Ardley Any Andy


Andrew Amark Assan The third,
Looked less like an Andrew and more like a bird.

His nose was ashen, all arty and beaky,
His ears always flappy, airy and freaky.

He was awkward with shoes, cause his feet were so long,
They arched up to his knees which seemed awfully wrong.

And although Andrew Assan was astoundingly tall,
He was so skinny, he appeared ardley at all.

So ardly anything of Andrew came to be called,
Ardley Any Andy, ardley anything at all.

Now Ardley lived in the land of Asput,
With Alwyn the Aardvark, who had only one foot.

He opped and he opped, around and around,
Then tripped on his tongue which hung to the ground.

He arked and arked as aardvarks do,
If you stood on your tongue, you’d ark a bit too.

“Oi stop all that arking” Ardley alluded to say,
But it came out “ Ashmillo” to Alwyns dismay.

“Ashmillo, Ardley Andy, did I hear you say?
Even for Aardvarks that sounds quite astray”.

“What appened to you Andy?” Alwyn asked not assured.
“I thought from alcohol, you were absolute cured?”

“Thought I was too, got ammered instead,
Now I’ve an ead acker”, he ashamedly said.

“Thought I was so cool, my Amigo’s said drink.
If I dont scull alchohol what would they think?”

They left me an addict, they don’t even care
My alcohol soaked life, is my cross to bare

Andy’s an airhead to let alcohol get hold
Get some help, reach out, be bold.

Alwyn agreed.

Boris Begott


A babbling baboon, was Boris Begott,
A baboon with a something, others had not.

His biggus blue something was south of his tum,
It stuck out and bobbled, a blue baboon bum.

Because of his blueness, poor Boris was stunned,
Red should be bobbled, blue should be shunned.

The band of baboons said he isn’t like us.
Over his bobbly blue bum, they all made a fuss.

Boris is beastly because blue bums are absurd,
Banish Boris Begott, boycott his word.

Poor babbling Boris became so bereft,
He took his blue burden and begrudginly left,

But is wasn’t long before Boris beheld,
A leopard called Barry, of baboon breath he smelled.

A banished baboon is a banquet to me,
But your bum is blue, I can blatantly see.

The band of baboons will soon come to dread,
Because my taste for bigots, is strictly red.


William S Whiting lives on Simpson’s hill
He’s known by a lot of names but is commonly called Bill.

Bill attended Pathetic School where he graduated top of his class,
Straight A’s in pitiful shaking, A plus in licking his ass.

His number one aim in life, apart from being fed,
Is to find a warm wuffly spot, tucked up in someone’s bed.

Achieving this clandestine goal, requires much cunning and stealth,
The idea is to curl up small and pretend he’s somewhere else

His ultimate nemesis is Phillip, a giant black Cat
Phil is the boss and that is that!

But Bill does have a sneaky plan, so daring it churns his tum
When the claws and teeth are just through the door, he bravely sniffs Phil’s bum.

Bill is a kind devoted foxy and as his boldness grows
He shows his love as best he can by sticking his tongue right up your nose.

Cheerily Christmas


Christmas comes, carefully cherish this day,
What Christmas means on the back of a sleigh.

Consider a chalice, of course the correct class,
A chintzy container could clearly not pass.

Covet a Cartier, chronometer so fine,
Costly and catchy, perhaps tell the time?

A collection of chains, clingy and clinkly,
Crenulate crystals, cherty and chinkly.

A coltish cat, Cuthbert the Third,
Dancing and prancing while consuming a bird.

Forget endangered, conservation decry
Must have brands, buy, buy buy.

Crocodile crevat’s, Ivory in pink,
A serval coat, a camisole mink

A colorful chameleon, clustered in curls,
A custard cockatoo, chilly in pearls.

The more we collect, the more we adore,
Must have it all, more, more, more.

Don’t stop there, a car for the cool,
Must contain bling and a small swimming pool.

A quicker computer, a Cuban cheroot,
Don’t forget clubs to cram in the boot.

Carunkular cheetahs, 20 carats per pen,
A calamatous camel, with one hump or ten.

A cocktail cruise, Caribbean at sea,
My boat must be bigger, bigger than thee.

Catchy Chalet, champagne and snow,
A callous Club, members only you know.

Christmas is glitz, must be seen, cost a ton,
What must you have, number one son?

Some time with you Dad

Devils Back

Lord Yasur, “Are you friend or foe?”

Under your shadow, I guess I'll soon know.

Resplendent, eruptive, a great ashen stack.

Come to me, walk with me, on the Devils Back.


Your greeting raw power, smites me with thunder.

Escalating terror as the ground shakes asunder.

Moving and twisting up a rickety track,

I begin my walk on the Devils Back.


Over the edge I behold in awe,

A precipitous plummet to your a gaping maw.

A pitiless soul, demoniacally black.

Indeed, I'm walking on the Devils Back.


Disgorging lava from a throat of dread.

Welcome to hell, place of the dead.

Sulphurous breath, a precipitous crack.

Grovel mere minion on the Devils Back.


My eyes burn red in the acid for air.

