Poem – the pages turn

Comprehension, the mind delays

Thoughtfulness, the mind betrays

Consideration, never sent

Reciprocation, never lent


Affectation, feelings advise

At first sight, the heart does yearn

Remorsefulness, life confirms

Live for today, the pages turn


Ask not what others take for granted

Believe not what others think is real

Know only what one understands

Understand what one can touch, can feel.

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.

in the breeze

The dawn it rose beyond reproach

The sun it shone so bright

The day it brought cloud then rain

The night was darkness, no moonlight

Wasn’t alone in assuming death

Was never far away

Wasn’t alone in assuming birth

Was distant this and other days

The truth be told if ever thus

The lies they fall asunder

The grey cloud between truth and lies

Close, it tried to plunder

‘Never assume,’ one said to thee

Accept not what one is told

Never share in falsehood, false glee

Reject what one is sold

The world beyond it fails us

It never treats us as it should

The world beyond it fails us

It shan’t be told what once it would

The mountain-top, the hills and valleys

Possess a challenge unto thee

The cavernous remains of bodies

In the recess of you, of me

Ask not of others what one doesn’t know

Ask not what one cannot see

Accept not what one cannot feel

Reject what one knows cannot surely be

The dawn it rose beyond reproach

The sun it shone but slight

The day brought with it false assumptions

Belief lost in the breeze that night.

the reason why

The plant that will not flower,

The sun that will not shine,

The water that one cannot drink,

Grapes dying on the vine.

The beach where waves won’t wash up to shore,

The sand that won’t be soft on feet,

The people that will not say; “hi,”

The hand that will not greet.

The recipe that won’t succeed,

The dinner guest that won’t partake,

The pan that’s useless on the stove,

The chef that will not bake.

The worker that will never work

The grass that will not grow

The walker who won’t find his feet

Will never reap what he won’t sew.

The arm that will not reach out,

The eye that will not cry,

The mouth that will not find a voice,

The fight to find the reason why?

showers with a chance of rain

Billy asked his wife that day

About the weather forecast.

“Showers, honey, just a few,

But don’t think they will last.”

“There could be rain,” said Billy’s son,

A high percentage chance of falling.

Tim Bailey said so, on Channel Ten.

‘Daily Bailey’ I think they call him.”

“The rain could become a storm, I heard,”

Said Jill, Billy’s youngest daughter.

“Late today a cool change’ll come.

It’ll be a mild change…, well…, sorta.”

“That storm could bring thunder and lightning

To the whole of the North Shore,

So be careful, hun, when heading out,

It could arrive with an almighty roar.”

“Yeah, Mum,” Billy’s son Ben chimed in,

“A storm, of that I’m certain.

But if hail comes, we’ll batten down

Last time we replaced the curtains.”

“It’s all to do with climate change, son,

That bloody global warming.

This season’s gunna be one long, hot summer,

The flies, they will be swarming.”

“I know, sweetie,” Billy’s wife replied,

“It sure is nasty weather.

One things for sure, if I’m certain at all

It’s that we’ll live (and love) through it together.”

Postscript: Tim Bailey is a ‘weatherman’ on Channel Ten’s nation-wide Eyewitness News, in Australia.

on the road

I stood upon the road

Paved in bitumen and stone.

I felt nobody loved me

As I stood there all alone.

I stood upon the road

That diverted east and west.

Some moved one way, some the other,

No-one knew which way was best.

I stood upon the road

On which there’d been a recent crash.

I’d seen the body taken away

Like they were putting out the trash.

I stood upon the road,

It had grown puddles from the wet.

I’d been protected, no-one knows how.

Was He my protective net?

I stood upon the road –

Somebody loved me after all.

Had I ever stood on that road,

Or was I entranced, enthralled?

I stood upon the road –

No-one saw me as they passed.

Were they focussed on the fork ahead

Or just going too fast?

I stood upon the road

When someone hit me, I know not who.

Was it Him, or a perfect stranger?

Or was that someone…, you?

black dog

He senses darkness,

Won’t go away,

The black dog no-one sees.

He senses darkness,

Ever present,

The grey cloud, on his knees.

He senses darkness,

With him only,

Talking as he walks.

He senses darkness,

The black dog barks,

In the road there is a fork.

He senses darkness,

It frustrates him,

No matter which turn he takes.

He senses darkness,

It’s driving him,

The traffic, it awakes.

He senses darkness,

It’s telling him,

It’s time to make a choice.

He senses darkness,

It’s willing him,

But with that there’s a voice.

The voice, it tells him,

“Away the lead,”

Let black dog roam free.

He senses light,


As he lets black dog

Off the lead.

He senses light,


He turns…,

And there…

Is me.

For those suffering from depression and living in Australia, the following are good places to find support groups that can help:-

http://www.blackdoginstitute.org.au, OR


far horizon

Butterfly in shimmering light,

Garden blooming in new season.

Kookaburra, sitting, soulful –

Poignant is the far horizon.

Orchid flowers, life awakens,

The day grows ever longer.

Shadows present,

Sunshine alightens,

Prodigious is her effort, action.

Human in kind,

Love we find

In simple, pleasant things.

Far horizon, ever closer,

Droplets they descend.

Life, we wish to never end,

The day draws near,

We transcend.


I have a plan to build on.

I know that it will work.

It means I’d rely on others

And on leaving Back ‘o Burke.

See, I want a kid, I know I do,

One of my very own.

