TALES FOR CHILDREN; Mr Frogs Heavy Scene! {PG}

•April 23, 2017 • Leave a Comment

Fresh from Sunday School, the Reverend shares

this heart-warming, family-friendly fable from the vaults.

Parental Guidance recommended.


Mr Frogs Heavy Scene


Once upon a time Mr Frog was sitting on a lily pad in his favourite swamp, minding his own business, when,

all of a sudden down swooped Mr Pelican in a blinding fury

of flapping feathers and snapping jaws!

Only by gripping on tightly to the beak’s edge,

and wedging himself in the corner of Mr Pelican’s bill,

was the wily amphibian able to prevent himself from being swallowed down whole.

“Hey Dude!”, snarled the struggling Frog,

“Why fuck my day?!”

“Look man..I’m just doing my job”, explained Mr Pelican,

as he attempted to scrape off bits of frog against a sharp rock,

“Don’t take it personal..it’s not like I’ve got anything against you People.. I’m not prejudiced or anything, but I’ve got a wife and a nest full of kids waiting for me to come home and regurgitate some predigested frog down their throats. I’ve got obligations, Froggie”.

“What a cop out!”, sneered the Frog, “using the pretext of Social Obligation to avoid accepting Moral Responsibility for the repercussions of your own individual actions. Everyone has kids! So what?  Dr Goebbels had kids, and as a Good Family Man he used Rat-Poison to fulfill his societal obligations! That’s what rigid adherence to strict societal norms will do for you. You should read some Nietzsche, bird-brain.. Ain’t you heard of Free Will?”

“Free Will don’t pay the bills..down you go Froggie!!”

“But can’t you see that this Utilitarian outlook of yours is a philosophical dead end??”

“Mrragghhh..must eat Frog..unng” the bird grunted around the obstruction wedged in it’s throat.

It was becoming clear that Mr Pelican was not a deep thinker. Mr Frog decided to change tack..

“But wait! You can’t just KILL me..I..I’m another person for god’sake! I have feelings and a Soul and a Mother and Hopes and Dreams! If you cut me, do I not bleed? If you swallow me, am I not fucked Big-time?”

“Come on, give me a break..can’cha go eat some Worms or something? Worms don’t even have a central nervous system yet alone a Personality!”

“Or Krill!”, the desperate amphibian continued, “How about a Krill diet? No moral conflict there, even hard-core Jains who’ve given up water in case it contains microbes and use cow-dung for wallpaper will eat Krill. There’s not enuff ‘Entry Level’ Sentience in a bucket-load of Krill

to even animate a Talk-show host!”


“Don’t go Anthropomorphic on me Frog!” Mr Pelican pompously replied, “By assigning human feelings and attributes to a lower Life-Form you’re merely projecting your own value system and romanticising the food chain.

It just goes to show how divorced from Reality you latte sipping, inner-city Socialist-greenie types are”.

Mr Frog launched his last gambit..

“Wait! Wait! If you’re not prepared to accept personal responsibility for your actions, you could at least be a Good Bloke and do me a last favour”.

The predatory Pelican paused mid-gulp, the amphibian pinned tightly in his clenched beak..

“Well.. ok”, said Mr Pelican, who was always pathetically eager to be considered a Good Bloke,

“But no tricks! What do you want Frog?”

“Thanks mate! I need to scratch this really bad itch.. could I just rub my groin up and down here against the edge of your beak for a bit? All this stress is really making my Herpes blisters bubble up again. Actually, I think one may have burst..”

Gagging and spluttering, Mr Pelican spat the virally infested amphibian into the bushes and flew away to look for some antiseptic mouth-wash.

And so, tired but happy, Mr Frog hopped home, relieved that his negligence in seeking medical treatment for his distasteful Social Disease had had such beneficial results.


And the Moral (if you could call it that) of the Story is this;






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.

Some sort of  wacko.



•April 16, 2017 • 2 Comments

Deadbeat Jesus


Twenty minutes to Midnight on Easter Saturday

and an ominous silence looms over the city.

