•August 28, 2016 • 1 Comment

This poem will make sense to those familiar with ‘The Odyssey’, the great epic poem of Classical Greece. Apologies to Homer, but if he were alive today he’d probably be writing sit-coms for a living anyway..


 A Modern Family


The sailors said that Circe

could change men into dogs and pigs.

The truth is that they did it to themselves, you dig?

She just watched and laughed.

Later though they blamed it all on Circe,

said she dressed provocatively,

led them on with her spells and wiles,

at least, that’s what they told their wives!


Penelope herself just smiled,

when Odysseus told her work had kept him

back late at the office.

She was used to his lies,

besides, she had her own line of lovers

she kept stringing along.


Meanwhile, their sullen son, teen Telemachus,

spends all his time getting high on Lotus.

(the school’s complained that he lacks focus)

Then there’s Odysseus’ old dad Laertes,

they’re worried about the old-timer.

Didn’t seem to recognise his own son,

perhaps he’s got Alzeimers?


There’s trouble with the staff,

so he suspends some maids,

now Penelope’s complaining

that it’s been years since she been laid.

And no-one’s thought to wash the dog,

It’s all too much, he hits the grog!


This Dead-beat Dad has had enough

of this dysfunctional family!

One oar across his shoulder, nonchalant,

he tells Penelope

he’s going down the shops for cigarettes.

He won’t return but she has no regrets,

she merely waves goodbye

and doesn’t mention her intention,

to apply tomorrow morning

for a Supporting Mothers Pension.

circe and pig men


Buzzword jpig REDUced


Rev in blue profile

Sing now, oh Muse, of the Reverend Hellfire,

the Man of twists and turns,

driven time and again off his course..



•August 21, 2016 • 2 Comments

onion and skin

The Onion Skin


Once upon a time there was an Old Lady,

who died and went straight to Hell.

Despite appearances, this is in fact,

the Beginning of the Story.


Her neighbours didn’t waste much time mourning her passing.

The Truth be told (as it must be, because this is that sort of Story, where even the Lies are True, in a sense) they didn’t

mourn her passing at all, for she was possibly the meanest, most cold-hearted, and uncharitable person

who had ever lived.

She never lent a hand to her neighbours or even helped out her family when they were in need. She never made a donation to a Charity or a Church. Indeed, in her entire miserly Life she had only ever performed one, small, Charitable Act.

It didn’t help either, that she was also rude, foul-tempered

and a vicious gossip to boot.

But her neighbours were decent, kindly folk after all, so they gave her a proper funeral and a decent burial (according to the Customs of the Time), instead of just tossing her body out on the scrap heap for the dogs to eat.

They even put up a neat little marble cross to mark the grave.

boscgh old woman in hell

None of this stopped her from going to Hell though, because,

as mentioned previously, in her entire Life she had performed but a single charitable act.

This act of Charity, in fact, was nothing more than this; That once she had given an Onion Skin to a Beggar to eat.

She had eaten the Onion herself, of course.


But that was long ago and subsequently she had spent the rest of her long life indulging only her own extravagant whims,

in the process running through a vast, inherited Fortune,

and leaving her own heirs nothing but debts.

gina rinehart

So now the Old Woman suffered down in Hell

with all the other Damned Souls, and after an Eternity or so,

it happened that amongst all the other Wailing

and Gnashing of Teeth, her own voice rose up for a moment above all the others, and her cry was heard,

yay, even unto the Gates of Paradise.

Now up above in the Land of the Blessed was,

naturally enough, the innocent Beggar

and when she heard the Old Woman’s cry

she went to the golden balconies around Heavens rim

and peered down at the Under-World below.

(In this version we’ll make the Beggar a girl too,

to avoid any accusations of typecasting gender-roles.)

indian beggar girl

The Beggar Girl had died one Winter years ago,

from Starvation or Pneumonia or Tuberculosis

or whatever poor people were dying from at the time.

Though poor she had led a blameless Life, sharing what she had with others down on their luck, always showing kindness to children and animals,

and uncomplaining patience

with her own hard lot in Life.

