WELCOME to the world of Barrington Lloyd-Jones' poems and doggerel

Celebrating School.

There were hearty celebrations that were held across the nation when the Pisa                 scores for learning showed us we were near the top

With increased invigoration “All ahead for education!” we would show the world                how smart we were, we’d never ever stop.

A curriculum to lift us out, a NAPLAN that would give us clout, “We’ll double up with            Parent Choice to set the world ablaze!”

But inequity has bitten, no more stories have been written, for the kids have had                enough of school, they simply disengage.

 

It was back in sixty two when, Bob Menzies with his henchmen, changed the rules              of national learning and began to privatise

With largesse he set asunder, and to every pundit’s wonder, made the cost of top             notch learning bring the water to your eyes.

For the ordinary parent, with two jobs for food and their rent, has no hope of                       choice of schooling for their precious learning kids

So they join the queue of losers, in the eyes of smarter users, and feel the most                 dejected, no one listening to their bids.

 

For they only asked for fairness, in this changing world of careless, laws to keep                 the wealthy richer, far far richer than before

But this Covid curse we suffer, has made it so much tougher, for the parents on                the lower deck and far out from the shore.

Though there’s plenty there for sharing, it’s the politicians caring, more for votes               and noisy lobbyists, religion in their sights.

So the Privates and the others, run by nuns and priests and brothers, still wonder               what’s the fuss about ‘cos “Everything’s alright.”

 

With our rush to privatising, done without us realising, that the wealth of our great              nation was passing from our grip

Every Tom and Dick and Harry, took whatever they could carry, and we even let                  them have a port so they could use their ships

So in deepest consternation, every worker in our nation, has been snookered by a              government whose interest we all know

Is to stay in power for longer, and to make the laws much stronger, for the benefit             of foreigners whose investment dollars flow.

 

But a nation’s education, is without exaggeration, its pathway to prosperity, a path           now filled with strife

As it’s standardising testing, push push push and never resting, that has caused               us this inequity, has wrecked so many lives.

For our Copycats and Stickybeaks, and Scallywags with two left feet, don’t fit the               learning model that ACARA’s given us

So technology will have its day, we’ll close our schools, “Hip Hip Hooray!” and say              at last to Dan the Man* “We’re getting off the bus.”

 

*Dan Tehan was the Federal Education Minister at the time of writing

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        The National Apple Curriculum

 

           I had a case of apples delivered just the other day,

          They were the National variety, the same in every way,

          Each with that Naplan stem, must hold it as we eat, 

         A shiny MySchool sticker, so computer for to read.

 

         And so I took a carful bite to taste the juicy fruit

         But then my throat went awfully dry, just like an old dried boot.

         I thought I must be dreaming for its promises were great,

        A National Curriculum, our kids’ and teachers’ fate.

 

        ACARA stamped across the box, “For Parent Choice” it read.

        “A great mistake,” I thought for sure, “Our kids have been misled.

        Where went the joy of eating and choosing foods we need?

        And chewing on the learning core, then spitting out the seeds?”

 

        Now thinking that I might be wrong, with tastebuds badly worn

       The case of National Apples was set up on my front lawn

       So kids who lived along the street might like to try a bite

       And tell me their opinions, and set my feelings right.

 

       A youngster from a Special School “The apple is too big!”

       A blazered lassie walking by “I couldn’t give a fig 

       For I care not just how it tastes, my dad has paid the fees

       To make each bite a winner, another apple please.”

 

        A lad who hardly goes to school would next an apple try.

        “It sort of hasn’t any taste, it even makes me cry

        To think that they grow apples now to make them all the same,

        That’s why I don’t do school no more, it’s such a silly game.”

 

        Another said “That’s easily the worst apple that I’ve tried,

        Looks nice and shiny on the skin but nasty bits inside 

        That sort of makes me want to belch to stop from heaving up,

        My mental health it threatens now, so no more will I sup.

 

        Two thoughtful iPhone clad young girls no part in it would take.

        “We don’t eat apples, not real ones, just Tik Tok stuff that’s fake

        For who could think that we would eat a National silly apple

        When on this screen is all we need, is all we need to grapple

 

        With all the problems we have to face and deal with every day

        So school is just a place we go to laugh and talk and play.”

       They wandered off still iPhoning, no chatter did I hear, 

        I left the apples for awhile, I had to have a beer!

 

         Recovered from that awful shock and all that kids had told

        Maybe the apples I was sent were really just too old.

        Maybe I should have asked for mixed, to fit the many sizings

        For kids we know just aren’t the same, for Pollies that’s surprising.

 

                                                      Barrington Lloyd-Jones esq 21/07/24

 

                     Happy Christmas. 

 

I was talking to friend Barrington, he called in yesterday

To wish me well and have a yarn, he said he couldn’t stay

For he was heading north again for Christmas with some friends

For writers need encouragement, so time with them he spends. 

 

For Barrington, as well you know, writes poetry and verse

Or same would say “Pure doggerel, I haven’t heard much worse"

But it gives us cause to think about the subjects that he writes

They sometimes are quite troub-e-ling and keep me wake at night.

