Poem – My bird

The bird seemed to follow my roving eye
As he walked beyond where I lie
He seemed to know, with eye I spy - 
Sitting there that day.

He never seemed to have a care
No matter for how long I stared
Or how controlling was my glare
He was there, it seemed, to stay

He gave out a little chirp
Like page from a book, like an excerpt
Like a song performed at a concert
He flapped from chair to chair

He was regal in nature, and replete
He'd had a little bit to eat
He walked with ease, with those clawed feet
As I got the camera out

I realised the camera was obsolete
My phone would do better, would always beat
The phone's quality, the camera couldn't meet
Of that I had no doubt

The bird stood atop the chair, to reflect
I told him; 'stay there, don't neglect'
Attention sent, ne'er deflect
To bird sitting on the floor

The bird, he turned, to his right
Knowing the bird on the floor was within sight
He waved his wings, as if in flight
Before he moved away

Yet how was I to know he was a 'he'
He could as well have been a 'she'
So long as it was either 'he' or 'she'
'He' must be one or be the other 

Is this a poem or a diatribe?
For until now I've not described
What he (or she [or it]) looks like
And how it came to be...

I happened to be sitting in the rain
Under cover, (heat was hot), the day the same
Noiselessly the day begane
And then continued on...

As bird arrived, with clawed feet
'Hello', it seemed to say, 'we meet,'
Though nothing was said when we greet
We merely doffed our 'hats'

Black and white, with long neck
His eyes, no matter - oh, what the heck!
I still don't know, not now, not yet
Perhaps I never will

But somehow this bird seemed a friend
The way he'd look and turn his head
It's hard explaining, even when
I knew he wouldn't stay

He looked at me, right in the eye
Turned his head from left to right
Never went out of my sight
Well, not now at least, 
Not yet

Looking me right in the eye
Makes me wonder; 'Heavens, why?'
I didn't push, I didn't pry
To find the colour of his eyes
That day when we met

No matter whether rain or shine
With me laying, sitting, there, he's fine
Never once did he whinge or whine
We talked 'bout little things

'Bout the simple things in life
Weather, health, things of that type
Simple things bring pleasure, like
Bring happiness and fun

He's my bird, I hope you see
Black and white, he sat with me
Not away on some pine tree
But close to where I lay

My bird finally flew away
I said; 'bird, I'll see you another day
Even if I'm far away - 
I'll know just where you are.'

I returned and saw you 'round the bend
Beaked, clawed, winged, my feathered friend
We greeted, like only we 
Could comprehend - Our story - 

Close the book...

The end.

Poem – I knew too

I knew that I didn't know
What I'd never known 

I didn't know I'd always know
What I'd had in store

I knew you didn't know
What I didn't know 
You knew

I knew I'd always know
You'd never know
What I didn't know - 
Of you

I hadn't known you'd known
I didn't know you knew 
I knew

But I'd always know that
What you knew of me
Was what I knew of you - 

Poem – Taxpayer Thomas

Taxpayer Thomas’s wife would be on tenterhooks
Wondering what her husband’s response would be
Would he be dejected, shout and yell
Or would he dance and prance with glee

He’d toil away at a job disliked
To pay his family’s way
So he saw his refund as his hard-earned reward,
‘A reward for my troubles,’ he would say

‘Not just your way,’ his wife would add,
‘But paying for those that cannot work,
Like John & Debbie Tucker,
And poor old Nelson & Mary Burke.’

Tom’s finger pressed against the page,
Against the envelope
Pushed it open, took out the note, and said;
‘S**t, it’s gotta be a joke.’

‘Honey,’ his wife said, excitedly,
‘It’s not like you to be obscene.
What on earth can be wrong?
What can it possibly have been?’

‘Look what they’ve done,’ Tom replied,
‘They’ve added a chart to my refund check.
It tells me where my tax dollars go.
Oh, what the bloody heck?’

By now Tom’s wife was adamant
Her husband had gone quite off his tree.
He hadn’t spoken like this before,
Not since his days at sea.

The chart, it was before him
In colors blue, yellow, red and green.
Twenty-three thousand went on welfare,
He wished he hadn’t seen.

Seventeen billion dollars a year
Went on Disability alone.
He’d seen it in the paper
Yesterday, when he was home.

Tom, (well, the taxpayer in him at least)
Threw the paper to the floor,
And said to himself (as you do);
‘I can’t take it anymore.’

His wife was always careful
To see the other side.
‘How could people less fortunate
Get by,’ she said, she sighed.

‘The welfare system exists for a reason
And we taxpayers pay our share.
But at the end of the day,’ Tom’s wife thought,
‘Someone has to care.’

She quietly put her arm around
Her husband’s shoulder, on a whim.
Gently, surreptitiously,
She knew she could mould him.

