Alzheimer's

Everyone is sorry
No one knows why
Like a ten ton lorry
Has fallen out of the sky

What is it that we can say
When words fail us
I am sorry I do not have the words
It is just the loss
Of so much we have worked for
Such an empire of dust
That falls from between our fingers
Dirt on the floor
In the House of Love

Carpets are swept up
Like a sea
Under the waves
Swim the Hippocampus ponies

King Fisher

poetry readings

Melbourne Botanic Gardens

In the Botantic gardens, the pleasure of wandering through
Dreaming lakes with a jumping gleam
Plants as wet as glue
Birds are talking pretty
The pavillion is dry
It is wonderful just to be alive
Even to breathe it is true

Duck migrate up gum trees
A female gardener Terry is busying green fingers
She is heedless to the falling rains
And in my mind hr attitude lingers

There must be many things Royalty has done wrong
But these gardens they have done right

A tree or shrub from every region of the world

Like a song of many colours
Or a tapestry of dreams

Like a fern of eternal furl
Or a precious pearl

These gardes make Melbourne City pretty
And can make a smile curl

The Wigwam Poem

In the Wigwam, ma'me
I met the Wigwam man
Too much to figure
The little horse got bigger
In the Wigwam, ma'me
The pig ham ram
They were big damn lambs
In the Tim-tam clan
I bite a shoe shine can
To clean my tooth line plan
Beneath a canvass caravan
With the Wigwam man

Sticks and stones may make my home
But words will never hurt me
Said the Wigwam
To the Igloo
Said the Huron to the Eskimo
Says the ice brick to the tree
You keep warm, but warm isn't free
When you're in wigwam town
Better get reborn
At the battle of Little Big Horn

Penguinness Part 2

Penguinness part II

I searched the seas and searched the land

For once to see the Guinness man

The man who named me white head or hill

Was is Schwarzkopf or Kaiser Bill?

Then I came to the Emerald Sea 

Where the crests were like green gems

And the mermaids laid down

For to lure the sailors

Where whispers were of ghosts

And folk’s tall tales tailored

To that eerie land of fairies posts

That Ireland

And there alighting near a seaward brook

I flapped my wings once around me look

This must be the home of all Penguinness

I must find the source of the river of Black and whiteness

The ones who found me

Must here reside

Cautious ground be cautious bride

For once we’re married we’ll never be untied

Audacious ground speed of a nautilus tide

I came to little home on the Limerick side

Where the poet’s roam, the wine foams and wild horses ride

To west town, and giant’s rock upon the shore

And drank from a shuttle cock, had an ounce of Bernard Shaw

Gambled with lounge room lizards

Flaunted my winnings and almost lost my Penguin Pride

They all drank whisky on the southern side

Its colour was golden I must confide

And so I rode straight away

On a cart going North

The Dubliner’s way

And there in the country of Castles and Rocks

I found the ruins of old Penguinness like discarded frocks

All rag tag and untidy Tatterdemalion

Felt I’d learnt the lingo like I was Pygmalion

Though the scenery had changed from black and white

The set had rearranged to Technicolor bright

I was left in a world without form, far away

I feared Ireland had turned into a land made of grey

And all I could do

Like the old woman in a shoe

Was sit and await fate

So I went into a pub and pulled up a pew

This place was like those I’d seen before

With locals jabbering jokes

At Yokels and bar broads

Interesting folks and some bores

And staying on the line

All neat and proper

Was a Priest looking fine

With a less than straight copper

I said to them have you seen the black and whiteness?

They looked a gasp, with their teeth so shiny white

With the uniforms of their Professions which they wore like a shield

But underneath they were so grey

Their guise only ran skin deep

I had better ask in a field say they

Why not ask the sheep?

Than bother Prim and Proper folk such as ourselves

One a man of the cloth the other a copper

Made of iron by criminals

So I looked to the corner and could hardly believe

A little old man who wore the green sleeves

He looked to me like one of Santa’s elves

But he appeared like the Trinity having all of three selves

He said I am Shamrock Sam pleased to meet you

I said do you know Penguinness?

