Skip to content

Month: July 2022

God loves a cheerful giver, don’t damage your liver. I went down to the hair salon and got my lip pierced. Among the rockstar strong hold hair fudge, a sharp pain followed by a stud through the lip, so spit it out poet because words don’t have to be pretty. The body piercer wore doc marten boots and when she put her needle through my lip her face was so close to mine we could have kissed. In a modern day shopping centre, Roman Saxons in an ancient city.

love your neighbour

my neighbours all know how loving Christ is, how dependable he is, so take a look in the mirror because maybe the problem is you. We talk about the divine made human, we’ll how about humans becoming divine. I see the potential in every human being, yet they come into this life marred by their fathers and mothers and looking for the help in their sisters and brothers. Somewhere in a plane from Rome, between India and Indonesia my friend told me a prayer how I’ve got to let my anger go.

Queen Betty

Queen Betty, bless me with a bit of money and maybe I’ll have you hanging over my bed. In the masonic hall when I cast my vote, there was Queen Betty. I’ve always taken a responsible view with my vote, because there’s plenty of countries denied a democratic vote, with a little pencil, a cardboard booth, uncovering the rocks until the truth comes out with the lizard politicians.


I come down to the shopping centre to write poems, there’s poems in the prize machine. I can hear the shopkeepers counting their money, girls in the hair salon and I’ve got the talent to look good. I’m hoodwinked. There’s buzz cuts in the salon, bastards at the bank. I see frankie, just another citizen of the lucky country taking a touchdown with his bags of shopping. I spill my guts to him, I’ve got plans to go to America and eat record hot dogs, and be a hot shot or a greedy guts. Elvis was kind of before my time, but seeing the Elvis movie yesterday, geez it really makes you feel like you want to go to graceland.


I’M lonely and I don’t know if there is a cure. From behind velvet ropes in my mother’s womb to my marble tomb. Saturday morning cartoons and popular tunes. I drink the loneliness into submission and when my mother talks to me I remember the young woman she was.

my friend James

My friend is back in town, I wait for him in the cafe. He’s a year into teaching, poetry is reaching out to him
When my friend and I sit outside, the air is cold, and there are flecks of grey in his hair
My friend and I engage in tall talk over small lattes, his with almond milk. My friend is wearing a very Melbourne coat, he’s got new glasses, he’s marking young minds-
The thing about my friend is he always gave me hope, from Jesuit mass together in the Madonna office to the time he was in the cafe with an American poetry book, handing it to me hook, line and sinker
My friend is a thinker
He’ s a follower of Jesus, that lizard in the desert, of spine tingling Saints in the Cathedral
Nora stops to say hello, she’s like underwater coral in the reef with her new hairdo, schools of fish, the school holidays have brought my friend back to me.