Pain drawing me closer to Satan's lair.

Torture worse than a pillory or rack,

The Devil has me on his back.


So make a wish and make it fast,

Make it good, for it could be your last.


Come visit Tanna and see this sight

A real volcano in all its might

It roars and trembles, an adrenaline attack

I dare you to walk on the Devils Back

Dating 101

Dating and fishing are one in the same,

Both should be simple but neither a game.


So let’s go fishing, let’s have some fun.

Let’s get excited, catch more than one.


The ocean swells, rise and fall.

Todays the day, I’ll have it all.


Set the lures, not one but four.

Sky’s the limit and then some more.


The Ladies strike, the reels scream,

Four at once, an anglers dream.


Which reel to grab? They’ve all gone mad.

This selfish fantasy is turning bad.


Chaos ensues as lines are crossed.

The dream in ruins, all lures are lost.


The aftermath; a shattered glow.

Totally wrecked and nothing to show.


Try a single lure, see how it goes,

May succeed, who really knows?


With patience and trust, the reel screams.

She’s a beauty, the girl of my dreams


Multiple lures? You know the rest.

One at a time is always best.

Donkey Dave


Donkey Dave, was David Duzzant,
Do you think he’s called Donkey cause he looked like an ant?

No Donkey Dave was a dullard of note
Desperately dull, not one to dote.

The government did, the government don’t
They should, they won’t

He moans and decries all that he see’s
Still put’s out his hoof, doesn't say please.

They should do this, they should do that
Mr D Donkey’s done nothing of that.

He’s never tried anything, accomplishments nil,
Bemoaning others, his bitter pill. 

Knock the high poppy, make it fall
Donkey feel good, Donkey feel tall,

Donkey’s friend Duke tries very hard,
Whilst Donkey D Dave, wallows in lard.

Duke’s a dummy, can’t dance, can’t sing
Bad at his job, make a poor King.

Duke shouldn’t aim high, shouldn’t do well
Does this kind of talk have a familiar smell?

It’s all about Donkey, me, me, me.
About other people, he fails to see.

I want it now, can’t help myself
It’s never my fault, always the elf.

Wake up Dave Donkey, start looking around
Help other people, head out of the ground.

Earnest Ernest


Earnest Ernest worries too much
Is it up down or is it down up?

Was the Cat with the Hat in or out?
Did Dr. Seuss leave any doubt?

Ernest has an exam or is it a test? 
Ernest never thought just to do the best.

Didn’t get A, only a B
What will people think, woe is me.

Is this an emerald, a greenly hue?
Not the right greenly, what am I to do?

I’m going out, panic, what to wear?
So many choices, cause of despair.

Food not perfect, must complain,
Tomorrows weather, only rain.

Now my hair, total disrepair.
Wrongly streaks, I really care.

She’s too sassy, He hasn’t called
Like, like so gross, so appalled

Post my pictures, hundreds on line.
Must impress, not one maligned.

Worry, worry, all the way.
How will I get through this worrisome day?

My friend has cancer, will soon be dead.
What was I worried about, what was in my head?

Farts is Funny


Some say they're disgusting, some say they're art
But most of us snigger, at the humble odiferous fart

We don't laugh at burps nor the beating of a heart
Yet we all role round in hysterics, when one drops a fart

Some are loud, some are proud, some a stealth assassins brew
But we all find them funny, except a prudish few

So when did it become jocular, this passing of anal gas
Who was the first to slap their knee, at botty burps from the ass?

Did the English think a crap call, flatus or colonic cough?
Deserved a sly chortle, before the Visigoths?.

Perhaps the Romans found in turd tremors and bowel blowing earth,
The act of exhuming a dinner corpse, the cause of smirking mirth.

Or was it on Golden Chariots, smiling Greeks cut the cheese
Scything down the Persian dogs, butt yodeling in the breeze.

Maybe the Minoans fired fecal hissers on the shores of ancient Crete
While the King rattled rip arse splitters, asunder his royal seat.

But, I’m sure it was cave man Ogg, when expounding poo methane
Was accidentally Ignited, a source of anal pain.

The jet of flame soared out so far; it scorched paintings from the wall
And two Oggette’s lost their voof, charcoaled by the pall

By the time Ogg put out his fecal fume and laid his blackened butt to rest
The tribe was is total chaos, tear faced from the jest.

So when you next laugh at a Tootsie, blown from the poo
Remember your colon putty pooter, is nothing really new



You think you’ve made it when,
Your house is bigger than
And you live your life, by money flow.
Look at you, your pool is wetter than

But your cool is so cold you never grow

Take your time, think a lot.
Make the most of what you’ve got.
Take your time, it’s not a race.
Be yourself, there’s no first place.

You think your better when,
Your car is faster than.
You’re a veiled lie, a shallow show.
Look at you, a brand is better than
Self-obsessed and gold possessed, is all you’ll ever know

You think your richer when,
Your stash is higher than.
Must have more, it’s the only the way.
Look at you, your ego’s fuelled by air
But your life’s a farce, just an empty, lonely play

Take your time, think a lot,
Make the most of what you’ve got.
Reach out now and hold on
Because some day they will be gone

Wake Up come on Wake up and see, 
Drop all that poser crap, just be.
Live your life, don’t dwell on strife,
Open your heart, take time out and breathe.

