Stop Trying to Make Sense of This (Life)

At the entrance to the train station,

a Jehovah’s witness one side,

a Morman at the other,

both trying to save my soul,

one booklet at a time,

while emails fly in to my pocket

offering better interest rates

and great deals on airfares.


The news tells me

that a virus is spreading

and floods have replaced the fires,

I guess the blood dimmed tide

has indeed been loosed,

and innocence replaced

by ignorance.


But if you try the impeach the guilty,

who are racked not with remorse

but a nuclear sense of entitlement,

then I’ll refer you back to distract;

soul to soul, airfares

and interest rates.


Unattributed moulding fixed to wall near Central Station, Sydney, NSW, Australia, 9 June 2015.

Look on the bright side,

we’re all bound to die.

Then ask yourself a question,

what will you leave behind?

It’s easier to be a churchgoer

than a good Christian.



A Series of Beautiful Mistakes

If I’d sat down earlier in my life

& considered what lay ahead,

I wouldn’t have thought I’d be here,

I wouldn’t have thought I’d work there,

and I wouldn’t have met you.


If I’d taken out a book

& on each page drafted a year,

I couldn’t have written this narrative,

I couldn’t have developed these characters,

I couldn’t have drawn this conclusion.


If I’d counted all the days on average

& plotted them against x & y axes,

I could have studied the curve & calculated

my final point, the point of my life,

in exact Cartesian precision, cogito ergo sum.


If I’d planned every day to achieve maximum efficiency

& return on investment, I would have raced through,

leaping days like hurdles with nothing but goals in mind,

focussing on defined achievements,

that would have filled out a resume & supported a career.


But instead I simply flowed

through a series of beautiful mistakes,

.                                                           a life.


A Celtic Blessing

Postcard bought from Loch Fyne Gallery, Tarbert, Scotland, Friday, 4 December 2015


traffic jam

this freeway is

the path to your future –

but brake lights blink in front

controlling you –

stop – go – stop – go – stop


the roadside billboards

push & pull on your desires

offering all that you need

for a new improved life


slowly you roll

forward (in space

.                  backwards) in time

while your prescription drug fuelled mind

whispers of conspiracies


you take in polluted air

(a consequence of progress)

& hope for some movement

as your life overtakes you