Thus, the Good Beggar Girl was rewarded with a berth in Heaven, and as she peered down into the Depths of Hell below, she recognised, standing miserably

there amongst the hordes

of the eternally wailing Damned, the miserly Old Woman who had given her the Onion Skin to eat so very long ago.

bosch hell

And being Kind, the Beggar took pity on her

and went to the Top Justice God to plead for Mercy

for the Old Woman, and ask that she may be given a chance

to escape from the torments of Hell.

Being both Wise and Just (or so the story goes) the God

took an Onion and peeled the skin from it,

all in one long piece.

(You know, like kids do with an apple sometimes in play,

seeing how long you could make that continuous coil.)


It must have been a Magic Onion, because that narrow strip of Onion Skin was long enough

to reach all the way down to Hell.

(Or maybe Hell is just a lot closer than we think.)

Anyway, the God in question,

(It might have been Thoth or possibly just Jesus.)

gave the long ribbon of Onion Skin to the Beggar, saying that she might lower it into Hell and by that means the Old Woman might climb up and escape her punishment.

The Beggar did just that. Tying one end of the onion skin rope to the Golden Railings, she lowered the other end down, down to the depths of Hell where the Old Woman was standing and wailing with her kind. Calling down to her, the Beggar Girl told her that her long-ago act of kindness now gave her the opportunity to escape the torments she was suffering. She had but to climb the Onion Skin to Heaven.

The Old Woman eagerly grasped the Onion Skin

with her claw-like, withered hands and started to haul

herself upwards towards the Light.


But as she did so, all the other Damned nearby, who had been watching this little Drama unfold, saw their chance to escape the ghastly Land of Hades too, and they all started grabbing at the Onion Skin rope.

Fearing perhaps, that their combined weight would make the fragile ribbon break, the Old Woman kicked at those climbing up behind her and shrieked fiercely at them,

“Get away! Get off! It’s mine! The Onion Skin is Mine!”

And as she spoke those words, the Onion-Skin snapped and she plummeted back into the smoky depths of Tartarus

for all the rest of Eternity.


There’s probably a Moral here. There’s usually one lurking about at the end of Stories, like a Janitor, tidying up the loose ends, clearing away the clutter, turning off the lights..

Well, you can always just write this off as a case of;

Character is Destiny“,

or simply a reminder

that the Onion-Skin of Mercy

is a fragile thing indeed.

Onion skin abbott eats


Future Freeloaders


the rev burns

The REVEREND HELLFIRE is manifesting in Ipswich,

for One Show Only,

Tuesday, 6th September for the


at STUDIO 188.

Check out the link below for more details;


studio 188


reverend profile red

You know who I am.


From the Vaults; THE EEL DIARIES

•August 14, 2016 • Leave a Comment

We re-print this redacted copy of the Reverend’s original research journals..

electric eel close up

FIELD NOTES; The Eel Diaries

It’s true that I like to conduct my own obscure

Experiments in forbidden fields.

Like the time I became far too interested in Electric Eels.

It wasn’t fair, I had decided, in a moment of unreasonable petulance,

Why couldn’t I generate an electric field and stun

my enemies too?

Why should a lowly eel have all the fun.

After all, 87% of our DNA is shared in common.

The electricity-generating blueprints are down there somewhere

in the basement of the bodies Genetic Archives,

I just have to dig down deep

Locate, Access, and Activate the sequence, right?

How hard could it be?

electric eel diagram

Not knowing what I was doing,

I took a multi faceted approach.

First, I read everything I could find

about the Electric Eel,

plastered my walls with pictures of them

and their ugly protruding jaws.

I Meditated frequently, Visualizing in my minds eye

Radiant blue energy currents

that swirled within and about me.

I shuffled my feet on carpets on windy days

and sewed magnets into my socks.

I spent long hours in the bathtub,

in the Dark,

thinking Eely thoughts..

Only my eyes and nose poked out above

the surface thickly strewn

with stolen Lotus-lily leaves.