Footprints On My Heart

Who waved the big finger but picked us up, off the mat?

Our friend, Policeman Pat.


Who always showed compassion when wearing a blue hat?

Our friend, Policeman Pat.


Who drove a Nana car, happy without the hat?

Our friend, Policeman Pat.


Who always wore a wide smile parked south of a white thatch?

Our friend Policeman Pat.


Who had the strength of a fireman but always stopped for a chat?

Our friend Policeman Pat.


Who always saw the good in people but could also smell a rat?

Our friend Policeman Pat.


Who saved a family of ducks and especially loved his cat?

Our friend Policeman Pat.


Who unconditionally loved kids and they always loved him back?

Our friend Policeman Pat.


We'll miss you Pat, you're one of the good ones, so sad you had to depart.

You touched and helped so many and left footprints on my heart.


For Patrick Hugh Doak .


Go in peace mate.

Gravity, it’s the Law


The most amazing thing that happens to me
Is the eternal effect of gravity

When I wake up, I’m still on my bed
Not floating to the ceiling or standing on my head

Every things still there, where I left it last night
Still stuck on the floor, not taken to flight.

I go to the loo and take a pee
It lands in the bowl, not over me

I hate to consider what I’d do
With a gravity free number two

Perhaps if the need became totally dire
I could blow it out the window with a hot hair dryer

Albert surmised it will even bend light
Blow me down if he wasn't right

He even predicted how it behaves
When it comes past us, it will come in waves

A giant black hole is nothing to flout
What goes in, doesn't come out

Yet as you get closer time is unhurried
I’ll age a bit slower, should I be worried

A great ball of hydrogen was looking forlorn
Then gravity took hold and our sun was born

Gravity keeps our planet in place
Warm by the sun, not cold off in space

Gravity sticks the ocean to the crust
Should weigh a lot, I guess it must

It shouldn’t exist, it shouldn’t be there
but I’m glad it does cause I like breathing air

But Gravity’s the Law, not manmade
As Issac said “Must be obeyed”

How does it work, no one really knows
For now it’s a dark matter, very dark I suppose.

Help Me


Every time we kiss I know you are for me 
Gazing in those sky blue eyes like a pool of molten sea 

I try to show you the depth of my passion 
But it stays way down inside of me 

Do you really know what I feel like in side? 
How do I show you the love I try and hide? 

Why do I disguise my feelings?
When I love you deep down in side 

Let’s make our love bring out a rising sun
Don’t spend our lives with our hopes on the run

If we trust our love we’ll grow strong together  
And our hearts will keep us close for ever

Help me trust to say “I love you” 
Help me hold you close and say I care

Help me show how much I need you 
Don’t leave my broken heart in tears

Isabella in Red


I was playing to faces of cold and stone, feeling bluesy mellow and slow
The music was in me but off beat tonight, my keyboard like glue in the snow 

The Kariba Bar was gin soaked and tipsy, full of smoky dreams and lies
The piano echoed their painted hopes, with chords that faded and died.

Just when the night was eclipsing, the voices all slurry and dead 
In walked the queen of all ladies, Isabella in a tight skin of red 

She sipped a strawberry tequila, slid her hand upon my thigh
“Play the tune of a thousand lovers and I’ll sing till the morning is nigh”

My heart was on fire, the beat returned and the keyboard smiled too 
Her voice lit the room like a Sahara sun, lost in a mournful blue 

People looked up through hazy glazed eyes, as her melody sliced the night
The smiles spread like a rippled pond, and they started feeling alright.

She’s my heart, she’s my soul, Isabella’s my doll
Her voice is an echo of white
She’s my life, she’s my love, Isabella’s my dove
And she’s taking me home tonight

She sang for the souls of lovers past, she sang for their hearts within
She remembered the eyes and lies of men, and their promises paper thin

She cried for her angel who died too young, but wept memories of joy today
And the love of her life she met in Milan, who swept all her heartbreak away 

I played to the cry of lovers need; I played with all my might,
She took my hand and smiled the smile, come home with me tonight

Come home with me tonight.   



The world passes by as I drive the lonely road 
Hanging on that steering wheel my dead heart seeds are sowed

Up ahead lies my future, a cold cabin for the night 
No one to sing to just a pillow for my plight          


I thought love was truly gone, just a ghost I never knew 
My mind was a glacier, all cold and icy blue

You see my heart was in pieces, scattered all over the floor 
Trampled underfoot and kicked out the door 

Next day I drove the pavement, through the trees of autumn hue
When the hitch hiker called Gabrielle cascaded into view.
She climbed aboard and then she smiled at me and she called me by my name 
She said, “You must be that lonely Jake who said the world is all to blame. 

You’ve forgotten how to love my friend you say it don’t exist no more 
Your broken hearts in pieces, lying on the floor

It’s so hard to get back up when you’re down and feeling blue 
So let’s poor some love into your soul and see what we can do.

