I am not yet born; O hear me.
Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the
club-footed ghoul come near me.
I am not yet born, console me.
I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,
with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,
on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.
I am not yet born; provide me
......
From ocean's wave a Wanderer came,
With visage tanned and dun:
His Mother, when he told his name,
Scarce knew her long-lost son;
So altered was his face and frame
By the ill course he had run.
There was hot fever in his blood,
And dark thoughts in his brain;
And oh! to turn his heart to good
......
Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?
Wherefore rock they, purgatorial shadows,
Drooping tongues from jays that slob their relish,
Baring teeth that leer like skulls' teeth wicked?
Stroke on stroke of pain,- but what slow panic,
Gouged these chasms round their fretted sockets?
Ever from their hair and through their hands' palms
Misery swelters. Surely we have perished
Sleeping, and walk hell; but who these hellish?
......
It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town,
He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down.
He loitered here he loitered there, till he was like to drop,
Until at last in sheer despair he sought a barber's shop.
'Ere! shave my beard and whiskers off, I'll be a man of mark,
I'll go and do the Sydney toff up home in Ironbark.'
The barber man was small and flash, as barbers mostly are,
He wore a strike-your-fancy sash he smoked a huge cigar;
He was a humorist of note and keen at repartee,
He laid the odds and kept a 'tote', whatever that may be,
......
They should not have left him there alone,
Alone that is except for the cat.
He was only nine, not old enough
To be left alone in a basement flat,
Alone, that is, except for the cat.
A dog would have been a different thing,
A big gruff dog with slashing jaws,
But a cat with round eyes mad as gold,
Plump as a cushion with tucked-in paws---
Better have left him with a fair-sized rat!
......
The fire burning within,
of a once romanticized night.
The machete now lies in my palm.
The glistening of oozing red,
slick as the night’s rain,
Only to wash away,
the sin.
The hour resides, the cold shower,
to cleanse the heart,
and it sits on my shelf.
......
Cancerous urban decay…
It’s taking over my beloved city…
The politicians truly don’t care…
Collecting more taxes and sitting pretty…
The infrastructure is totally failing…
They kick the can down the road…
Our children’s children’s children…
Will be left to inherit the load…
......
They parked the car outside to get to her,
Put on balaclavas to attack her,
Climbed the gate they wanted her...
Tied her dogs to get to her.
They kicked the door they saw her,
She was already scared they didn't care.
One held her daughter to beat her.
Blotted blood they kicked her,
On her tummy they punched her,
......
Resting, peacefully...
Under the old oak tree...
That where you’ll find...
My hubby and me...
He went first...
I went a little later...
I choked on his meat...
He, on my tater...
......
'No more boarders,'
the inn keeper spewed
raising her arms in the air.
People once came to the inn in droves
because it was a quaint little structure
with flower beds surrounding it
It stood on the outskirts of town
a darling little place it was
that is until the unthinkable occurred
......