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In Australia cute little fauna
Aren’t conserved, maybe goner.
Koala frogs and parrots too,
All gobbled up, indigeneous stew.
.
But not so flora, gets a pass,
Biologically they have no arse.
They too are threatened, barky things
In this pic and my writings.
Summertime, the swots are out,
They whack the table, heavy clout
They squash and squeal before they die.
Eternity for dirty flies.
.
Replacement granules in the trap,
Green liquid from a plastic wrap.
The flies attracted to its smell
Poisonous powder sends them to hell.
.
Or is there maybe a fly heaven?
Where they can rest on bread that’s leven.
We swot ’em hard and take their lives,
Dead insects which don’t live in hives.
Preamble : Folk yearly say not again. The indulgence, the excess of pine needles strewn on the floor. But what of the aromas of Christmas Time?
.
In Terra Nullis when warm to hot,
And Christmas seafood’s served a lot.
After trays of chocky treats,
Seafood’s preferred ‘bove sliced meat.
.
But being the favourite comes at a cost,
For fishermen there is no profit lost.
The yearly orgy strips the seas,
Gourmands indulging needlessly.
.
A week goes by, piper to pay,
Bins overflowing, in disarray.
The feasting done for Christian mench,
Full bins exude a ghastly stench.
.
Religion is a fashion trend
Forsaken by most “christian” men.
For muslim guys their faith abounds
Five daily prayers to mecca sound.
In country Queensland coppers die,
Outrage is stoked, I canna lie
Grief shed on gabba “sacred”ground,
Where in five days, folk act like clowns.
Police union says” let’s buy the site”
To save it from the lunar right.
It’s “sacred” ground I hear ’em say,
A monument where secular pray.
* overseas readers unfamiliar with the context of the shootings, and gabba reference, please contact thru comments
Christmas is coming, yet I abhore,
Faux chrissy cheer in department stores.
No wise men cluster round a manger.
For Herod this kid’s an imperial danger.
.
Smoke spirals up from scented pine candle,
Incense is burning from wood known as sandle.
Plastic crepe, ribbons all scattered around,
Broken toys whimper then don’t make a sound.
.
When I was small I don’t really recall,
Why Jesus’s birthday matters at all.
Soon father christmas took over his schtick,
He sold more product, bucks came in quick.
.
Too far down the rabbit hole
I read vociferously.
A tale to make one’s blood run cold,
Laid out for all to see.
.
A tale told by cosumate insider.
Mike Cohen is his name.
Exposing T****’s corruption wider,
At same time Cohen’s shame.
.
Disloyalty, title of this memoir,
I read it far too late.
Providing some c seeontext for me,
To Make America Great … [Again]
.
Compelling read, can’t put it down,
But is this schadenfreude?
Chronicling grift of orange clown
Perhaps he’s just schizoid?
Four decades ago, I stood in awe,
First son at Boothville, that’s what I saw!
And in the twinkling of an eye,
He’s forty now, am I surprised?
You’ve got two kids, just down the block,
From where we raised our little flock.
I wish your well on this birthday,
With love and kisses, come what may.
The Hobart Chinaman 
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