•February 28, 2015 • Leave a Comment

aztec death sun

The Death of Poets


Neither Fame nor Failure

troubles Poets when they’re dead.

Their debts do not depress them

nor the doubtful economic prospects

provided for their illegitimate children.

They do not hear

the smug and snide remarks

of former school-mates

grown fat and sleek

licking the gravy

from their whiskers and paws.


Poverty now knots not their brow

with stress, nor do their Mothers’ lectures

on careers or how to dress

intrude upon their rest.

Unheeded parking tickets flutter

on windscreens

like proud pennants flapping

in the Stadium of the Sun.

The wild birds that they fed

stand waiting on the window sill,

with dark and questioning eyes.


The nagging ghosts of Lovers

Live or Dead

no longer scree their ‘plaints,

their voices fall off one by one.

It is Silent now.


No Landlord hammers at the door,

No man from Porlock calls.

Fame likewise does not disturb their rest,

She tiptoes quietly out the Hall

on silver sandaled feet to carry

 the glad tidings to the World,

which carries on, exactly as before,

there are no ringing bells.


Hope dies in the hearts of those

that loved them,

and goes to join Baudelaire and Byron

drinking Laudanum in Hell.

roman death mosaic




Rev wishes you a merry solstciefLAME

And for those in the vicinity of Byron Bay this Sunday, you can see the Reverend Hellfire live at the Rails Hotel, starting sometime after 2pm. Also on the bill is the legendary Gong-Maester, Daevid Allen. With two such notorious rabble-rousers as these sharing the stage, it is sure to be an historic  occasion not to be missed.

Check out page 23 of Local Publication, The Byron Echo for details at;




The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity

And an ordained Minister of the Church of Spritual Humanism

AND the Church of the Universe.

Wouldn’t change a Thing, baby.



•February 22, 2015 • Leave a Comment
The Reverend in Samurai mode

The Reverend in Samurai mode



Another day,

the Sun comes up

and all the worlds creatures

go to war with one another once again.

Only the ants and human beings

take any prisoners,

aphids, cows and sheep, etc.,

pressed into service as slave labour

for the war effort ahead.


There’s nothing you can do about it.

That’s just the way things are.

Try not to take sides,

get emotionally involved,

or attempt to act as Referee

more than you have to.

And if in the end

you decide to wash your hands

of the whole affair,

just make sure

that none of the blood you wash off

is mine.



Delmore Syndrome



2015 cup flyer with cup extra infFNL


Reverend Redrum

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.

(Actually, he’s a hell-of-a-nice-guy,

when you get to know him.)



•February 15, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Todays sermon is dedicated to the memory of iconoclastic Australian poet John Forbes. He died laughing.


Time Travel


Now we all think that we’re heading

towards the Future,

in a big bubble called the Present,

pulling away from the Past

at an ever-accelerating rate.

But the Truth is;

We’ll never make it,

we’ll never arrive in that shiny Future.

It’s like one of those Mirages

you see in Summer, shimmering on the road up ahead.


the tension builds and builds

as we strive and strain to escape

the relentless pull and tug of the Past,

that’s growing all the time

like Gravity or

an elastic band that’s being stretched

farther and farther,

until, ultimately,

there’s no more stretch left at all,

it snaps and snatches us back,

right back to the Beginning,

and we become just a part of the Past

some Future is trying to escape from.

mary shelleys grave


Bikini Jpig


2015 cup flyer with cup extra infFNL


Reverend Redrum

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.

Can you dig it?



•February 8, 2015 • Leave a Comment

grannys cloak moth



A Multiplicity of Moths

invades my room at Midnight

on dark, soft wings of velvet sewn

with paisley pattern eyes.


A Loyalty of Cats lies purring,

curled at my feet,

a Casualty of Sleep..


A Terrabyte of Tadpoles

in the tank above the shelf

take turns to kiss the surface

of their artificial pond.


A Transience of Translucent Lizards

hug the walls and call

like little laughing Ghosts,

they echo down the hall.


Lovingly an Envelopment of Vines enfolds

my house and home, tender tendrils tapping

Morse-code messages

on my windows in the breeze.


A Pandemonium of Possums

capers and parades upon the roof,

sidles down the trellises

waddles thru the doorway

like a Bold Beggar.

Sitting on its haunches

a grizzled matriarch, wide with child,

(one foot out of the pouch),

gravely accepts fruit

from my human hand.


A Legion of Unknown Insects

chirrps and whirrs and clicks,

from a million unseen hiding places,

in Languages I’ll never know.


A Lusty Chorus of Homesick Frogs

calls to Long Lost Lovers far away

across the Lawn.

Lachrymose sobbing and throbbing

till the Dawn.


While at Midnight Life surrounds me

and astounds me

with it’s Profusion and Fertility,

providing inspiration

for its Prophet with this Vision given

in this hour of Grace..



A Huddle of Humans lie dreaming

beneath the roof, only the

scarred, old Male still stirs about

in the night, keeps watch

over the sleeping pack.

many moths


crabby Jpig


and for those in the Greater Brisbane area we recommend going to

2015 cup flyer with cup extra infFNL


reverend profile red

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 Humanisim

AND the Church of the Universe.

Doesn’t look for trouble.

(It just happens, alright?!)