Furthering my mimickry I found

The Eels diet was not that different from my own;

Dead things, mainly,

and lots of little fish.


At night, drawing on the Wisdom of the East,

I lay in bed, breathing rhythmically, and focused on

Circulating the Chi & Pranic forces throughout my body,

till the room seemed to hum with a Phosphorescent Glow..

Your thinking about Eels again,” said my Girlfriend, “ I can tell.”

Yes, Sweetest, ” I confessed, “that is true, but tell me did you know..”

I continued, improvising a rapid lie, “that when they’re mating,

The Eels lovingly entwine and twirl

giving each other mild, mutual electric shocks

that spiral in a gradually ascending clitorescendo of ecstatic pleasure?”

We could try doing that,” I suggested. “Try thinking of

my penis as a lightning rod.”

Well..” she said, “Alright.”

My Girlfriend was good like that.

She always encouraged me with my researches.

erel stuff

Sadly though,

In the end I had to DISscontinue

my Eel experiments, they were starting to have DISsconcerting

Effects on my immediate Environment and the

Bioelectric circuitry of my Brain. Light bulbs blew

UP in my presence, compass needles spun wildly

in my vicinity,

Static storms erUPted in the stereo speakers,

the optic fibre fired and died,

I was subject to short circuits and sudden seizures,

micro-blackouts and fits of deja/


deja vu..


Clearly there were Forces

With which Man-Was-Not-Meant-to-Meddle!

electric eel couple

No, nor Woman neither,

I told my dissappointed Girl.

electriuc eel and little_mermaid_by_satiiiva-d2y2grp




futcha squares


reverend profile red

The Reverend Hellfire is..

yada yada yada!



•August 7, 2016 • 3 Comments

Tom Cat noble in the Sun

A Cat is Always Noble


My Cat he keeps me company

as I sit in the Winter Sun,

He purrs, he rolls, he stretches,

delighting in this Fun.

Then indulges in a Dust-bath,

with the greatest Dignity.

(For a Cat is always Noble,

on a Throne or in a Tree.)

Tom sleepy in garden sun DETAIL

At first a Feral, he moved in,

when with his stray-cat eyes he saw,

an invisible Sign, apparently written,

and hung upon the door, (it read);

“Familiar and Companion Wanted,

Please apply within!

Generous Feedings! Flexible Hours!

Starts as soon as you begin!”

Tom sleepy in garden sun DETAIL

Now the only thing that disturbs his peace

and equan-imity,

is still the occasional manifestation,

of certain cantankerous fleas.

But even these he despatches,

with a sense of Oblige Noblesse,

and woe to the Rodent or Rat he detects

and devours with consumate ease!

Cute and NOBLE Tom cat photo RED

Cat photos by Phaedra McGhie @phaephaephotography (Instagram)


Wherefore art thou


Rev in blue profile

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

still President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity Inc.,

and an ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism

AND the Church of the Universe.

You get what you pay for.


CIRCLE (A Work in Progress)

•July 30, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Todays sermon a tribute to the gentle Art of Tai Chi.

tai chi affect detail

CIRCLE (A Work in Progress)


Sunset, the sky shimmers, a silvered sheet.

You stand, feet shoulder width apart.

Slowly, you inhale,

Draw in the CHI that surrounds you,

and then

Exhaling you sink down

Into the Saddle, and sitting back,

Raise Water from the Well.

Bring Bucket back down to the Ground.

Draw the Circle, step within,

Ward off Evil, and lovingly,

Brush the Pheasant’s golden tail.


Now you Press forwards,

Roll back,

Push forwards once again

playing at the Yin and Yang,

the ever-changing Forces..

Drop hands and Pass the Clouds,

You Thread the Needle, with a Single Whip,

Cool the Heron’s Wing, and then

Take Flight into,

The Ancient sequences unfolding,

the Sweeps and Stances

Of Tai Chi‘s Eternal Dance.


Now you are like a Machine in your efficiency,

Smoothly you swoop and pivot, pause..

