Last Old Friend

On a rainy Sunday I turned eighty-three,

And right by the bed, you sat with me.

You looked at my hand, I looked at your smile,

We sat in the silence, then talked for a while.

I told you that you were my last old friend,

And I saw the confusion on your face extend.

I explained that we'd met over ten years ago,

On a warm summer day, by my Winnebago.

You had asked for a spanner, or a tool of some sort,

And we'd finished the day with a bottle of port.

At that point in time it had not crossed my mind,

In that moment, you'd be the last old friend I'd find.

Since we met I've known others, family and friends,

But quite often for them, I've been a means to an end,

People come and go, but rarely do stay,

And with that I'm reminded of you and that day.

We laughed and we shared, and we drank, and we cried,

And we held each other as our older friends died.

We visited each other, and wrote via letter,

And when you got ill I'd pray you'd get better.

As I lied on the bed, on that rainy day in June,

I knew I'd be leaving, passing by soon.

I never knew how important our friendship would be,

My last old friend, and the last one I see.

An Ode to Toilet Paper

Oh, toilet paper,

As white as snow,

You always helped,

At the end of the flow.

Oh, toilet paper,

With many a use,

For noses and bottoms,

You've suffered abuse.

Oh, toilet paper,

So rare and so sweet,

Who would have thought,

You'd become such a treat.

Oh, toilet paper,

You're making us nuts,

Fighting in aisles,

By hungry big butts.

The Very Rough Migration of Two Little Fruit Bats

Two little fruits bats climbed upon a tree, 

A place to call home, they hung there with glee. 

The evening was quiet, the sky ever black,

They’d found a high branch, on which they could slack. 

Soon came the ‘morrow, but the sky hadn’t changed,

Darkness encompassed the view they’d arranged. 

A keeper walked sulking from the nearby abode,

Looked at the sky, and near fell off the road. 

For above him was a wave of wings and flock;

A sky made of feathers, it gave him a shock. 

For as far as he saw, no glimpses of blue, 

So he followed the pathway, the mass of birds flew. 

Straight cross the lawn, over a fence,

Down a steep gully, building suspense,

The flock had a target, the giant old gum,

They aimed for the branch with the bat and his chum. 

The plovers were nasty, all swoopy and dumb,

“You can’t hang round ‘ere, go back where ya from.” 

An owl tried to reason, play middle ground,

“There’s plenty of room, down close to the ground.”

Some lorikeets defended, “diversity is real”

While a Kookaburra laughed and left for a meal. 

“Why on earth, are you upside down?”

Asked a daft little Galah, wearing a frown. 

A magpie got clever, and tried on his tricks,

“Have you thought about sleeping on a pile of sticks?”

The crows joined the magpie, attempting persuasion,

“What if your old home was the place of invasion?”

Not sure what to do, the bats hung quite still,

To leave their new home? Or stay for the thrill?

“I see you up there,” called the Emu below. 

“Don’t worry yourselves with the Maggie and Crow.

They all called me names, just because I can’t fly.

But we’re stronger than that and I’ll tell you why.

That tree is not theirs, it’s for all wings to share,

And we’re all pretty different, from our talk to our hair. 

If they’re worried for looks, or where you were born,

They aren’t worth your worry, they aren’t worth your scorn.” 

And with that the great emu chucked them a smile,

Jumped off the ground and sprinted a mile. 

The two little fruit bats, a new sense of calm,

Stayed in their spot, on the tree by the farm. 

Eventually the birds who were rude, found new things to hate,

But the ones who were kind, made a new mate.


Bernard was a bird, all covered in white. 

He hid in the daytime and glowed in the night. 

One day he decided he’d no longer chirp.

Nor whistle, nor squark, not even a burp.

He’d heard of a whale who moaned quite a bit,

She whined about nothing, but hunger and sh*t.

Wanda the whale had lived a long time,

But the constant complaining, Bernard thought a crime.

He once had some friends, when he lived in a store.

But never spoke to them. Not once, not at all. 

When he moved to a new home, his owner was shocked,

He kept his mouth quiet, he kept his beak locked. 

He wasn’t a Buddhist, nor from Verona.

Bernard was a budgie, with a modest persona.

An Ode to my Left Elbow

Oh, left elbow.

You have no point.

Except for the fact,

You are a joint.

Oh, left elbow.

How you bend.

Not quite a right angle,

But we can pretend.

Oh, left elbow.

You're ugly as heck.

With a wrinkly exterior,

And an arm for a neck.


I am Aboriginal, but I am white...

And I know that’s confusing but if you listen you might,

See what makes me this way is the blood in my veins,

Some from Germany and Ireland, and Australian plains.

Now I know what you’re thinking, such a tiny percent?

And you’re right, in terms of science, if that’s your intent,

But as people, we’re more than our bio you see,

I am human, I am dreaming, I am spirit, I am me.

My connection to country may be tainted by fate,

For the history of my ancestors is both violent and great,

I am complex in terms of ancestral past,

Call me diluted, weakened, or less than half-caste.

But the reason I’m white, if you ponder you might,

Just see that the causes are something of height,

My colour is the result of a love between races,

Of the footsteps and risks that my forefather faces,

In a time when their coupling was something of rarity,

My ancestors were brave and sought love as their clarity,

I am proud of my heritage, regardless of my skin,

And this place is my home, it is where I find kin,

I’m Aboriginal by spirit, by belonging to this place,

So consider my depth and don't categorise my face.


There was a purple elefant, as big as big can be,

I saw him just the other day, climbing up a tree.

He sat upon a skinny branch, beside a kookaburri,

And when it cracked the bird took off, in quite an awful hurry.

Elefant, who couldn't fly, had no choice but to fall,

And so he tumbled down the trunk, the thing was rather tall.

He hit his head on every nook, and landed on his bottom,

He shook it off, and dusted off, the fail was not a problem.

Father's Hair

I cut my father's hair last night,

He wasn't very pleased.

I gave him such a great big fright,

He made my mother sneeze,

He huffed and puffed and yelled at me,

I was grounded for a week,

I went to bed without my tea,

And was told to stop my cheek. 

I like the way I made it look,

And all I had to do,

Was copy from a great big book,

Then say that it was you.