She showed me how to love again and make the human race 
Then she put the sun back in the sky and lit my fire place 
You know I picked up all those pieces and put them back inside 
Then I remembered how to love again and beamed a smile wide 

Don’t forget how to love,
Don’t forget your heart is true, 
Don’t let that old glacier turn you heart to blue,
Don’t run away from love, 
Don’t turn away and hide,
Grab that love with all your might and keep it warm inside


Kaula carefully opened, an embryonic eye
At the top of a long beaky, ever so shy.

Inside a shell, not much of a view,
One big foot, another makes two.

Wrapped in a ball, those huge feet by her eye.
Sticking straight up, uncomfortably high.

“I wonder what I am”, she thought to herself,
“Perhaps a baboon or a big footed Elf”

“I hope I’m a lion, I can roar and be free,
A Serengeti Leo, is the life for me”

She tried chipping out, with her little egg tooth.
Someone had stolen it, how very uncouth.

So she pecked at the shell till her beak was quite sore,
Till it crumbled and cracked then she rolled on the floor.

“I’m out at last” she said, her wibble wobbling plain
I’m a vicious lion, behold my golden mane.

She let out a roar but out popped a shrill
“If I’m a wild lion, I sound kind of ill”

And my mane looks rather feathery, right down to my toes.
A lion with feathers? that’s not how it goes.

Maybe I’m a wetapotamus with spooky spikey legs
Leaping from a cave roof, onto people’s heads.
Or I could be a tuatara prowling Gondwanaland,
Sporting a Mohawk, in a kilted rock band. 

But tuatara’s aren’t long beaky and although it sounds absurd.
I think I’m a big footed, odd shaped bird.

If I’m a bird, I’ll fly, I’ll be a great soarer,
Up higher than all the flora and fauna.

She extended her wings, “This should do the trick”
Hang on a minute; I’m not  AERO DY NAM IC.

She flapped and she flapped, yet she still only found
Those un-lion like feet,placed on the ground.

Kaula felt depressed, “I’m not doing very well”
Then her face lit up, “What’s that delicious smell?”

She stomped and snuffled probing in the bush 
Sniffing out juicy bugs, with her elongated mush.

I think I’ll stay right here, Waitaia’s the home for me,         
I’m proud to be called Kaula, the little Brown Kiwi


The story begins in a damp micro tube,
Where Lenny Limpy, was getting a lube.

But this anointment wasn’t pretty, not a chortle, nor a laugh
Poor little Lenny’s DNA, was torn right in half!

This was done quite painlessly, no needles, nor a stitch.
Was it YOUR osis or MY osis? I can’t remember which.

Although Nurse Cell fed him well, he remained very pale
And instead of normal arms and legs, he grew a wiggly tail.

A day old and off to school, no tricky math’s for him.
Little Lenny’s only skill, was learning how to swim.

There were millions more in Lenny class, all honing the same craft
Wiggle woggling their little tails and looking just as daft.

It was a merry time, a bubbly time, joy for one and all.
You could say they were happy herrings, in a seaman’s ball.

But the good times were soon to end, when Lenny’s landlord came to play
And that’s how all and sundry, were sent abruptly on their way.

Lenny wondered what foul deed, made his landlord so upset
Because he didn’t just kick him out, he fired him like a jet.

Whizzing along at 50 k he tried to be calm and brave
But he almost lost his Mojo when he saw the strange new cave.

But then something amazing happened, it came totally from within
He wiggled that woggly tail once more and began to frantically swim.

Swim, swim, swim he did, he swam the perfect race.
With 200 million contestants, there’s no room for second place.

The gold medal was Lenny’s, he wore the victors grin.
Then knocked carefully on the door and Zona let him in.

You see
That’s how Thee, came to be


When I look in the mirror, what do I see?
“Well, obviously, I see me”.

I see a face, creased with a smile
Gravity cheeks and a wild hairstyle.

But no matter how I try and look at thee
Two green eyes stare back at me.

Really what I’m seeing, is merely skin
Just a layer, paper thin.

So that’s it folks, to you out there
Fashion looks and frizzy hair.

Be one of the few who venture nearer
And ask yourself, what’s behind the mirror.

What’s really you, truth or pretense?
Open book or garden fence?

Do you dwell in self, your image desire?
Lust for vanity, a narcissistic mire.

Are you really honest or a veiled lie?
True to yourself or passerby?

Do you believe in trust and what is right?
Or are you just ether, drifting in the night?

Will you give to others, for giving sake?
Or do you take, take, take, take?

Are you a ghost of blind convention?
Or is there something behind the reflection?

If you want to make your image clearer,
Take a look behind the mirror.

Please reload

Notno Now


Noto and Didno where twins did you know
Sons of the Nows, Couldno and Shouldno

Now, Notno did know, a secret you know

But what Notno did not know but should know,

Was Couldno did know what Notono did know, 

and did know, Didno, did not know what Notno did know. 

But Notno did not know,  Didno did not know, 

Since Noto thought Didno, did know.

