This poetry is a selection of both rhyme and free verse.


Winter Ills

Cold winds blow
snowflakes fall,
breezy draughts
in the hall.

Winter's here
with it chills,
coughs and colds,
doctor's bills.

Runny nose
then a sneeze,
Will you pass
tissues please?


Closing the Cover

Finishing a chapter
doesn't mean
you've reached the end.
It means
you've reached
a new beginning.

Finishing a book
doesn't mean you
close it forever.
Share it,
then read it again
another day.


To Ted

I read your words the other day
notice of your leaving,
I didn't know you very well.
I'm not really grieving

but I felt a twinge of sadness,
to learn that you'd soon go.
I wrote down this small verse for you
and wanted you to know.

I looked forward to your emails,
they always made me smile.
Your quirky sense of humour
had me going for a while.

As things change we must move on. We
leave when we are ready.
Now when I process invoices
I'll miss the one from Teddy.

We wish you all the very best.
Good luck from Phil and Sue.
We'll raise a glass to your success
Your future waits for you.


I'm Tired

One poem
left to write.
Words fail
late at night.

I'm tired
need some sleep.
Must write
this won't keep.

Short verse
will this do?
Next time
I'll write two.

My muse
did not wait.
she left
'cause it's late.


Trapper Man

Old Roger is a trapper man,
bossloper through and through.
His main meal hare and dumpling dust,
just plain old rabbit stew.

He lives on Craggy Mountain
in a hut just off the trail.
If you search hard you will find it,
look for moccasin mail.

He hasn't much, just possibles
he leads a simple life,
some flint and steel, an old tin cup,
a frypan and a knife.

Enough to keep him warm at night
and cook himself a feed.
The good lord hath provided him
he has no other need.

I once thought he'd gone beaver,
thought he'd up and died.
I searched the mountain high and low
and crossed the river wide.

Then WAGH! I jumped right through my skin.
Someone had fired a gun.
I was so scared, near soiled my pants
then broke out in a run.

Ran straight into old Roger.
"Just steady down my lad.
That bug-tit needs a lesson
'cause he's behavin' bad."

"Slow down, we'll go behind him.
Make sure you stay downwind.
We'll Indian up from the rear
and make him disciplined."

Old Roger tied him to a tree
and took away his gun.
"Gant up that rope," he told me,
"you listen too my son."

"There aint no need to shoot them birds
or aux aliments du pays.
It's this here land that feeds us well
You'd better change your ways."

The man stood shaking in his boots
he prayed and told the lord,
"for food, I'll take God's creatures now
but not when I am bored."

He set him free and said to me
"Come back and have some stew.
You'll be a skookum trapper yet."
I said, "I'll be like you."

I ate my meal too quickly,
larrupt, I had to go.
Old Roger is a trapper man,
the best I'll ever know.



At the moment I'm pensive,
reflecting on times in the not too distant past
when I was just so happy.
Everything was going right.

I don't think anybody has had a week like I've just had.
Now I'm sad.
Things happen.
I try to do what's right
but nobody teaches life,
we just live it.

We learn by our own mistakes.
I often think I'm not good enough.
I'm uncertain about some of the paths I've chosen to take.

What happened to the confident and outgoing
woman I was a few weeks ago?

I've withdrawn from the world a little,
guarded now, and quiet
instead of being so impulsive.

I keep my feelings private
instead of sharing them and
being open for the world to see.

Some people close to me say I'm complicated.
I can't see how.
I think I'm very easy to understand.

I'm fun-loving, caring and
very dedicated to those I love
and to things I believe in.
I'm righteous and loving,
just a normal person.

I don't care for people' opinions about me.
I'm who I am,
the best I can be.
I'm me.



Just think
what drink
will do
to you.
Have pop
or stop,
be through
at two.
You'll find
your mind
with beer.
The wine
is fine.
I hear
it's dear.


Smelly Kelly

sinned and
grinned. He
stole a
broke some
wind. He
drank then
stank and
thought it
Caught... He's
forced to
pay his



On an ignoble pedestal to force your will,
selfish illusion clouds blue skies and sunny days.
Short-lived delirium and blissful happiness
replace commitment, content no more.
Devastation will lessoned by re-learned routines
as pandemonium is thoughtlessly inflicted on the masses.
Chaos reigns.
Wronged by do-gooders interference,
resentment will fester like fungi in a steamy jungle.
The chip you carry on your shoulder
will expand like a balloon,
inflated past its capacity,
it bursts.
Nobody wins.



Polite request, blissful ignorance - I understand
Steering direction, deferred action - I'm discerned
Simple instruction, non-compliance - I'm annoyed
Repeated Order, half-hearted attempt - I'm frustrated
Forceful command, concerted effort - I'm relieved
Polite request, selective deafness - I'm angry
Unmistakable decree, blatant disregard - I simmer with resentment, boil over with rage and are TOTALLY EXASPERATED!


