Afterwards.

Because funerals are terrible.


Bury me in my back garden,
Bum up or bum down, I don't care.
Don't fret for my soul,
Simply dig me a hole,
Roughly one-and-a-half metres square.

Bury me in my back garden,
No casket, no coffin, no frills.
For next to no cost
I will slowly compost
Circumventing funereal bills.

Bury me in my back garden,
As if I was one of your pets.
I take up more room
Than a terrier's tomb
But I'll save you a trip to the vet's.

Bury me in my back garden,
no need for a vicar or priest.
Just make sure I'm dead,
Chuck some dirt on my head,
And then drink to the newly deceased.

Somethin' Stupid

(with apologies to C. Carson Parks)
Because dating is hard.


I looked at your profile
And I swiped right
Because your smile
Was captivating to me.

And when we went
Someplace to meet
You ordered
Something sweet
And then you
Shared it with me.

Then afterwards
I stopped and stared
And secretly prepared
A future for us.

But then you went
And spoiled it all
By saying you could never date
a Taurus.

*

You can see it in my eyes
You're a reprise
Of other guys
I've tried to date before.

And though you think there's still a spark
Your last remark
Means I can't see you
Anymore.

*

I saw you in a bar
And in that moment,
From afar
I felt less sad and alone.

You wandered over
for a chat
And shortly
After that
I had your name in my phone.

For days on end
We'd type and send
A hundred silly messages
Between us.

But then you went
And spoiled it all
By sending me a photo
Of your penis.

*

You can see it in my eyes
You're a reprise
Of other guys
I've tried to date before.

And though you think you're quite risqué
That doesn't make me want to stay
Around for more.

*

I walked past where
You sit each day
Because it’s on the way
Between my desk and the lifts.

And every smile,
Each soft hello
I kept next to my heart as though
You gave them as gifts.

One afternoon
At Friday beers
Your voice bewitched my ears
In conversation.

And then you went
And spoiled it all
By telling me you voted
For One Nation.

What Trump Likes

Because making deals is terrific. Believe me. The best.

I don't often link Donald Trump and poetry together in the same thought. But, like almost everything else abhorrent to intellect, Trump himself tweeted about it.

Sure, the tweet's a couple of years old, but if age was any hindrance to being noticed, Trump wouldn't be president in the first place. 

Now, far be it from me to claim that my poetry skills even come close to The Don's deal-making wizardry. But if he did turn his tiny hands to doggerel instead of dog-whistling, it might look a little something like this:

I’m Trump and I like bigly deals.

I like the way the winning feels.

The other thing I like, for reals,

Is this tremendous poem. 

I don’t like facts or Meals on Wheels

Or failed Obamacare repeals

Or when the FBI reveals

What I refuse to show ‘em. 

I like long, incoherent spiels

And watching Fox to get my feels

And trips to Florida for meals

And touching random chicks. 

Some people paint, some folks make meals,

Some sing or bang on glockenspiels,

But money-getting spins my wheels;

That’s how I get my kicks. 

On the care and comfort of exotic pets

Just because.

Please don’t keep your axolotl in an empty shampoo bottle
When a proper coffee pot’ll do the trick.

Don’t feed raisins or sultanas to exsanguinous iguanas;
Offer only ripe bananas when they’re sick.

If you must adopt a locust, it’s important you stay focused -
Your indifference might provoke a stream of swears.

Water isn’t good for spiders, they prefer a range of ciders
Served with tiny pulled-pork sliders, cut in squares.

If you take a young impala to a symphony or gala,
Be advised: the sound of Mahler makes them squeal.

If you haven’t any pillow for your banded armadillo,
Then a head-sized sheet of filo is ideal.

If you can’t stop your cicada stealing biscuits from your larder,
Try to make its access harder with a maze.

Never give your tuatara make-up, shoes or a tiara,

You’ll be cleaning up mascara smears for days. 

Regrexit

Because hindsight, at today's exchange rate, is still 20/20

Whoops! I thought that we was voting summink different innit;

I didn’t know we’d really take the EU and, like, bin it.

For sure I thought the ‘Leave’ vote would add up to less than half;

I only voted ‘Leave’ ‘cause my mates dared me for a laugh.

That Nigel bloke said immigrants was stealin’ British jobs;

I didn’t know that Nigel is the king of racist nobs.

He said we’d save some money that could save the NHS;

There’s more to this than what he might’ve said (or not) I guess;

‘Cause now the Pound is down and our financial future’s drab;

But most importantly: CAN I STILL GET A CHEAP KEBAB?

When the campaign is Donne

Because halfway through an election campaign is as good a time as any to get metaphysical. 

When next the visage of the moon

Turns coyly from the Earth to wane

In Southern lands, a mournful tune

Plays soft to endeth this campaign

Two foes, hast did declare their troth

As means to quench a powr’ful thirst

One side intendeth jobs and growth

The other, putting people first.

What trigger’d such a grand event?

A solemn vow to disagree

‘Til twice-dissolved, our parliament

Restored not the ABCC

For fortnights twain a battle fought

Continued twenty-eight days more

We sit upon the rowboat’s thwart

With battens placed for what’s in store.

What promises are made thus far?

What quarter shall our champions give

To childcare, tax, the NBN

And gearing in the negative?

As rivals gloat and bluff and boast

It matters not what happens hence

The policies that matter most

Seem nothing much of consequence

Of marriage just, nor refugees

Spake neither glori’ed bureaucrat;

More time and swathes of journalese

Apportioned to a blessed rat.

Two Thousand and Fifteen

Because 'tis the season to write lists of things.

In December I remember
Everything that’s been;
Listed tersely and diversely,
Here’s my two-zero-fifteen:

Batty’s laurels, budget quarrels
Adelaide alight;
Newman’s booting, Hebdo shooting;
Old Prince Phillip dubbed a knight.

Six-flag pressers, coloured dresses,
Peter Greste freed;
Triggs’ indicters, hepatitis,
Libspill 1 did not succeed.

GP practice fees were cactus;
Baird won one term more;
Data stashing, alpine crashing,
Abbott ate an onion raw.

Young Belle Gibson told some fibs and
Earthquakes rocked Nepal;
ANZAC heroes reached two zeroes;
Bali Nine boys’ final call.

Rising waters, royal daughters,
Depp’s dogs on death row;
Same sex weddings, bad coughs spreading
Goodesy stole the whole damn show.

Joseph Blatter’s FIFA matters,
TEN Australian flags;
Daesh drama, Dalai Lama,
Jenner graced some glossy mags.

Cricket ashes, Greek debt crashes,
Java’s skies turned dark;
Bronnie hopped a helicopter,
Michael Fanning punched a shark.

Tourists slaughtered, murder thwarted,
Cheaters’ names were viewed;
Plane wing mystery, Bishop’s history,
Operation Fortitude.

Pilgrims dying, Vee-dub’s lying,
Libspill two was ON;
ScoMo’s winger dropped a zinger,
Turnbull’s in and Tony’s gone.

Shootings shatter Parramatta,
All Blacks took the Cup;
Doc Brown’s travels, Johns unravels,
Stocco outlaws’ time is up.

Bulldog cruising, bomb blasts bruising
Paris and Beirut;
Russians plummet, climate summit,
Payne wins racing’s biggest loot.

Burning houses, canine trousers,
Star Wars on the screen;
Briggs’s hickie, George Pell’s sickie,
Roll on two-zero-sixteen..