•February 1, 2015 • Leave a Comment

rev going out the door



There’s NO Place like Home they say,

but I was never NO-stalgic

for domestic moNOtony.

NO, I’d always been a Romantic NOmad,

perusing Passion’s paNOrama,

till one bright afterNOon

I saw you playing the piaNO.


Well there’s NO Fool like an Old Fool,

(just ask NOah)

and this old GNOme

soon felt so hyp-NO-tised by your charms,

reduced to mere moNO-syllables,

ready to contemplate mo-NO-gamy,

or even mo-NO-theism for that matter

if you would only ackNOwledge

his Love..


Well there’s NO Time

like the Present

and there’s certainly NO Pain without Gain,

so, hoping that you’d NOtice me,

I wrote you a NOte,

suggesting we get to kNOw each other,

in the Biblical Sense,

of course.


But it was NO Go!

You just said,

Oh NO!

I kNOw all about you!

In fact, you’re NO-torious!


NOnsense, I said, I am InNOcence itself!

And NOble? Why, I should get the NObel Peace Prize

I’m so NOble!

At the very least I’m inNOffensive,

inNOcuous even..

But you just ig-NOred my moNOlogue.


Well, NOblesse Oblige, and all that,

and I kNOw that NO means NO,

but I dunNO, there’s NO smoke without Fire

and you had a smile that was

positively por-NO-graphic.


Besides I had NO place left to go, so

I Wouldn’t take NO for an Answer

and said,

To KNOw Me is to Love Me!

You just won’t ackNOwledge

your proNOunced attractiON to me!

You said,

You have NO Idea, do you?

AnNOyed I said,

and you have NO conception

you ig-NO-ramus!

Then you muttered in a moNO-tone,

You have NO Hope if you’re just going to be obNOxious!


Like I said, there’s NO Place like Home

but we were Miles from NOwhere,

and so, NO-tice-ably NOn-plussed,

I ran around moaning and groaning,

NO! NO! NOt rejectiON again!


But then you took my hand and said;

NOw, NOw..

DON’t you kNOw the story of how

John Len-NOn

fell in love with Yoko O-NO?

NO, I pouted, so tell me ..


“When he went to her first Art ExhibitiON in LONdON,

she got him to climb up

a very tall, rickety ladder

and at the top of the ladder

there was only a very old microscope,

and when he peered into the microscope

all he could see was a single-word message

written in a tiny, tiny hand.”


So I had to ask:

what did the message say?

And of course you just smiled and said,




time will tell 3 JPIG


tai chi hand

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Perfomance 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.

It says so on his business card so you know it must be true.



•January 25, 2015 • Leave a Comment


Instead of reprinting my traditional Australia/Invasion/Survival Day poem,”The Land”


I thought instead I’d present this recent poem, whose subject seems appropriate for the occasion.

Dig Tree


Burke and Wills starved to Death

in a Land of Plenty.

Dispirited by the lack

of Handsome-cabs and servants,

they expired in a fit of pique,

as any proper English gentleman would do.


Meanwhile, King, the youngest

and the least regarded of the group,

went off and fraternised with the Natives.

Ate their food,

slept with some of the women,

learnt a bit of language,

made himself useful

around the camp in small ways,

while he awaited his rescue

and a hero’s homecoming

before the amazed

and wondering Crowds.

john king (better image)


*The story of Burke and Will’s doomed expedition into Australia’s Desert Heart, and their agonising demise beneath the “DIG” tree, is surely one of this country’s Great Foundation Myths.

Or at least, it was back in my day, when a basic Australian History was taught to every schoolchild, and we traced the paths of European explorers in red pencil across the blank maps of a still unknown Land.

(These days, partly as a result of the decade-long ideological struggle known as the”History Wars”, no Australian school-kid is taught any history at all until grade eleven, when it’s available only as an “optional” subject. A disgrace, but I digress..)

I remember standing for the first time before Sir John Longstaff’s famous “DIG” canvas hanging in the Victorian Gallery in Melbourne; A great dark heavy thing that looked like it was painted on a roughly cured bullock’s hide, it reeked of Gravitas, Despair and Epic Failure.

To me though, the real hero of the story is John King, the young Irishman who alone had the wits to survive and whom, it is rumoured, was largely responsible for the occasional appearance of sandy hair and freckles amongst the children of the local Yandruwandah People.

This poem is for him.


time will tell Pt 2jpigdress



The Reverend Hellfire is..

Bloody hot! And don’t talk to me about the humidity!



•January 18, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Written while on Deadmans Beach, Minjerribah, Jan. 2015

sea and rock sunset altRED



Down by the broken shore

where endlessly the waves

reproach the Land for leaving them.

“Return,” they say, “Come back to me.

Return to your jealous Mother now, the Sea.”


Unmoved the Land turns still

its stubborn cliff-face

hard against the Ocean’s pleas,

adamant in argument as any adolescent.


But the Sea is patient, strong and sure

in time her errant child will crumble

and collapse into her

dark embrace once more.


Meanwhile She turns her blue and smiling Face

unto the world, as all the while,

her waves will endless batter

and her secret currents undermine,

the foundations of the Land’s self-esteem.


sea and rock embryoALT


time will TellJPIGred


sea and rocks egg crop

The Reverend Hellfire is a peaceable jellyfish

who drifts with the tides.

Sometimes he will undulate towards the Moon.

Don’t bother him and he won’t sting you.



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