I Just Don’t Get It


I was thinking what to write before I head off into the sunset

for my four-day sabbatical when whoom! the topic lands

in my lap at the skin care clinic: nine chairs arranged

a metre apart from each other in the spirit of the times,

so I plonk myself in the far corner and settle down

with my smart phone, when an elderly couple shuffle in

and plonk themselves in the two chairs alongside mine !!

What the f%$#ck!! of all the other chairs in the house

they choose these two! What am I? A people magnet?

And then the elderly guy throws me a cheesy smile,

How are you boss?  It’s the same in the cinema, in those

long ago days when they were open, people plonk themselves

right alongside you when there are rows and rows of empty seats

nearby. What is it with people? I just don’t get it.

My Letters are Crap


that’s what I picked up in a game of scrabble.

what could you do with a rack like that?

throw it away, pick up new letters.

no, too easy.

I thought of a better way though I’m not up to it.

I thought I’d throw it open to you to see what you could do with it.

write a short story, a piece of flash fiction: horror, comedy,; a poem , a snippet.

go ahead, use this as a photo prompt, see what you come up with.

post it here.

I hope you all come out to play

Waiting Up for Rosco


I’m out the back waiting for the cat

to come home.

It’s Bev’s cat. She’s gone to bed.

Left me in charge.

Somebody has to do the dirty work.

I rattle the biscuit tin.

Rosco, Rosco, I call out

but Rosco doesn’t come.

Rosco will come when he’s good

and ready.

The stars have come out. The moon’s gone down.

I rattle the tin a little more vigorously.

Rosco, Rosco ,,,, a little more loudly.

A plump shadow shuffles around the back.

O there you are, I say. Nice of you to drop by.

Where have you been?

Out, he says .

It’s like talking to a teenager.

Well, I hope you practised social distancing,

I say.

Show me the food, he says, then we can talk,

What sort of name’s ‘Rosco’ for a cat, anyway?.


the Laughing Kookaburra


Why aren’t you laughing? I ask the laughing kookaburra.

What’s there to laugh about? he says.

Well, I begin, there’s the …. and the ….

Exactly, he says. Nothing. Zero, Zippo. Zilch. Where will I begin? Lockdown? Coronavirus? visitors with hang-dog faces? zoo keepers worried about their jobs? and the Bad News Bears blathering on TV in the office next door.

Well, you’re supposed to be ‘the laughing kookaburra’.

Maybe, he snaps, but I’m no ninny. I’m allowed to be morose if I want to.

Okay, Okay, I get it, I say as I shuffle on, shoulders slumped, head on my chest, rummaging in my pocket for the Lifeline number.





I like a guy with sandals.

Jesus wore them.

Buddha too.

I bet Mahatma did as well.

All the good guys wore sandals.

Allan Ginsberg did when he delivered ‘Howl’

on that memorable day

and The Archies when they sang ‘Sugar Sugar’ on the cartoon channel.

They’re not exactly power dressing

but you can trust a man who wears sandals.

or Woman.

My yoga teacher wore sandals.

She taught me the value of non attachment

though we were both attached to our sandals.

Socrates too.

He died in his sandals like cowboys with their boots on.

And so it goes.

I don’t know about celebs.

I think Clint Eastwood did in ‘A Few Dollars More’.

and Justin Bieber in his clip ‘Love Yourself’

Our Prime Minister wears sandals when he goes to the beach.

There’s a picture of Jesus walking on water in his sandals.

I tried it.

It doesn’t work

but I still wear my sandals.


Literature for Lockdown


Being a lazy shopper and wanting some books to read in lock-down, I wandered to a bookstore which had a sidewalk sale. I found a section of broad interests that could offer some joy to me and my partner and purchased them all.

I don’t know who Jo Wood is but it’s a catchy title —‘Hey Jo’ — and it’s a story of a ‘Rock and Roll Fairy Tale’ so it sounds promising.  Don’t know about ‘The Rum Cock Guide’ though. That sounds a little priapic. As for ‘Adelaide’, well, that’s my home town Still, there may be some hidden spots we don’t know about.

Have a glance over the titles. Which do you reckon you’d go to first? Do you think it’s a healthy selection?

Which book/s will you take with you during lock-down?


The Most Important Quality


I like how you can plug a cell phone into a socket

and charge it up within minutes to 100%.

By gum, I wish I could do that as the punch-line

to a well-known joke goes, you know the one

about the dog licking his balls in the corner of the pub

to the amazement of an envious spectator.


you wouldn’t need to sleep six to eight hours to recharge;

it’d be almost instantaneous. There’d be nothing

holding you back; you’d be crackling with energy,


endless energy, the quality Joyce Carol Oates judged

to be the most important for a writer.

Not Persistence.

Not Research but Energy.

You’d write a book of poems in a day, a novel in a week.

You’d be prolific as Simenon.


Don’t show me the money. Show me the socket. The plug-in

is the money!!


*what do you think the most important quality of a writer is?

do you think Energy plays an important part?