Draw the CHI deep, down into your lungs,

and send it surging through your limbs

a Cascade fountaining,

It carries you on

and you resume,

Repulsing Monkeys,

you wheel and spin,

Smooth now slow, now fast

and forceful like a mountain stream

that quickens

through the Rapids,

and then pools,

collecting in the tranquil Lagoon beyond..


Now you are Still and Centred,

Around you in the distance resounds

The busy city’s hum and roar,

The Workers streaming home,

The Highways full of hurrying cars..

Whilst my Garden rearranges itself as well,

A change of shifts as

the bush turkeys go to bed/

the possums awake from their hidey holes

and clamber noisily over the roof,

whilst unseen in a million leafy recesses,

the Chorus of Cicadas slowly fades

and is replaced by a Chorus of Frogs-

Only the slightest of changes

in timbre and pitch marks this subtle transition.


Meanwhile, the Moon rises above the horizon,

Fat and Yellow.

The Globe turns, the Bats circle above,

calling in invisible voices,

the Stars peep through the haze

of the City lights.


The World’s Wheel turns

and you turn too,

gliding and sliding

through the intricate, unfolding movements

of TAI CHI’s Endless Cycle.

Drawing the Circle,

You Dance,

But within it’s Centre, You are Still.

Rev tai chibrush birds tail

Authors Note; This poem celebrates practising my Tai Chi set beneath the silky oak tree down the back yard for the 3,666th time.


SQUAREY has laryngitis so you’ll have to supply your own Voice Balloons this week. Indeed, send your suggested dialogue to reverend.hellfire@yahoo.com.au to win a prize and see your witticisms published here next week!



June 2016 handbill JPIG Web garish!


Rev in blue profile

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity Inc,

and an ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism

AND the Church of the Universe.

He dreams of becoming a layer of sediment

in the coalfields of the Tomorrow.



•July 24, 2016 • 2 Comments

Rev Hellfire visits Mai Lai massacre

I Heard the News Today, Oh Boy..


Welcome to the New Age.

The Age of the Bully.

The Age of the Thug TRiUMPhant.

The Age where Anger justifies

every Aggressive Action.

The Age of the Demagogue.

The Age of the Terrorist.

The Age of the Loner

making nail bombs in basements.

The Age of the Mob

hanging victims from lamp-posts.

The Age of the Strong Leader

making their Nation “Great” again

by crushing Third World rebels in rags.


The Age of the Firing Squad.

The Age of the Lone Gunman.

The Age of Collatoral Damage and the Drone.

The Age of the Internet Stalker.

The Age of the Vigilente.

The Age of the Honour Crime.


The Age of the Celebrity Nervous Breakdown.

The Age of Anxiety, Autisim and Angst.

The Age of the “Prepper”,

storing Weapons in Bunkers.


The Age where every Poet has been driven Mad.

Reverend hellfire gets down


metre & rhymme


June 2016 handbill JPIG Web garish!


reverend profile red

The Reverend Hellfire is a practising Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity Inc.,

and an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanisim.

Lucky Bastard!



•July 17, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Beneath Winters grim, grey, cloud covered sky, the Reverend releases from the Archival Vaults a poem to match the weather..

Rev meditates, traffic calming

New Tyres and Teeth


No! No! No!

I need new Tyres and Teeth,

I told her, heart heavy with regret.

No more drugs

till I get that done at least!

But meanwhile as I spoke,

every taut stretched fibre of my Being

was being played like a Lyre,

twanging like a wire in the wind,


“No! No! Don’t listen to him! Lets Get On!”

It wasn’t drug-craving driving me on,

it was just that I couldn’t stand

that creeping sense of Foreboding,

waiting for the Worst to happen

and knowing that it would..

Fuck it! Lets just make it happen now

and be done with it, I said!

Far easier to surrender to Fatalism

than suffer the folly of Hope.

poppy snake reduced


Headlining JPIG



The Reverend Hellfire..

just as confused as you are.



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