God is dead, they tell me,

but don’t worry, he’ll be back on Sunday.

Or possibly he’ll catch up with us in Galilee

for Passover,

at any rate, certainly in our Lifetime.

He told me so himself.

He said he was just going down

to the shops for cigarettes

and that he’d be back before, as he put it:

some standing here taste of death“(Matt 16:8).

Yes, well, we’ve all heard

such excuses before. And would it really be

so surprising then, if the Big J turned out

to be the spiritual equivalent

of the “Dead-beat Dad”?

Look at his background after all,

it’s no wonder he had “Father issues”;

an unmarried teenage Mother,

a Father-figure so often absent

he was nicknamed “the Ghost”,

Poor relationship with his Step-dad

(a considerably older

man with financial problems

and trouble with the Authorities),

the Family moving around a lot,

living in trailer-parks, never

settling in one spot for long..

So like many another troubled youth

he rebelled, ditched his carpentry apprenticeship

and joined a Cult, that,

as is Standard Operating Procedure

with these sort of Outfits,

encouraged him to disown his family.

Got to the point that he even drunkenly dissed

his Mother and sisters in public,(Matt 12:48)

when they were attempting an Intervention

to get him out of the Cult’s clutches.

Last I heard he’d completely lost it;

He jumped the counter at Cash Converters and

smashed the cash-register open with a bass guitar

he’d been trying to Hock, then cast the contents of the till

out amongst the startled customers, who,

naturally enough grabbed what they could and ran.

The cops came and dragged him off screaming

how Cash Con. were a Den of Thieves

and a place of Abominations and so on and so forth.

He defended himself in court

so naturally they crucified him,

but Legal Aid got the sentence reduced

on Appeal, to 240 hours Community Service ,

after presenting a Psych Report

which painted a dismal picture

of his difficult and disadvantaged childhood.

Didn’t see much of him after that

and now it seems he’s gone completely AWOL.

Just as well he didn’t have kids really,

this sort of family dysfunction

can easily become an intractable, inter-generational

social problem (Kings 15:30)

and next thing you know

they’re all on Pensions,

with the Nanny State acting in loco parentis,

just another Welfare burden

supported by your tax dollars.


It really makes you think, doesn’t it?



The Reverend Hellfire..

he’s a bad, mad man

and dangerous to get into a conversation with.


Age of the Four Monkeys

•April 9, 2017 • Leave a Comment



Call this the Braile Time.

Feebly feeling our way forward

with blind fingers fumbling

over unfamiliar landscapes,

fearfully sensing thru

the all-obscuring Fog of War,

grim, forboding search-lights

looming,on the road ahead.

Don’t talk about it though.

Just get some sunglasses

and a white cane

and always remember the Golden Rule:

“No-one saw Nothing“.

You don’t want to end up as a Witness.

Call this the Dumb Time.

Dunces cap wedged firmly on

in the classroom corner,

Tongue numb and lolling

la-la-la nonsense syllables

meaning Nothing.

Is that Jargon or Gobbledegook

the Treasurer is blathering today?

Who can tell? He’s

just another Autistic Acrostic

in an Acronymical Age,

where Language reduced to a Syllable

is all the Rage.

Call this the Deaf Time,

when Society took the battery

out of it’s collective Hearing Aid

so it wouldn’t have to listen to

those tiresome huddled Masses

yearning to be Free all the time.

(Just to make sure, Management

turned up the Muzak.) Yes,

this is the Age that couldn’t wake up

and hear the Coffee burning

in the Morning

above the rising swell

of Television Tinnitus,

even when provided with “subtitles

for the auditorially impaired”.

(Ominous Chords)

We’ll be back with our fourth stanza,

after an important message

from our Sponsor..

(Theme song fades to Commercial)



The Reverend Hellfire..

recommended by nine out of ten household appliances.

Accept no substitutes!



•April 2, 2017 • Leave a Comment



I had a lot of tasks

lined up for the day,

a full schedule in fact

with a plan of attack

and lists.. everything like that.