 

If it’s not drugs or bullying or trauma growing crops

It’s pocket money problems and school homework has to stop

He said he’s taking off some time and then recuperate

He has so much he needs to write before it is too late

 

He said my book on Copycats was such a waste of time

It was too long, so hard to read, it didn’t even rhyme

Unless the words can be compact and only writ in verse

No one will take the time to read, but it was getting worse

 

He said no one cares anymore about the kids and school

For standardising all they learn's  the only written rule

The National Curriculum with NAPLAN, My School  site

For Parent Choice just for their sakes they have to get it right.

 

So "Copycats" is dangerous for any school to read

For it may cause some angst it seems and doubtfulness might feed

As Mentors from the date of birth in blocks of thousand days

Are far too futuristic, he said, create a learning Maze.

 

And schools not working class by class would surely fall apart

And text books then superfluous would only be the start

If multi-aged team teaching then became the chosen way

And every kid again loved school, and went there every day

 

My "Set for Life" curriculum on puberty I wrote

For those who even read that far thought what a crazy joke

For kids to have three stress free years to find their path in life

And then head down their chosen way, no tears, no fears, no strife.

 

He headed off, I thanked him, with my Christmas cheer as well

I think I’ll take a rest like him, I think I need a spell

So Trish and I and Mattie and our Bella wish to say

“A very Merry Christmas, and our thanks, so holiday.”

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                                                                                Barrington Lloyd-Jones esq, December 2020

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Simon's Yacht. 

Our Simon is a sailor who’s sailed the seven seas

‘The Good Ship Beverley’ sailed in “A haircut if you please.”

From Cairns to Newport Harbour found them living on his yacht

A house it seemed more practicable, if he could find a spot

 

Some said that Bribie’d fit the bill, and White Patch was the place 

To drag a house from Brisbane Town and gain him Beverley’s grace

And so they did with ease it seems, house bogged in their front yard

We all stood round like moon struck cows, “This could be bloody hard!”

 

So several thousand holes they dug to plant a garden bright

And all the neighbours strolling by declared it such a sight

The house refurbished took its toll but made their lovely home

And ‘Beverley Parties’ every week ensured they weren’t alone

 

But Simon is a sailor who’s sailed the seven seas

He itched a bit for something more his Beverley for to please

And so was born a project which might fill an empty spot

“A yacht to build, in your old age, I’ve never heard such rot!”

 

But slowly oh so slowly, as every week passed by

Our Simon toiled most every day “I thought I’d have a try”

For a yacht to sail the seven seas was taking lovely form

A yacht “Rollover Party” then, the usual ‘Beverly Norm’.

 

As months then years began to pass, with Simon in great shape

The case for centreboard was warped but spirit didn’t break

For Simon never listened to the words of doubt some said 

His hearing now was on the blink, “What voices in my head?”

 

The galley’s almost finished, and the head is in its place

The cabin’s sitting boldly, windows soon will fill their space

A bit more fibre glassing, “Building yachts is not that hard,

You just need ‘Beverley Parties’ and a dirty big back yard.”

 

So next the centreboard to fit, that should be lots of fun

Another ‘rolling over’ planned so everyone can come

And then a mast and rigging and a few more things to fit

But getting to the water then may test a little bit

 

The seven seas our Simon’s sailed and since a little boy

The dream he’d had to build his yacht some folks he did annoy

“But Simon, dearest Simon, can you tell us tell us please

Will you be sailing your grand yacht when you are eighty three?”

 

                                             Barrington Lloyd-Jones esq  27/10/25

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I Wish That I Could Go to School Again.

 (Sing along in the key of C, or D, or G.)

I wish that I could go to school again

Have some fun and playing with my friends

I’d promise not to muck about, or swear or fight or even shout

I wish that I could go to school again.

 

They kicked me out of school the other week

For bashing kids and giving teachers cheek

But they never ever took the time, “Behave yourself and toe the line!”

I wish that I could go to school again

 

I thought that school would be just lots of fun

To learn some things and talk and play and run

But the boring stuff just drove me mad, made me angry, made me sad 

I wish that could go to school again.

 

We practised for our NAPLAN every week

But my results were looking pretty bleak

We had to do our very best to practise practise, with no rest

I think I’m getting over school again.

 

The teachers tested everything each day

So “Learn this now or there will be no play!” 

I hardly learnt to read or write, with homework homework every night

I think I’m not enjoying school again.

 

So every evening just before it’s dark

My mates and I all meet down in the park

We like to plan the night ahead before we have to go to bed

I’m just too tired to go to school again

 

So a car to grab and take it for a run 

The Cops all join the race but just for fun

For they have to stop and drive away, can’t chase young kids out for a play.

I hardly miss just doing school again

 

With Hoodies and our faces covered well

We roam the ‘burbs, there’s no one who can tell

Us what to do or what to say, we live our lives our chosen way

I have no need to go to school again

 

With Seri and my iPhone life is sweet.

My life is fun just living on the street

It’s Juvie if we do get caught with stuff they seize we should have bought 

There’s no way I can go to school again,

 Playing with those old school mates and friends, 

At last my story’s finished, that’s the end.

 

                                                                                    Barrington Lloyd-Jones esq.  May, 2026.