Sometime during Eternity

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Australians awaken !

This land of the living dead,

where disturbed minds preside

and most live in dread.

Now commands an aside –

not apathy nor resignation

but a passionate broadside !

Do not surrender to political stagnation,

but stand up and fight-

to mandate a Landslide !

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War Cry

The bloody red earth claws the soldiers weary legs……

to it’s foul body, it’s dregs.

The green too, now is spattered vermilion.

Animals gone mad eat an arm

, it’s severed so there’s no harm.

The tame has gone wild –

even man and child.

Paraclete or Parabolanus why are you not 

playing your part in this pantomime ?

The audience is waiting……………

The Osprey are numerous,  vultures too many, not to mind.

The audience no longer is waiting………

The actors cannot go home now,

the stage is their scene, their part, their Life now.

The theatre the field,the props the ruins, the backdrop the blasted sky.

The set now the people’s prison – a prism their living truth made a lie.

No one sees – for  no one hears there is no one in the hall …..

no one at all.

Voices re- bound and echo chromatographic

all souls caught in scenes- imprisoned now graphic.

Soldier’s torn festoon, as stained as  the shirt, blood soaked, hardens.

The mother’s blasted bosom reeks – as the offal of her son darkens.

Oh God ! 

May the callous man be made aware – even as You live in the heart of men,

Kill them!


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Return to the Flats

The ebb the flow – still forward we go.

The wheels turn over, the carriage rolls forth,

bodies now sway one way and t’other.

Papers scrunch over and breaths now smother.

The air now dense – with electricity does hum,

Men retreat to their books now numb.

Sunlight now dapples through windows – long dusty.

Cough rattles, as lass toys with her mobile – now musty.

Subdued conversations – behind and beyond.

The old couple, now quiet yet fond.

A sea of trees – soft and deep green,

recede to bridges, old without sheen.

A vibration the body now swerves forward apace

As the  announcement, the persons  do raise.

A  stop, an exit-  two whistles, doors close.

Tracks screech as the wheels squeal forth – and the train again a  threat does pose.

Forward we go – back to the start, home and alone, safe in my heart.





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Just Now

Who am I ?

How many within me rest at my core?

To the past did I die to be released to the fore.

Where did I come from ?

Lives lived unknown, yet breathed into life at the prom.

Muted melodies succinct, beating a rhythm, 

to memories buried deep as innate as a hymn.

Awareness immune to inherent clues – 

just day to day history,

a thread of hues.

The here and the now overtly intact,

but the truth lies verily hidden within the abstract.

The wizard, the warlock, the witch and the psychic –

all in line  with occult  parallels – a dangerous clique.

For to straddle such worlds and still remain here – 

is to tempt Fate and be lost in the Near.



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I wish I were a Tiger – large and white.

Roaming through the jungle – quite within my rights.

Strong and free – and soon to be 

a Soul released to soar and flee,

beyond this earth.

Heights without limits – breadths unfenced, no girth.

A realm unfettered by cages or men,

my Spirit unbounded Forever –



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Taking up

A game between two boys.

Unbeknownst to me a game of ploys.

Innocence again pained with sadness,

now a shredded mess.

My heart’s trust torn with derision sublime –

mumblings about my innuendos benign.

All to survive a placing indebted,

unfortunate mind-sets too long embedded.

A struggle between integrity and compromise, now worn lean.

Where do I go ? Where have I been ?

Trust my own judgement and cry hidden tears,

witness suspicions abated, no enhancement their fears.

Solitary the pain, subdued the mind in the frame.

Incessant attacks – now lame.

Remembering this game, now wounded with hurt

will never again be the same – 

an actress in dignified silence now curt.


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Italian nightmare

Coming back to do the right thing,

now under threat of an indecent fling.

The fragile newborn lay innocent witness

 to it’s father, about to rape me reckless.

My naivety, in shock now terrorised by reality

saw me excuse my presence to regain some strategy.

Fled as I did to a bathroom close by.

Found the levels for escape too high.

Fearing the worst –  that loaded gun!

My prayers now answered by the return of a new mum.

I ran for the door  – torn jeans covered with tact,

my dignity and sanity somewhat shaky, intact.

Mumbling goodbyes so as not to arouse –

suspicions and fears suppressed though not doused.

I left swiftly, not turning back –

ran to the sanctuary of my familial pack.

In a cold sweat – knowing the threat was ever so close –

still my trauma I buried in inverse prose.

Not wanting to destroy neighbouring ties,

I suffered in silence – akin to lies.

Now forty two years later I finally acknowledge –

my fears thus conquered,  I wield the wedge !

Memories long-distant no longer hold sway

and the history though poignant – no longer informs  my day.



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And again

For all the years – the losses and gains

the hurts, tears, sadness  and inflicted pains.

Let it be , though in flesh you release your fire,

that in my madness you find your desire.

For all the joys, pleasures and satisfied sensuality.

 For struggles won with lessons in futility

– Let it be that though you would wish to be free,

you would return , now and again – to my bosom and tranquillity


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Lover Alcoholic

Let there be pain if it is to be, madness  meantime

Let me keep faith in the pleasure sublime.

Let me see truth – for I know it is there.

Let me be blind to my torment – for his heart is not aware.

Let me suffer and thus be enlightened, to return  only but goodness –

for he merits such kindness.

Do not let me hurt him  – for I would want his  pain  to abate.

Do not let me smother him  – for I would wish to emancipate.

Do not let me enrage him – for I would want only to appease.

Do not let me embitter him – for I would rekindle his trust in release.

Do not let me lose the purity in my anguish –

for above all;

I would want to be the essence of love and thus the retreat his soul, so  tortured does wish.





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