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TONY THOMAS
Tony Thomas was born in England in 1939,
and is a retired bureaucrat living in Brisbane,
Australia. He has an Australian wife, two
adult daughters, a dog and a cat. He holds
a degree in economics from the University
of Queensland. His interests are catholic,
and include: writing fiction, poetry, and
political diatribes to the newspapers. Other
abiding interests include political and social
philosophy, with occasional forays into logic
and the foundations of mathematics. His politics
are left wing anarchism, but his activities
are restricted to the pen rather than the
sword. Tony is actually a well known poet,
writer, mathematician and logician of some
stature, though he modestly complains that
on the contrary, he is not only obscure -
but unknown, and should probably be described
as such. On this website his prose pieces
and poems attract an increasing number of
regular readers - so I reckon he is wrong
for once - enjoy. ( Editor.)
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El Ducky
Clickety, clackety, quackety, yawn,
El Ducky greets the Duckibilli morn:
What a very lucky ducky is he
To lord it over the lucky country.
Outside the window the flag is drooping,
Meanwhile in the bathroom mirror snooping,
Ducky puffs out his chest and strikes a pose,
Alarmed by fresh hairs sprouting from his
nose.
Donning gold specs to take a closer look,
Shifty eyes peer into that hairy nook,
A dark tunnel into his little brain
Where picket fences bound that small domain.
Here lies every plot and plan sinister
That keeps El Ducky the Prime Minister
And feather weight master of that avian band
That rules over Duckstralia’s dry duck pond.
Ducky says he supports a democracy
But what we have is a duckocracy,
Where every quack of El Ducky’s command
Must be obeyed by all throughout the land.
He claims he knows what every voter thinks,
Assuming that everyone round him shrinks
From stating an opposing point of view
That flouts the policy of his motley crew.
When birds from other lands fly to our shores,
Seeking refuge from their draconian laws,
Ducky provides them with a home from home,
Behind razor wire on some old aerodrome.
The ducky in charge of foreign affairs,
Eiderdowner, one time leader kicked upstairs,
Prances on the international stage
But bows down low when US turkeys rage.
Back home, Ducky’s Attorney General,
The very model of Fred’s Pale Criminal,
This rude duck plots to safeguard our freedoms,
On the assumption that we won’t need them.
And to help him with his propaganda,
A goose bigger than the biggest gander,
(If rendered down she’d light all freedom’s
lamps)
Amanda Rules over Ducky’s prison camps.
El Ducky says he is the worker’s friend
And points to every economic trend
To prove Duckstralia’s farmyard is the best,
And fit for Ducky in his feathery nest.
Now he has a Senate majority,
We must increase our producktivity,
A billion extra eggs we’ll have to lay
To make our unemployment go away.
Our leader takes top billing on TV:
We see he’s not what he’s quacked up to be
When he sticks out his ugly jowl to speak
Something awfully foul drips from his beak.
When his lenses gleam in the camera’s light,
And his beady eyes shift from left to right,
He tries to duck the awkward questions,
And goes backquacking in all directions.
El Ducky is the captain of our ship,
Always ready with some lame duck quip.
He keeps promising he will retire,
But our canard is a tardy flier.
A weary gander is waiting in the wings
To see which way the Libduck Party swings.
If El Ducky is forced to leave the stage
El Goosey will have to muck out his cage.
The future of Duckstralia’s politics
Will depend on El Ducky’s latest tricks.
His finest role to date is war leader
But he’s just a low down bottom feeder.
He takes his orders from the corporations
To reform industrial relations.
Duckstralia was a land fit for heroes
But will soon be filled with fiddling Neros.
El Ducky likes to visit Washington
Where our ugly duckling acts the swan.
His US relations will not be done
Until our CEOs are all American.
While he swans about in the United States
El Ducky dines with Rupert off gold plates:
They swig wine and talk of Ducsktralia’s
fate,
Mostly the future of the Fourth Estate.
Oh, who will rid us of this tiresome Duck?
(Al Qaeda is too busy with Iraq)
And the voters don’t give a flying cluck
So it looks like we’re absolutely stuck.
Press barons say Ducky has done his best,
But when ready they’ll cast him from the
nest,
Meanwhile we tolerate him, feathers puffed,
Until our national treasure can be stuffed.
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