Now, Couldno should know, Shouldno Now 

Did not know what Notno did know but thought Shouldno did know.

So when Couldno asked Shouldno about what Notno did know

Shouldno did not know.

“Shouldno, you should know what Notno did know and Didno Now did not know.
How could you not know?” 

Unfortunately, Shouldno should know what Notno did know

And that was……..

But Shouldno forgot.



O is a wonderful letter; it goes way round the rim,
Look, balloon and baboon, have two of them in.

Without O’s there’d be no words like Voodoo
You wouldn’t want to hoodoo Voodoo, would you?

Because of O you can pop a balloon,
Or go to the Zoo to see a baboon.

An onerous rhinoceros with a pointy nose
Olly the orca, striking a pose

You can hear a cow moo or a Hoopoo coo
Or maybe an owl toot and hoot to you

But whatever you do
But don’t step on the Hoopoo poo

Hoopla will come to you
If you step on a Hoopoo poo.

Maybe for you a cockatoo, 
Or perhaps you’ll view a Koodoo or two

All just for you, 
to view at the Zoo.

And look at zoo, it ends with two 
And look at look, it has some few too.

Too has two, O’s abound.
O’s make the world go round and round

Peter Palin Peebles

Peter Palin Pebbles was a sight to behold,
In the land of the P’s he was feeling pretty bold.
It was his first day of ponder at the Pink Primary School
With his purple P Pen he arrived looking cool.

His Plimsolls were polished and preened in the sun
And his hat pobbled sideways like a Pisa Currant Bun.
His face was protund and partly square from side on 
But his nose pointed inwards so you thought it was gone. 

Yet he stood rather tall for a lad from P Land 
And had plenty of P pictures painted on his hand.
When he appeared in the classroom the prim teacher was there
Looking pretty peculiar with her peach coloured hair.

It grew from her head and spread between her toes 
But the peachiest part of all, protruded from her nose.

“Welcome to Pink Primary you’re looking very cool”
 Pick up your penguin and pull up a stool.
Each pupil has a pet penguin, at Pink Primary today,
Tomorrow it’s Pluffy Poodles or perhaps Python Prey

Peter perched on his stool with his penguin and pen 
Next to two perky lads called Phillip and Plen.
We’re “good peers” code named PP one and two,
We’ll show you round Pink Primary, since you are new.

They showed him Plothy Possums  playing pool in the pound, 
and peered at Palooka Parrots which never make a sound.
They pried for Pimpley Pilley-worms lurking in the ground.
Listen very close, they make a plippy plopply sound.

But they didn’t have P Pens and Peter had a rule, 
Without P Pens you just weren’t cool. 
 “You can have purple P Pens or perhaps pink too,
But without a P appendage, I won’t be pandering you!”

Why do P pens, either purple or pink
Change Peter Peebles and how he would think?
So pondered PP one and a perplexed PP two
Perhaps our prim teacher will know what to do.

Penelope Pertrude Papple, yes the teacher had a name, 
Parted her peachy hair, as her penguin did the same.
She pulled a Palooka Parrot parked precariously in her ear 
And perused the two PP’s, standing proper like a pair.

So you’re pondering a problem “How do P pens make you cool?”
The answer is simple; PETER PALIN PEEPLES is a fool.


I first heard of Whina when she talked the talk
And down from Te Hapua, she walked the walk.

She filled Hollands drains as fast as he duggem
And visited Bill Rowling just to bug him.

A successful farmer, this ladies no fool.
She donated land to start a school.

“Have you lived all your life under a Northland sunset?”
She replied to me wryly “Brett, not yet”.

She told me about getting old, “Don’t fear that day
Because my young friend it will happen anyway”

“Be of good heart, be kind and be true.
Be honest to all, it will get you through”

Yet she was only little, skinny as a broom
But her mana smile would fill a room.

Lead from the front, was always her way.
Her living the moment carried the day.

When she left for Hawaiki, to her spirits embrace
She left this world a better place.

From a mud floor up North, to Mother of the Nation
Dame Whina Cooper, you’re my inspiration.



For Mother Teresa

Quezzel lives in the Blephron Sector way beyond the stars, 
Not just the quick hop to Earth, if she lived on planet Mars.

Quezzel is not her real name, just something made up.
If she’d chosen a pseudonym, it could be Glorit Glup.

We can’t see the Blephron sector; it’s under Quezzel’s lid,
But keep both eyes open wide, you’ll be really chuffed you did.

When Agnes arrived on Planet Earth, that’s actually her real name,
She thought the world would be like home, but she found it’s not the same.

But first she had to disguise herself by moving her face above her tum.
Then retracted all her scaly limbs and re arranged her bum.

Now looking semi Humoggolly she explored from place to place,
Calling herself Teresa, she studied the human race.

She sent a report to Questeral, Blephrons almighty head.
It seemed very confused, but this is how it read.

Some Humoggs have a thing called fashion, makes them feel good,
It does absolutely nothing, I don't see how it could.

Some Humoggs are starving, dying in the rain.
While others have abundant food and still they complain.

