Even Then

I’ve always wanted to do stand-up

but never enough, never passionately.

And anyway I couldn’t be bothered

learning material by heart if that is what

stand-ups do. I was a lazy bugger.

My heroes were all stand-ups, not poets

like you might imagine: the two Jerries,

Lewis and Seinfeld, Bob Newhart,

and Billy Connoly who I saw

do a three –hour show in Adelaide with only

a fifteen minute break. That’s stamina.

That’s my kind of comedy: the Observational

kind, the sort that poets are good at with their

nifty little eyes and agile turns of phrase.

Is anyone still reading this?

Anyhow the page is my stage.

I never have to worry about stage fright

or ‘dying’ in front of an audience.

The comments and likes are my applause.

They keep me going. The occasional heckler

with a snide pen. Water off a duck’s back.

I love readings too,being guest poet.

But most of all, I love writing the stuff.

Nothing scatological. The fart is as far as I go.

And if you wondered, that’s me in the picture,

whistling along the lane, thinking up funny lines,

even then.  

On the Face of it

Someone once told me that I stir my coffee backwards

As though it were a character flaw.

Until it was for bidden by my cardiologist

I used to stand on my head

Believing it gave me a head start to the day.

I like to eat my cereal at night.

It gives my stomach something to mull over

While I sleep.

My doctor tells me I might have ADHD

But I can’t sit still long enough to be tested.

On the face of it I look normal.

on Leg Hairs and Tennis


If I had as many black hairs on my legs

As Roger Federer

Would I be a great tennis player?

Would I be as good as the Fed?

Do leg hairs maketh the man?

There must be a hair for every ace

He’s ever served.

If leg hairs were ants, which they look like

The Fed would be in screaming agony.

One day he’ll lose most.

Hair today, gone tomorrow.

You know the puns.

Hair’s to you, Fed.

Good luck in the Aussie Open.