But I need to find a fella

Who’ll not leave me, not disown.

So I went a lookin’ for my fella,

And I found one, handsome, awesome, cool,

On match.com. I wrote a novella

And I was not thought a fool.

His name was Ed, or ‘Handsome Hunk,’

Edward Brown it was in full.

The kinda guy who’d stay around,

More ‘pussy-cat’ than ‘bull.’

I thought; “Ah-ha. I got him,”

Reigned him in I did.

I’d opened a can, a can o’ worms,

I’d taken off the lid.

Within the can was a family man

Who’d earn something called a living,

Whilst I brung up my baby girl,

Good and proper, no misgivings.

Now, his family, I made them me own,

I was enchanting, really nice.

They’d be my fortune five hundred family,

So I acted sweet like…,well, once or maybe twice.

They called me ‘Darl,’ ‘Sweet pea,’ and ‘Honey,’

I felt part of their inner family.

“Better learn their name,” I thought

(for the record, it was Hamley).

They were so keen to bring me in

As part of their extended troup.

Almost made me feel guilty, like

When I took off with half their loot.

Not really, just fiction of sorts.

See, they’d give me lots of things.

It’s funny what being nice can do,

It’s funny what it brings.

But I wasn’t finished,

Oh, no, not yet,

I had so much more to do.

I had to apply at the Government Office

For that Social payment, as ya do.

The Government, it gives a hand-out

What’s referred to as an entitle-ment,

Where no-one even has to work,

It sounds absolutely Heaven-sent.

I’m pretty sure ‘Social payment’ is what it’s called,

And I know it does ya lots a good.

Better than goin’ out to work,

Answering phones, Jeez, I never would!

I’d heard so many people say,

In the form of a story, of a fable,

“Ya won’t look back girl, be the makings of ya,

Just don’t tell them you are able

To work a day or maybe two

Or they’ll have ya servin’ tea

At the local cafe, ‘Jimmy’s’ I think it’s called.

Luv, it wouldn’t do for me.”

They told me that I could get thousands

If I just played my cards right.

Dan ‘is name was, behind the counter

Handed me forms, in blue and white.

“What did this mean,” I wondered,

As I sat there lookin’ dim.

I got no idea what to fill out first,

So I acted on a whim.

I went for Sole Parent Pension

Cos it brought me the most cash.

Family Tax Benefits were a given

So through that I put a dash.

“Congratulations,” Dan said to me,

As I handed him my forms.

“You’ll hear from the Government, officially

But I’ll tell ya what’s the norm.”

“We encourage a big hand-out

To people like yourself,

Left alone by ya partner,

Left up on the shelf.”

I wasn’t ’bout to tell him

Well…you know…,the truth

If I did he might take me pennies back

Give others my hard-earned loot

‘Cos even though Ed, my man

Lived…,well, just around the corner,

I deserved that pension, that I did!

Not my neighbour, Wendy Horner.

Dan said; “We must protect ya,

That’s what the Government is here for,

To fork out cash to those in need

Not like it was before.”

“Before the Great Depression, see,

Ain’t nothin’ like this welfare

Each man (and woman) for themself

No Government could care.”

On and on, this Dan went

Talkin’ ‘bout the past.

I wasn’t really listenin’,

Wanted to get out really fast.

“God, this Dan,” I thought, “what’s he about?

He’s givin’ a history lesson.”

I stood there not takin’ it in

And not feelin’ like confessin’

I didn’t have a clue like

About anything he said.

It made me tired, gave me headache,

I should have been in bed.

But it sounded as he walloped on

Like Government’s day had come.

The story told of Government

Makin’ money on the run,

Off the taxpayer, payin ‘is tax (and mine)

On payin’ more than his fair share,

From them to me and others too,

Spent on those who couldn’t care

That they were bleedin’ dry the workin’ man

Who toiled all day long is all.

Hard-workers like Tom, and Wal…,and then Dianne

So sods like me, we wouldn’t fall

Below what the Government called a poverty line,

But me, I couldn’t see it.

Not likely to, it ain’t exist,

Was made up half the time.

I was a bit quizzical, like,

I’d taken money, other people’s.

Just ‘cos I didn’t want to work.

It sounded rather feeble.

Just ‘cos I could, was accepted practice

To make money off the system.

Encouraged I was, and better off too,

It was too hard to resist ’em.

And so my plan had begun,

Money was as good as in my purse.

What’s good for them is good for me.

Let’s face it, could have been lots worse.

What good for me is the welfare system?

Better in my hands than anyone else’s.

What good for me is that Money Tree

If I’m restrained from my impulses?

What good for me is social welfare,

Built on a bureaucrats obsession?

If I don’t get my share of it,

It may lead me to recession.

true love

A hand reached out in time of need,

Like rain in time of drought.

Fingers interlaced, accede,

Like a bud that blooms from planted seed.

A hand reached out, come what may,

Empathy one need not borrow.

Transfixed, like hand in glove, to stay,

Ne’er for this love, in time, away.

A hand reached out, no more the poorer

Like a descendent finding family,

To face, to feel, to touch, be surer,

With every waking hour, purer.

A hand reached out to touch the glass,

Through it could be seen the far horizon.

‘Twas like a fish hook, setting, cast –

The fish, now caught, would ever last.

A hand reached out in time of need,

Like rain in time of drought.

Fingers interlaced, accede,

Like blooming bud, planted seed.