Tom’s wife could feel him releasing
All his inhibitions and frustration.
He was no longer concerned, she felt,
About the social welfare of the nation.

At last Tom had come around,
He could see the other side
Until next year (when his refund came again)
And he’d have a hissy fit, and cry.

Poem – Swings and round-a-bouts

Happiness found in day at Fair,

Worry left at home.

Sadness knocking on neighbour’s door

As Concern’s left lying on the floor.


Excitement joins Happiness at the Fair –

Anxiety lost along the road –

Sleeplessness found in another’s bed –

Loneliness’ is Gloom – Gloom sees red.


Delight joins his friends at Fair,

Tiredness found in nursing home.

Obsession lost in shopping mall,

Misfortune, clumsy, took a fall.


Delirium hops on round-a-bout,

Happiness, Excitement, watch and shout.

Pessimism, ill at home, sheds tear –

Apprehension crashes into Fear.


Exhilaration on slippery slope, enthused,

Delight, Delirium watch on.

Displeasure sick, taking pills,

Misery rugged up warm, with chills.


Paradise at Fair, mates join the throng,

Harmony sings a happy tune –

Optimism enters their world to share

Their pure amusement at the Fair.


At home they live in ‘nother world –

Hope lost in spate of Sorrow, Gloom

Whilst the friends at Fair, from swing, get down

They laugh aloud, run into Clown.


Paradise yelled out; ‘We’re home, at last

At the Fair we had a blast!’


‘But we saw Phobia along the way.

He jumped the fence to get away –

Misery loves company, they say.’


Around the house was the smell of Fun

Displeasure, Pessimism, Misfortune, gone

Cloud went too –

As Sunshine shone.

Poem – Oliver

Oliver strolled to the highest mountain
To seek out a magical sight.
It was a mountain greener than the greenest of pastures,
It spoke of goodness and light.

From the mountain-top Oliver saw the cliffs,
Far to the west they stood.
On top a four-leafed clover found
By the wee man wearing a hood.

A clover was lucky, four-leaves to be sure,
So rare that to seek and to find
Would give good luck for time immemorially,
Attached to the finder and to his kind.

A wee little leprechaun has special powers to search
For what others find barely at all.
Faith, hope and love, a three-leaf clover can give
But the fourth leaf keeps one enthralled.

Oliver the shoemaker can hide the clover away
In his shoe, and there it will stay
Until others attach themselves to the little green man
And they try to take it away.

Then the others ask after the leprechaun’s gold,
Pots of it they think he does have.
“You’ll never take it away,” the little man says.
At the end of the rainbow it’s safe.

But the wee little man could not hide the truth,
A lie he never could tell.
So he moved his pot of gold from the end of the rainbow
Down to the water well.

The Jester had listened, intently he’d heard
All that had come from the ‘crowd.’
He had nothing to add other than harmony, verse
And with that he sang this out loud;

“Roll over, roll over, that four-leaf clover
Become the leprechaun’s friend
Roll over, roll over that four-leaf clover
Can’t wait to see Oli’ again.”

Poem – Pictures and words

Words, they drew me unto you

An easel read to me

A letter, brush

A page, a stroke



Delight, to write

A bird, in flight

A feather on the floor


Chapter, aloud

In front of crowd

More come through open door


Sit anywhere

Drawn to share

On easel is a portrait


Words on page

Centre stage

Organise, arrange and sort it


Music, art

Comes from the heart

Healthy life, its own prescription


Word-smith, thrive

Whence we derive

To reach a new conclusion




Reflect and reap and sow


Children’s eyes

An alibi

Anxious they are to grow




Brush in warm and soapy water


Beginner’s art

The place to start

Says mother to her daughter


Words and pictures

Building bridges

Sister walks with brother



Doesn’t go

(Need both to show)

Can’t have one without the other

Poem – Tomorrow, today…

Every day I live

Is yesterday for me

A life half gone – but

Yet to begin


Every day I live

Is tomorrow, newly found

A life, renewed to

Live without, within


Twenty-four hours

Passes by

Today’s tomorrow now

A life I dreamt

But never thought

Would come


Three days ago

Was yesterday

Lived out three times


I’m living tomorrow

I feel that I have



Before I lived out


Like it never would be


Now every day I live

I’m sure to shine


Tomorrow, now

Today, has become


Poem – i thought

I thought I heard her flap her ears

That day when I awoke

I thought I heard her by my side

That day when I first spoke

I thought I felt her lick my face

‘Get up, the day’s begun’

I thought I saw her wag her tail

But there was only one

I thought I felt her paw my arm

Hanging out the side

I thought I heard her almost purr

There by my bedside

I thought she rolled over on her back

Was it my imagination?

I thought she smiled, that soft way she does

Must have been my re-creation

‘Hello, my friend, how are you today?

Did you have a good night sleep?’