Some Humoggs believe in Gods, peaceful in their might,
Then they kill other Moggs to prove they are right

Some Humoggs take ferrous tubes which blow out bits of lead
And walk into learning places and make the Minimoggs dead.

Some Humoggs live in boxes, whose pigments are never right.
Others have no boxes and perish in the night.

Some Humoggs have many boxes; I’ve heard it called “The greed”.
They ignore the many others who appear in dire need.

Some Humoggs fight amongst themselves, others on foreign shores.
They use their ferrous pipes for this and call the killing wars.

All Humoggs inhale Otwo, which comes from land and sea
Yet they're slowly wrecking both, seems illogical to me.

But some Humoggs fight to ban those pipes and help all those in need
They care for the planets health and don't embrace “The greed”

They shine a light of hope, hope after all, 
If only the rest would listen, listen to their call


Radio Speak

Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, Len Tover calling Hanover Radio, OVER.

Ben Dover receiving you, what is your emergency? OVER

Len Tover in a Land Rover, Ben Dover. OVER

Did you say Rolly Over in Len Drover? OVER.

That’s a negative, I’m Len Tover, Ben Dover, in a Land Rover. OVER

Ben Dover, having trouble penetrating you. Switching to channel layover. Should smooth over. OVER.

Roger, Ben Dover, turnover to channel switchover for smooth over. OVER

Ben Dover  receiving you smoother. Repeat your message. OVER.

Ben Dover, Len Tover in a Land Rover, rolling over and over and over. OVER.

Loud and clear. You’re Len Tover in a Land Rover. No need to repeat OVER , over and over and over. OVER.

Ben Dover, I’m rolling over in a Land Rover. OVER

I thought your name was Len Tover, Rolly Over, OVER

Over and out

Rats in your Hat

Open up those precious eyes, another day is here.

Time to decide, how your day will fare.

Don't go to school, with vile rats on your head,

Try a different look, a better one instead.

You don’t need  skellum rats, RATS in your HAT.


Try an army of caterpillars, skipping all their legs,

Or Skinny Willy Warthog, showing off his dreads.

Fashion a hairy fur ball, coughing up a cat,

But what you don't need are rats, RATS in your HAT.

You don't want, RATS in your HAT


Enjoy spicky porcupines, spiking up your hair.

Or curly blondie wigga-ma-things, looking very fair.

Even frizzy Meerkats bugling Bach in B flat

But stay away from rats, RATS in your HAT.

You don't want.

No you really don't want, RATS in your HAT.


Perhaps clusted spiders, sproinging on your dome.

Shuffling, scuttling Knit Catchers, feeling quite at home.

Wobbly Bob, the jelly thingy, splonked there like a mat.

Anything’s better than rats, RATS in your HAT.

You don't want.

No you really don't want,

No you really, really don't want, RATS in your HAT.


You may like sneaky snakes, wound around your noggin

Or a special secret sploshy place to keep your pet froggin

Even Percy Pelican, dropping in for a chat,

Must be better than rats, RATS in your HAT.

You don't want.

No you really don't want,

No you really, really, really don't want, RATS in your Hat.


They’ll do a scritchy scalp dance, spikey claws knotting  hair

To raspy hissy rattish music, very loud and clear.

They'll sing vile rodent songs through stained ratty fangs

And they'll leave behind a smelly mess, squishly in your bangs.

They'll make you do ratty things, causing hurt and endless strife.

Their teeth gnawing through your soul and screwing up your life.





Now you’re tucked up tight, snuggly wuggly in your bed.

Don't let the rattys win; keep them off your head.

Wear a hat which suits you best, a Bowler, Top or Gat,

But whatever you choose to do in life, no RATS in your HAT

You don't want,

No you really don't want,

Stay well away from, RATS in your HAT.



I try to see the world through a love that never dies 
When she left me for the heaven, my heart always cries.

Still my world has no bound for the love I feel inside
My mind will always see her as the Angel by my side. 

Taken so quickly, no chance to say goodbye
Please god hold her gently, and let my angel fly

At night my thoughts are with her, in my mind I feel so blessed
I know she’s happy now, in her soul’s eternal rest. 

Sleep my lovely Angel, your heart is always true 
Please think of me in heaven, and know I still love you. 

Your smile lights my life and the tears run so sweet 
Your life star ever burning, my Angel is complete 

Weep no more; cry no more, smile, my darling, through heavens door 
Spread your wings to greater things, I hear the song my Angel sings. 

I’ll see you in the future when my time is due 
Wait for me my darling I’ll soon be there with you 

Shabby Sheila

Shabby Sheila, yes you know who you are.

Arrogance your ethos, a veneer social star.


All gussied up because fad makes you in.

Being honest to yourself, a veritable sin.


Your vaporous friends, add fuel to your farce.

So refined, so precious, so uppity class.


The clique all wink, a white powdered line,

Secretive group giggles, we're ever so fine.


Carat AU, your only measure of success

Shabby J Sheila, your an out and out mess.


A face of contempt when looking through me.

My caste so plebeian, much lessor than thee.


Oh risible Shabs, you think your so cool.