He said I have a treat for you

Then he revealed,

What his sleeves had concealed

A pint like a Penguin, I felt like I’d been healed

He said you were colour blind and now you can see

That Penguinness is Guinness that starts with a Pe

And I added an ‘n’

He said when you put Pen to paper

You put your head on your tail

And your tale in the end

So that was how I came to find the Pint

A Welshman had discovered Penguins

With an Irish Hint

He named them white heads after the Guinness

And to this day we put Welsh coal in the snowman

To show that black and whiteness is the vision

Of an Irish and a Welshman

An Irishman a Welshman an a Penguin walk into a pub

And order a Guinness

That is the end, it was no joke

Penguinness Part 1

In Search of Penguinness Part 1

Look for the black and whiteness

You know this greyness doesn’t pay

I want life to be so righteous

There must be a wrong and right way

You know we need to find Penguin-ness

The white head upon black hills

There is a place they must drink Guinness

Whoever said that blackness kills?

All in all, in all this whiteness

There is not a hint of beige

If only my rugs could know this rightness

Like the black ink dries on the page

We are Penguins, yes, you’ve guessed it

There is no fish we haven’t found

On the summit of the iceberg

Little mountains are our ground

But like us there beneath the surface

That’s where mass of thought is sound

Yet what recurs to us is whiteness

In the vastness of the white surround

So, we search for black and whiteness

Even if they’re poles apart

It is best to reach for the brightness

Than to sink with a black heart

If you see us treat us kindly

For to see us is a sight

Then you’ll know the snow less blindly

For our image is there by right

In our search, we dig a tunnel

Through ice-shards that glimmer bright

Because in the darkness of the big funnel

Flows the Guinness of Penguin delight

I make no joke to follow screens of smoke

There are no cloak and dagger plans

It is a clear quest of all Penguin folk

To find meaning and truth in their own lands

We go crawling on, stumbling our old shuffle

The Fleet gulls slip through the sky

On the ground our feathers are all a ruffle

The music of the wind blows chill

As the arctic choirs shrill

Their moaning hues, and closed cup whistle

Blowing relentless as a tumbling thistle

Across the plain comes again, and again

Like a black cat in an all white world

Turning loose the barrels

Like cannons of assault

This way, that way the ice-rivers dance like a colt

The moon spins its silver threads of light

Across the sculpted ice flow,

And turns the blandishments of might

Into figurines of Michelangelo

Like a spider she spins her moon lit web

To capture unsuspecting travellers in their ebb

At lowest point they’ll sink beneath the milky mist of frost

This is why as Penguins we stand and remain together at any cost

This is how we outlast the land

And take the whip from out its hand

And if you’re different and don’t fit in

There is no place for you to go

It is stand still and shiver, or follow the ice floe

And that is where I must go now

To find and follow the black and white cow

Of sacred Penguinness

To find the route and heart of true Guinness

I set off, my feet a waddle

Away from the manger and my mother’s swaddle

Away from whiteness and the Penguin din

Into the quietness of the never ending

Away to where the fresh gull flew

And the bonds of heaven know no curfew

Where days turn markedly into night

Bees are swarming and the river’s bright

Trees grow green an seaweed rustles

Hawks now seen above grass’s tussle

I’ve reached the great Reindeer plains

Of Northern Canada, full of aches and pains

See the constellation of Andromeda

She chases the bull with bow and arrow

And I think when my belly was full

But my world was so narrow

And on I walk turning to skin and bone

I must find fish soon or die alone

I must meet a fellow traveller

To aid me in my quest

And that is the flame that keeps me burning

To find the sacred Penguinness

I walk to where the Salmon sing

And the Grizzly bear’s roar in the mountains ring

To where the Eagles fly to their nest

And on I push on what is my quest

The road is hard, the shore like rubble

Cuts my feet and spells out trouble

I stagger down into a cave

And place my life in God’s hands to save

Soon after one or two days

A wandering Caribou comes to its mouth and neighs

Licks my face, nudges my side

And with God’s grace I with him abide

As he carries me across wide plain

I stare up to the stars again

And feel sure I see there a glass like shape

Pouring a starry substance into Orion’s nape

The Caribou drops me after he has drunk

Of the fresh waters of Lake Michigan where his hooves had sunk

Exhausted he lies down to take his rest

I thank him climb off and continue my quest

Now I near the Autumnal East coast

It seems to me a marvel of colours its beauty to boast

I find I must board upon a transatlantic boat

The island of Nantucket, with the tough whalers seen

Was where I first journeyed beyond Virginia’s green

There I found an Irish whale ship

Ready to return from a worldwide skip

Back to the emerald shores of Ireland

Back to the Penguin’s heart land