And when I realised she wasn’t there

It almost made me weep.


Poem – the world beyond the fatal shore

The world beyond the fatal shore
Not like the world in days before
Danger we could glean

Danger knows not, of hill-top morn'
Or life of old-country, worn
Hard yakka it had been

But enough of hills, enough of grass 
You knew young love would never last 
Life offers so much more

Past the dip, a rip, a mystery
That drew me to the fatal sea
And back toward the shore

The shore knows not of ocean, sought
And knowing not of what it brought
And nil of harbor fore

Leave harbor fore, explore beyond
Hurry, scamper, go, abscond
And travel far from here

Travel further than you thought
To see where sacrifice, it fought
To see where life was fear

Breathe in the air, forget your task
Keep filtered with a hip, a flask
Forget about your chores

That he would, with glass and lid
Atop the glass, filled to the brim
Life brought a world, unknown

Fit as a right old mallee-bull
The curtain, not yet down to pull
Excitement on the phone

It drew him far, drew him away
His stomping ground was shaken, frayed
He'd never be the same

It drew him, portrait-like, with pride
Stomping ground to other side
Alive he felt, again

Breathe it in m'lad, it's now or none
Or you'll never know where life begun
Or, oh, to where it lead

Suck it up, m'lad, m'son
In mug or cup, you know you won
A life by family creed

That creed be one of loyalty
Not God-forsaken misery
We ought to feel alive

So, feel free to stay or go afar
Keep our secret in a secret jar
Enjoy, be happy, that you are
For God's sake, let us thrive!

Dead, buried, cremated

Johnny met Ted at the local pub down the road

Where they’d talk of the issues and news of the day

After a few beers they’d chat with Des (and his hat)

Who’d tell them; “Don’t worry, it’ll all go away.”


Johnny was worried he’d lose his house quite at random

With rising sea levels and his house by the ocean

“Don’t talk such crap,” said Ted and Des (and his hat)

“All you’re doing is causing commotion.”


“Everyone needs something to believe in ya know,”

Said Johnny to Des, at the bar having a beer

“Mate, they just want their face to be seen, fifteen minutes on screen

They play on everyone’s fear.”


“But this summer, Des, it’s been so bloody hot,

I know it’s climate change, global warming that’s caused it.

It’s gotta be true, everyone’s sayin’ so too,

And I believe ‘em, for no-one abhors it.”


“It’s all sensational fury from Greenies like John & Deb Bury

They say every day will be forty degrees

They tell reporters we won’t survive, heat will kill us, we’ll die

And don’t forget about those rising seas.”


“I shoulda bought up the cliff,” poor Johnny retorted

“There was a warning in 1980.

Back then it was thwarted, thank God it aborted

But not before the drowning of old Tom Delaney.”


“There’s so much said,” Ted rejoined, “and not enough read

About where tax dollars are goin’, ya know what I mean?”

“Too right,” Des said from the bar, fillin’ up another beer jar

“Our money’s flowin’ down the river upstream.”


“Have ya read ‘bout that wind tree? They think it’s for free

In Paris it was out on display.

Guv’ment subsidies fund it, the pollies are for it

But it energises nothin’ and no-one today.”


“Just seems to me they say lots but do little

While spendin’ wads of taxpayers’ cash

Cash I could use to take my wife on a cruise,

Have a bit of the old splash and dash.”


Six months later Johnny met Ted and Des at the local again

To discuss news of the how and the why and the when

The sea levels were down, but Johnny came with a frown

Greenpeace had joined up his 18 year-old son, Ben.


“If ya not red at eighteen you’re not part of the scene

Ya can’t join the protesters when marching

But if ya Liberal by fifty you’re seen to be swifty

The obscenities can be quite disarming.”


That summer Johnny measured the tide, but it failed to rise

He’d worried for no reason at all

Then he got the call, to give some, give all

But declined with a smugness of sorts

It was time to retort what the Greenies had thought

Next election he’d watch their vote fall.


Twelve months later, temperatures, they had abated

Officially, or so we were told

But the lefties maintained the rage, no matter their age

Like the Revolutionaries of old


Forty-five years passed by, and with good reason why

Climate change was carried away in a coffin

The science proven wrong, a hoax, no longer attracting a throng

Like the boy who cried wolf once too often.


As warming the planet had faded (activists now feeling jaded)

Political correctness, it didn’t survive

It was finally over, as hard as finding that four-leaf clover

If only Johnny, Ted and Des were alive.


How happy they’d be, or so it would seem

To see lefties flowin’ down river upstream

They felt detested, the anti-argument festered

Uncared for, untidy, unclean.


As the story began, a new page (a new fan)

The old story could no longer offend

Though climate change had been swarming, without any warning

It was dead, buried, cremated! The end.

Postscript: Please read this as it’s intended, as satire.