But then the rain came down,

pouring great buckets and urns

upon the sodden earth,

dissolving my resolve

like a sugar cube dropped

in the salty, salty Sea.


Ah, stuff it! I said, as I stood on the doorstep

rain splashing off the toes of my boots,

the World can get on without me

for awhile, I’m sure.

I’m calling Intermission

from my busy, busy Life.

Normal Services will be resumed shortly.

In the meantime,

I’m going to stay home

and unplug the phone.

Listen to the rain.

Drink a coffee.

Write this poem.



The Reverend Hellfire ..

he writes this stuff.



•March 19, 2017 • Leave a Comment



It was a bad week for Poetry

they tell me.

Odes were down three points

at close of trade,

while Sonnets took a serious tumble

in the Markets.

Even the safe “Blue Chip” Love Poems,

for so long the Gold Standard,

after making allowances for

“Seasonal Adjustments” (Valentines Day),

showed a serious decline in trade.

It was a good week, however,

for Chainsaws and Lawsuits,

whilst trading in Nervous Breakdowns

broke all records,

as Investors seemed keen to invest

heavily in Chemicals of all descriptions.

People Smuggling numbers remained strong.

Adult Literacy was Down but

Gun sales were Up,

proving conclusively,

according to certain hard-headed

spokespersons for “the Realists”,

that while the Pen

may be Mightier than the Sword,

it’s no match for an Assault Rifle.



The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity,

and an ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism

AND the Church of the Universe.

Recently appointed as a recruiter

for the Volountary Human Extinction Movement.



•March 12, 2017 • Leave a Comment



Poverty sends Poets

down “where they belong”,

down to where Life

can be sold for a Song,

or less..

a Poem.



The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa institute of Creativity,

and an ordained minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanists

AND the Church of the Universe.

Wearied wi’ bullshit and fain would lie down.


THE RIVER- A Gothic Tale

•March 5, 2017 • Leave a Comment

The Mask (detail) by Rev Hellfire

The River (a gothic tale)


“Tonight the River

looked so cool & black

She reminded me of you,”

I told her,

“The way you always slink around so slow,

those slender curves casually carving

a serpentine course

both placid and powerful

thru the landscape of my living room.

Dressed in shades of Obsidian

(the coolest thing this side of Oblivion),

your pale skin shimmers like the Moon

or the Halogen Lights reflected

on those dark and silent waters”.

She sank down deep in thought

at my strange Tribute,

her straying fingers lit a cigarette like

wavelets from a passing river boat,

the rhythmical movements

rippling along mysterious riverbanks

soft with Midnight moss.


If you sought her in the Mountains,

I thought later,

far from the city night, you would see

she is a young and silly river still

as she rills her sinuous,

curious way to the Sea.

Somewhere giggling streams arise in meadows

and glide smooth as oiled osmosis

over rainforest rocks,

manifesting rainbows in the spray,

as she inexorably winds her way

through tea-tree tinted creeks

to mangrove deltas funky

with the ripe scent of organic processes,

making toward whatever Ocean

that it is she seeks.


But for now we are far from the Sea,

and it cools the weary eyes

of thirsty travellers

to rest them awhile

on these dark, midnight waters,

and contemplate drowning in them.

Careful where you wade my friends,

here Narcissus met his end,

Broken Glass, brittle barbs

and old, discarded needles lie

beneath the black, omnivorous mud

that can swallow you slowly

or at a gulp

as the Tide turns quickly around you..

Yes, beneath the River’s dreaming, mirror surface

are hidden depths you would never suspect,

and it is here she hides her secrets;

and her silent thoughts protects..








The Reverend Hellfire is a  respected, former frontline journalist who covered the late 20th century Poetry Wars that erupted in fashionable inner-city enclaves thruout the nineties. In his retirement he has taken to cultivating and catalogueing the rare fungi that grow in his under-ground Doomsday bunker. Currently under siege for the 325th day by Federal Authorities for failure to pay parking fines, he has emerged as a spokesperson for the Mentally Unbalanced throughout the World.

Takes no prisoners.