Two Strings

You can't have your cake and eat it too.
The only thing you do is ring in the changes, again and again.
That poor girl has no choice,
At first blush of you she's in best bib and tucker,
blushing and bending over backwards
while you only give her false hope.

You made her pregnant,
but for all you care she could lead the apes in hell.
What she really neads is a fidus Achate and she thinks you could set the Thames on fire.
I know different
but you...

You have two strings on one bow.
Why don't you just acknowledge the corn and marry the girl.
She thinks you are of the first water anyway.

She woolgathers without you and has Hobson's choice about it.
Root hog or die won't you,
There'll soon be a child to consider.
Don't ring in the changes again.
Marry the girl!


Why Write a Poem?

I am a star,
one tiny dot in the heavens,
To most people on this earth,
I am nothing,
Writing for me is saying,
"I am here.
I am with you."
I am the centre of my universe,
a universe I want to share with you.
You are a star too.


The Athlete

Dormant now, asleep, still.
Those years of torture and dedication
Now have a different focus.
Was it such a waste?
Talent channelled down a one-way corridor,
Promised reward for effort if the effort was exceptional.

It takes a special person.
What happened?
You are special
Your effort was exceptional.
Do what it takes..
You always did no matter what the personal cost.

Just because you closed the door
Doesn't mean you can't open it again...


The Difference

One lonely child hasn't any friends,
One lonely child doesn't follow any trends,
One lonely child's existance depends,
On the difference that you and I can make.

One lonely child is abandoned, all alone,
One lonely child has no-one he can phone,
One lonely child is only skin and bone,
He eats bread while you and I eat steak.

One lonely child really needs a guide,
One lonely child has no-one on his side,
One lonely child walks when others ride,
Let us give and hope that he will take.

One lonely child is cringing back in fright,
One lonely child is slipping from our sight,
One lonely child is giving up the fight,
Hold out your arms, help him not to shake.

Hold out your arms, help him not to shake.
Let us give and hope that he will take.
He eats bread while you and I eat steak.
There is a difference that you and I can make.



Yellow fingers danced through the charred grate,
slowly at first,
then gaining strength with each passing second
until burning tounges licked the lacquered jarrah.

There was a new master now, feeding.
Feeding from chicken fat and oily drippings,
that had accumulated from a summer of outdoor living.

Like a festering wound,
flickering arms reached higher, insatiable.
Each consuming breath was breeding
more power, more strength, and more mighty domination.

The stench of burning flesh filled the air.
Calmness and control versus what was growing to be a raging monster.
Alarms squealed and pealed.

All the while, the crackle was feeding.
Thick, black smoke clouded in the alcove then was ushered through open windows
to collect near the ceiling of empty halls.
Alarms were screaming.

Calmness prevailed.
A nearby blanket failed to smother the intensifying flames
that were still feeding, sucking in oxygen at every gap.


Stay calm.
Be prepared.

One short spurt of COČ extinguished the frenzied hunger.

The lesson here:

If you are going to have a barbeque
make sure you empty and clean the drip tray.
Your life may depend on it.



Standing at the ironing board
I'm feeling like a drudge
I spend so many hours here
That I hold such a grudge

Nobody appreciates
The toil I do all day
They just complain 'bout what's not done
I don't know why I stay

I bear the brunt of their foul moods
I put up with their curse
The more I do the more they want
Can it get much worse?

I feel that I'm not up to scratch
Sometimes I'd like to go
I'm not Mrs Perfect
As they tell me so

No-one takes much notice
Of the little things I do
But are very quick to critisize
Then make mess anew

I love to see things shining
Clean and sparkling fresh
With a breeze through open windows
But it's always such a mess

No-one ever pulls their weight
They leave it up to me
If a little thing is out of place
They wait for me to see

Sometimes I will pick it up
Sometimes I'll let it go
It won't be long till hell breaks loose
I'll tell them where to go

For some of it I'm guilty
Yes some of it is me
I wish they'd do a little more
They are my family


Gaia ... Mother Earth

A cosmic enigma
Grows out of the dark
I feel new life pulsing
That first tiny spark

Cross borders of darkness
Void of emotion Traverse through the starkness To maternal devotion

I will bear the hero
And see the fury
Come forth out of zero
Uranus and me

I'm Gaia the mother
First on this earth
I'll leave behind chaos
To gods I'll give birth

To rivers to mountains
To plains and to sea
To all that is living
To all that will be

Gaea (also Gaia), or Mother Earth, was the great goddess of the early Greeks. She represented the Earth and was worshipped as the universal mother. In Greek mythology, she created the Universe and gave birth to both the first race of gods (the Titans) and the first humans. In the creation story of the ancient Greeks, Chaos came before everything else. Chaos was made of Void, Mass, and Darkness in confusion. Then Earth, in the form of Gaea, came into existance. From Mother Earth sprang the starry heavens, in the form of the sky god Uranus. From Gaea also came the mountains, plains, seas and rivers that make up the Earth as we know it today. Gaea, or Mother Earth, was the oldest of the gods of the early Greeks. She was known as the supreme goddess by humans and gods alike. She presided over marriages and oaths and was honoured as a prophetess.