Reality check, your a coke dusted fool.


The apotheosis of crass and lamentable pose.

Living your life through the flow up your nose.


Beauty is internal, not dangled on a chain

Step away from the mirage or go insane.



A songbird sang in 63
And so an Angel came to be

So shy and sensitive you’d never see
How your beauty set us free

All you desired was to love and sing
And not contrive some commercial thing

Driven by passion, pure as stubborn snow
The essence of music, only you could know

That childlike wonder was always there
A summer breeze of healing air

For you, there’ll be no more crying
For you the sun will always be shining

And I feel because of you
The songbird will never be blue

With a wonderful world she said goodbye
Why my Angel, did you have to die?

Somewhere over that rainbow, I know you rest
Thank you Eva, you are the best.



Teenagers today, will find out with dismay,
The rad things they do, are not a new day

No matter how badly Yolo and mixed up they are
This historical blunder was the biggest so far

Tutank in Egypt, before Christ walked the land
Was helping his Fam build a cube in the sand.

Mamoose was dying and this cube was his bed,
Tutank in charge of rocks, turnt up a party instead

He was so mad chill, on sprang break after all
With Dude Mamoose swag money he ordered them all

Cept Tutank had eyes for Kiya,  a Thot of the day
But she was salty on him, said go AF away

Tutank got chirped, yaassss thats a thing so bad
No snappy clap back, bummed out so sad.

His maths not hundyp, was confused by the Thot
Not even sixtyp, no it was not

Fiftyp was all dat sus order of rocks
A noob to arithmetic , head full of pox

The building began, began kk
But the cube lookin  shape, went quite astray

As luck would have it, when Mamoose dropped dead
No flat top to the heavens, a pointy bit instead

When it comes to teenagers, take this advice of the Kings


Do You’s need a repose?. You’s twined in your life?.
You’s hit the fan? Quagmired in strife?.

If you’s buried in worry and you’s want to do better,
You’s can start with the U’s; a simple letter.

You’s can use U’s for fun, like an Un prefix.
To undo do or unfix fix.

Of course there’s the Up, useful as well.
You’s can upgrade a grade but not upsmell a smell.

If you’s want to go fancy, U’s is underrated,
But use it with care, else your stories inflated.

The unstraightforwardnesses of U words make a difficult read
And unconstitutionalities complicate things indeed.

Such convolutions will headaches bring
And you’s don’t want to tangle with the latter thing.

Best you’s use U’s like umm or ursid
And throw in uvula, undies and undid.

Keep life simple, like urped and unlet.
Or smile at urd, you won’t be upset.

Enjoy the moment, keeps migraines away.
Unknotty’s evocative, you’re not here to stay.

The unboundedness of U is undeniably fun.
If you’s untwined your life, you’s fulla has won.



It’s alright my love light, twilight’s veil, I’m on my way
We laughed and cried and danced the life waltz
I loved you more with every day
We shared our life, I watched, you grow
Now its time for me to go
It’s alright for me to go now
Alright, to love you from a far
You will always be my love light
Sky shining bright with my star

Tide of life is ebbing, goodbye my love I feel its flow
Don’t be brave, you can cry now, hold me tight then let me go
We touched our souls, I love you so
Now it’s time for me to go

Thanks for all the life you helped me see
Thanks for all your hopes and humility
Thanks for all the love you shared with me
I will love you for eternity 

Whale Speak


I was floating on the sapphire sea, feeling mellow and kind of blue
No dives for you said Annie de Gray, your ears are full of glue. 

I sat and watched the bubbles rise, from divers down below
When up arose a humpback whale, “I’ve come to say hello.”

My love light had a baby boy, close to this Niue shore
We hugged and kissed our little lad, and loved him even more.

Soon we left the sparkling Niue sea and gently swam away
To feed and frolic in colder climes, in a cetacean kind of way.

My boy screamed aloud one day, confusion in his love
A bolt of steel pierced his life, shot from a ship above, 

His mother went to help her lad, and see what she could do
They lined her up through Nippon eyes, and killed my lovely too. 

Why did you rip them from the sea, and carve them up for meat 
You excuse it through a veil of science but sold them on the street. 

So I ask you on this Niue Day why do this to our race 
Surely it’s not the trivial matter of merely saving face!

Leave us to roam the oceans, with our families swimming free
Don’t kill us for a hollow need, Just Let Us Be. 

Xavier James McNaulty

Last October when the heat was hot and the rainforest sweated glue,

I went to find a mean old croc which they said I shouldn’t do


He has teeth the size of wombats feet and eyes which burn right through,

He smells like the devils lair and his tail will cut you in two.


At first I hardly saw him, perched on his mossy mound.

He moved not at all, breathed not at all and didn’t make a sound.


Hello there Mr Crocodile, I’ve come to talk to you.

They say you’re the meanest Croc in the land and I wonder if it’s true?


I don’t think you’re as bad as they say, just merely misunderstood.

You’re probably really kind at heart so tell me if you would.


He stared at me with those black hole eyes and smiled a Crocodile grin.

“So you want to know how bad I am and redefine the meaning of sin”.


