
Keeping time with the beat as we're clapping.

In spite of the noise
And the shouting of boys
In a corner, asleep on a pillow,
A small girl I see;
It's a mystery to me
How she sleeps while we're Stripping the Willow.

Who cares for the rain
Beating down once again?
We all of us say
As we each head our way
"Let's hold more of these Baldry bush dances".