Here I sit with pen in hand
To write what comes to me
To ramble on, to waffle
To tell you what I see

To take you on a journey
Of the ravings in my mind
Of everything and nothing
The topic undefined

The paper isn't scary
But it remains quite blank
It's all so airy fairy
I need a big think tank.



Faith was a real oxymoron

whose life was strangely true.

She started at full speed, gradually increasing pace

and often sat in peopled solitude with the darkness visible.

She was a poor little rich girl

whose life was bitter sweet.

An extraordinary spendthrift,

her affairs were accidently on purpose an open secret.

Faith wanted safe sex

every night for a few days

in a happy marriage

with her bridegroom,

the benevolent dictator from the United Nations.

Without the verbal contract, she knew it

wasn't worth the paper it was written on.

She wanted the proud humility

of painless childbirth.

with Simon and Garfunkel's Sounds of Silence

as background music.

She had preposterous ideas

on the balance of terror

and played war games

with friendly fire.

In the war to end war,

as well as a tactical nuclear weapon

she used conventional weapons and a

clean bomb.

She was full of Irish Bull

and Dutch Courage

and sober enough to tell if she was drunk.

Half the lies told about her are not true.

She got a job in the police force

that was open to qualified women regardless of sex.

Her hands were so beautiful

she wanted a bust made out of them.

Not to mention her favourite food,

fresh frozen peas and jumbo shrimps.

She ate white chocolate from paper tablecloths

and drank dry martinis from plastic glasses.

She ate her tea with non-dairy cream at a plastic wood table.

Not meaning to be unkind,

but good grief!

She is a living death.

Paradise Lost in a deafening silence,

Heavy lightness, serious vanity!

Although she gets better and better

she is not as good as she was.

She makes me turn over in my grave

and listen to my funeral sermon.

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Include me out.

In two words I find her im-possible.

(With oxymorons borrowed from Noel Coward, Alfred Tennyson, Edmund Spenser, William Wordsworth, John Milton, William Shakespeare, Simon and Garfunkel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Sir Boyle Roche, G K Chesterton, Paavo Nurmi, Samuel Goldwyn and others)


Be Free

If you're lost in confusion
Or trapped in despair
Envision serenity
See yourself there

Dreams paint a picture
Vivid and bright
Make life a fantasy
Sweetness and light

Life is like magic
You are what you see
Break out from your prison
Escape and be free


It's Me


I told you I was busy.

I haven't got time to scratch.

Can't you see I've got to finish this.

I haven't got much time.

Oh, alright. Five minutes then.

Eee yuck. You stink.

When was the last time you had a bath.

No wonder I don't spend much time with you.

At least your hair smells nice.




oh no.

It isn't you.

It's me.




A poem

A squashed insect

A dead cat by the side of the road

Reiminders are everywhere

Forever is no time at all

Or is it?

Is a little knowledge a bad thing?

The end won't change

Only the journey

Take the test...






Don't Let it Be Goodbye

Sitting in the corner reaching for a quill,
I contemplate what's happened here for all is deathly still.

Whenever there was trouble out reached a helping hand,
To dust off all the rubble it used to be so grand.

A tugging at the heartstrings and whispered words of love,
Open declarations, were things we did write of.

We also wrote of dying, for that is part of life.
Many were replying like a husband to a wife.

Sharing fun and laughter, we put smiles on many faces.
It made us feel good after filling all those empty spaces.

Then someone told a story to keep us entertained.
Some people didn't listen, but others still remained.

If there was a point to make we'd write it down in ink.
When things are significant, we really need to think.

Then there were the sad times when we wiped away a tear.
It often helps the healing if another lends an ear.

We could say almost anything and share our written word,
Familiar people caring, every voice was heard.

If we needed excercise we'd work out in the gym.
Sometimes we'd hear frustrated cries but it was never grim.

There was feedback and discussion, we were able to relax.
There was no repercussion, just our brains to tax.

Collecting cherished memories, archived all together.
Like thoughts and special moments our hearts and souls will treasure.

Outstanding work deserves reward, and so do those that try.
Come back we can see this restored. Don't let it be goodbye.

Come back we can see this restored.

Don't let it be goodbye...


Redcliffe City

The secret north of Brisbane
Us discerning readers know,
Is our smiling city Redcliffe
Has a place for us to go.
Shady parks for our children,
Safe beaches and jet skis,
We can watch them as we barbecue
And enjoy the ocean breeze.
There are Dolphins playing football,
And horses on the track,
Restaurants, gardens, sports for all
And tourists coming back.
With churches, schools, clubs and shops
Our city by the sea,
Would have to rate a '10'. It's tops.
It's where I want to be.