There’s a new market opened up in Morley, in the old Coventry’s building.
Outside the new market in the old Coventry’s building is a giant lump of iron ore.
On the giant lump of iron ore outside the new market in the old Coventry’s building is a plaque.
On the plaque on the giant lump of iron ore outside the new market in the old Coventry’s building is a group of words that the very charitable might concede to describe as something resembling a poem.
A poem apparently written by mining magnate Gina Rhinehart….
Our Future
The globe is sadly groaning with debt, poverty and strife
And billions now are pleading to enjoy a better life
Their hope lies with resources buried deep within the earth
And the enterprise and capital which give each project worth
Is our future threatened with massive debts run up by political hacks
Who dig themselves out by unleashing rampant tax
The end result is sending Australian investment, growth and jobs offshore
This type of direction is harmful to our core
Some envious unthinking people have been conned
To think prosperity is created by waving a magic wand
Through such unfortunate ignorance, too much abuse is hurled
Against miners, workers and related industries who strive to build the world
Develop North Australia, embrace multiculturalism and welcome short term foreign workers to our shores
To benefit from the export of our minerals and ores
The world’s poor need our resources: do not leave them to their fate
Our nation needs special economic zones and wiser government, before it is too late.
Now you’re going to have to excuse me here, because bad poetry is something that really gets up my nose, to the point of making me almost irrational. So I beg your forgiveness in advance for the tone of what I’m about to type…
WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? WHAT IS THIS FUCKING CRAP PIECE OF SHIT DOING IN A PUBLIC SPACE!?!?!?!?!?! WHAT IN GOD’S NAME MAKES GINA FUCKING RHINEHART THINK SHE’S CAPABLE OF WRITING GODDAMED FUCKING POETRY WITHOUT THE SLIGHTEST CONCEPTION OF METER AND/OR SCANSION AND THAT THE PUSTULANT CRAP PRODUCED IS WORTHY OF BEING PUT ON PUBLIC FUCKING DISPLAY!?!?!?! IF A FUCKING TWELVE YEAR OLD HANDED THIS IN TO ME AS POETRY I’D TELL THEM TO FUCKING REWRITE IT!!!!!! YOU CANT JUST FUCKING ARRANGE A BUNCH OF FUCKING RUN ON SENTENCES OF WILDLY VARIABLE FUCKING LENGTH AND STRESS INTO COUPLETS AND CALL IT POETRY FOR FUCK’S SAKE!!!!
FUCK!!!!!
Ahem. Sorry about that. Meter is something trivially easy to get your head around, yet so many people seem to be completely incapable of comprehending it, and it really gets me steamed.
Obviously 😀
A somewhat more reasoned critical analysis of Rhineharts lyrical atrocity may be read here.
That fat bitch needs a triple chin-ectomy and Chuck Norris power kick to her over-padded, champagne guzzling, hors d’oeuvre munching arse. Either that or years worth of daily compulsory poetry lessons given à la “Clockwork Orange” by the summoned spirits of Banjo Patterson & Henry Lawson, with the seance conducted by Dame Mary Durack and Les Murray.