The cassowary packs a punch,

he’ll kick you with his vicious toes.

You’d think he’d butt you with his nut,

but that’s not always how it goes!



Neutron Stars

Two neutron stars collide

with a heavy-metal boom

rockin’ down the universe

a billion years too soon…

   ‘n we’re surfin’ on the after-shock,

pullin’ gravity waves,

catchin’ gamma-radiation

for a killer-nova rave.




Mostly, when I purchase things

and carry them back home,

I empty out my shopping bag

as soon as I’m alone…

to find that’s not the end of it

– I have to start to sort

boxy-packs and cellophane

from all the things I’ve bought.

Then, when I’ve ripped away at wrappers

four-five layers deep,

I cop the blame for chucking stuff

I wasn’t meant to keep!



If I shot off to space in a rocket

what would I carry from earth?

Would I take all the rhymes of a rapper?

Or the bling that a rapper is worth?

Would I carry a rose, or a mango

…some seeds…and an elephant hair

to re-grow a quirky menagerie

for company while I’m “out there”?

No – I’d rather take bottles of memories

with snifters of musk and champagne

to remind me my robot controllers

can’t fathom the best of my brain.




Someone accidentally re-titled the website-heading on last week’s ‘umbrella’ poem…into

Tamil script.  The detached umbrella image subsequently googled off on its own – even as

far as to an Icelandic site!  So I need some international help to restore its provenance.

Anyone?  Thank you in advance.  It belongs back with its original eco-news-e-verse




“I’ll open up my umber-rella

now the wind has gone.

It shields me from the sun and rain –

I’ll use it from  now on .

“It also gives me privacy

from prying eyes, you see.

But, strangely, it attracts attention



I have a little lily-pond

here, in my front yard.

It’s full of living creatures

in their watery boulevard.

I haven’t had to feed my fish

since nineteen-ninety-four.

(I think I’m breeding cannibals

right outside my door!)




How To Kill Butterflies

ButterflyFlower 2Butterfly

Sweet, lovely butterfly,
blessed in many ways,
flitting through my flowers
I’ve been stalking you for days

…through my bedroom window
from behind a fine mesh screen.
I can’t go in the garden
to enjoy the things you’ve seen.

I’m allergic to the stingy-things,
to bumble-bees and such.
The mozzies and the horse-flies
enjoy my blood too much.

Sandflies found my scalp, one day
and sucked my brains to death.
I counted up the bites
until I reached the twenty-eth.

I wish I’d had some DDT
to teach those pests a lesson.
One master-blast would do the job
and stop those insects messin’.

But I have to use Pyrethrum
‘cos it’s kinder to the nose.
It kills the bugs off gently
…so the information goes.

So bye-bye busy bee
and ta-ta nasty fly,
and – sorry – Mr Butterfly,
you also have to die.




Flower spray

We drove 40 kilometres

and didn’t see one cow.

We live in a big city

which has no farmlands now.

It’s an urbanized conglomerate

to such a marked degree

no-one knows that apples

grow and ripen on a tree.

Kids believe that milk

is manufactured in the fridge.

Coffee comes in golden pods

to brew one bev-er-age.

Peas start in the freezer

and reach the dinner-plate

via buttons on a microwave

at quite a rapid rate.

Pristine food abounds

that never smells of dirt.

If we take it all for granted

then we’ll get our just dessert.