“Let me first introduce myself to you, I’m Xavier James McNaulty.

My close friends call me Jim the Bad, but you can call me Salty”.


“Come a bit closer my gourmet friend and I’ll tell you a story or two.

You see I am the meanest in the land and I’ve found religion too”.


How could you find religion if you’re bad in real life?

“No problems” he grinned quite hideously, “I ate the Preachers Wife”.


With that he lunged at me and snapped his mighty jaw.

I fell back with an awful fright but escaped his toothy maw.


“You just tried to dine on me and eat me for your lunch”.

“Of course, you’ll taste like chicken and I know it’s not a hunch”


He’s big, he’s bad, he’s mean and grey, and no one calls him Jim.

And when you see that old salty smile, stay well away from him.


Twenty years on, I look in the forest and think of Xavier James McNaulty.

He’s the meanest baddest croc in Australia. Your never friends with a SALTY


A smutty poem for all to read,
Piques some interest, yes indeed.

But what is smut, what makes it so?
It’s not your eyes or little toe.

It’s the other parts, parts of all of us
Which make us blush and cause a fuss.

Yet we all possess them, every day.
We carry them around, they’re here to stay.

Of course they vary in shape and size
And different genders hold their own surprise.

Fifty percent are dangly testes.
The other half are lumpy chesty.

Some like vanilla, some like to play.
Others prefer both but always grey.

Whilst some are covered like an English wood,
For others deforestation feels good.

Yet all of us are pointy nippily,
Although some more rosy and others stippley.

This is normal, a part of life.
But show it on television, complaints are rife.

Not so for murders, assault and gore.
Ratings are up, show us more.

Vary your X, you’ll burn in hell.
Use a gun, all is well.

This contradiction makes no sense.
The parts are yours, there’s no offense.

Ypres, Battle 3


We were so young and brave, glory be to war 
Dressed in fine uniforms, ladies at the door 

For God King and country, not really knowing why 
We marched off to victory with glory in our eye
Singing “Keep the Home Fires Burning”, we loved and said good bye
We all sailed off to victory, not one of us will die 

Our glory star quickly fades when comrades start to fall 
 The Devil Haig he beckons us, we heed the reapers call 

Just one last push my lads that’s all it takes to win  
Go over the top my boys I’ll see you in Berlin 

Just one last push my lads it’s for a noble cause  
Go over the top my boys, the war to end all wars 

We charged into madness hot steel for our host 
To fall and drown in liquid mud, we hear the last post    


Please mother hold me gently I’m far too young to die 
Please mother hug me close while I hang my head and cry 

Please mother hold me gently I’m cold and going to die          
Please mother hug me close now and help me through this lie

Please let me live I just want to go home 
In the hell of Passchendaele, I just want to go home 
Half a million souls crying out in vain 
Lying in the mud soaked in blood, death and pain

Fly our flag on Anzac Day our ghosts there still a bound 
Never let your minds forget that ghastly killing ground 

We fought and died at Passchendaele with heads held proud and high,  
At Verdun, Somme and Gallipoli our other comrades lie

So enjoy your lives and freedom for you are truly blessed 
But remember our sacrifice, so our souls at peace can rest

Lest we forget


The curious thing about the letter Zed,
By and large and when all done and said,

It’s the only letter with two names instead,
Sometimes Zee and the other one Zed.

Have you ever heard of Zed Zed Topp?
Or an ace Zee Car, belonging to a cop?

Unfortunately at school, for Zogg, Zelt and Zarst,
At every roll call they were always last.

But Zee is a zappy letter, full of zest.
Look at the cool stuff which makes it the best.

It’s in great words like Zup, Zebra and Zoo
But it’s also in Zither Zizzle and Zonaroo.

It’s featured in Zorro whose pointy bit we dread.
Then there’s the Zombies walking around dead.

Your zygomata help you grin
And the zonule of Zinn, lets the light go in.

We can zip up a zip, zag or zig
And zillion zeros must be quite big.

When Zona welcomed Lenny, the Zygote became you.
Funny how there’s Zeds in everything we do.

Now you’re zonked, it’s time for bed.
Forget counting sheep, just go stack some Zeds.

Good Night.

Zambezi Roulette

Down to the marsh we shall venture today.

We’ve both been warned to stay well away.


“Whatever you do, don’t be bold.

Avoid the river, if you want to grow old”


The ghostly fog looked calming to us.

Why all the warnings? Why all the fuss?


Then a soulless eye pierced the haunting mist,

Amid ruffled skin, like callused schist.


A tasty treat, to my den of forbidden.

The razor smile remained quite hidden.


Not one but two; a veritable hoard.

I’ll dine well this day; a smorgasbord.


Come closer to the edge, my morsel friends.

Hear my story which never ends.


Closer still, I’ll whisper sweets to your ear.

A little bit more, you’ve nothing to fear.


Nice and slow, not quite there yet.

Play the game of death, Zambezi roulette.


Just one more step and the story will end.

A Zambezi Croc is never your friend.


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(07) 866 5919


Tel: (07) 866 5919

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