There once was a codger from Sydney
who said, 'That bloke stole my sheep, didn' 'e!'
He chased him to Illawong,
pushed him in a billabong,
and stabbed him twelve times in the kidney.

[i]

No soaring pain could match her, draped across a dying flame.
Like cinder,
                    she whisper-whistled through lungs thin, teeth sallow,
a promise in song.

“Towera jinner mulbeena,
Poodinyoober mulbeena.”
        
    It was a good promise;
    belonged to everyone
                                   and wouldn’t change for Tomorrow’s ranges.
It asked for nothing
but patience and faith.
                          From where she lay,
                                              the trees, gums, were akimbo.

[ii]

                          For generations she had walked, through the wettest of wets and driest of dries.
       With hope in her ribs and a nature savage and pure.
                     You could break her, throw her to the cockatoos,
                                                      ­And yet, ***** and punctured,
                                                 like driftwood, she would drift back,
                                                           ­                                                                Blossoming in your lap again.

[iii]

                      When the kangaroos have done their dance
                                                 in the twilight.
There she'd been.
Supine. Broken open and
lily-white (on the inside).

                                                  
    ­                                        and we did this.
                            with our prospecting and land grabbing

                                      we did this,
                      with our parking lots and Starbucks cup

         she was dismembered, priced, "loved," owned.
                    
                                     discarded.
                                            to the meek edge
                                       of an eternal flame ****** to embers.

I’m here to capture birds!
Exclaimed the hiker in the back
We’d made the call to pick him up
Along our dusty track

He spoke at quite a volume
And his statement had me fear
Just what kind of character
Was riding with us here

And it was with due concern
We were alone it did occur
As upon our exploration
Of the great outback it were

What does he do with birds?
I thought to myself and friend
By her glance I saw that she’d
Considered the same end

Perhaps he’s meaning humans
When he speaks to us of birds
Playing time to make a strike
Misleading with his words

We best get to the bottom
I don’t like the sound of this
And who the hell captures birds?
There is something here amiss

Tell us more dear hiker
For we don’t understand
Do you mean your taking photos
Of birds in this great land?

Again he answers loudly
Cameras are no match
Birds don’t sit still, so with his eyes
He considers it a catch

Things become much clearer
And I feel somewhat a fool
He’s just an honest birdwatcher
Doing it old school

And he’s from a foreign country
Dutch I hazard the guess
Are you from the Netherlands?
He replies a booming yes!

The man has quite the passion
He’s travelled very far
Just for our birds, first by plane
And lately in our car

But we are in the outback
What on earth brought you here?
Twas by the train with a few stops
For rare birds that I could peer

This hiker most impressive
Tell us more of what you’ve seen
Speak of rare birds you’ve captured
And places that you’ve been

I have been to Epping!
Loud and proud he is again
I stayed with a friend
And caught your fairy wren

I have been to Capertee
And nothing could be sweeter
Than spotting a rare endangered
Regent Honeyeater

I’ve been to Lake Menindee
Full it’s quite the site to see
But pretty rainbow bee eaters
Are what appealed to me

Outside of Broken Hill we were
When our paths converged
We to spot rare flowers
Him to capture birds

We reached his sanctuary
And dropped him at the gate
Sorry that we couldn’t join
The day was getting late

We made for sculptured sunset
He waved grateful, on his own
As we drove off, we wondered
How the hell would he get home?

i will admit
i am not the type of girl
to go to a bar and sit in a cloud of smoke
and listen to music purely because it is live
and i apologize if that is what you were expecting of me
but that is just not me
i am the type of girl
to go to old hidden bookshops and inhale the scent of literature
i am the type of girl
to sit on my bed at 4 am and talk about all the thoughts to a friend
i am the type of girl
who is more interested in sitting around a bonfire than going to a mall
i am sorry to any human expecting anything more or less of me
but i am not like that, it's just not me
i am a homebody, i am an lover of the arts, i am an introvert
i am a lot of things, but i am not a loud and extroverted human
i love my comfortable home and my few friends
now you are aware of my awkwardness and inability to be uncomfortable
i refuse to do something i don't want to
i am not going to do something purely because of the view of others
i am me, i am not going to change
and you are you, and you shouldn't have to change to get along with me
i apologize for expecting that of me, but then again
i am not going to apologize for being me

l love
you now
as yer
turn table
extol in
excess for
sea with
a kick
that the
new wave
let her
ride here
but a
train in
Tokyo spit
her under
toe awhile.

AUSTRALIA SUPPORTS AMERICA IN
OUR LONG RUNNING PACT
NORTH KOREA HAS NOW STATED
THIS IS A SUICIDE ACT



NOW AUSTRALIA IS IN THE MIND
OF THE NORTH KOREAN FURY
WILL OUR PACT WITH AMERICA
BE OUR JUDGE AND OUR JURY



WILL KIM JONG-UN RELEASE HIS MISSILES
AND HAVE AUSTRALIA IN HIS SIGHT
LETS HOPE OUR PACT WITH AMERICA
WILL SHOW HIM OUR MIGHT

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