Hard Times has carved

its lines across my face,

like the ancient Martians

cutting canals

through the dusty, dry red rock

of their cold planet.


Laughter too has etched its grooves.

O, who’d have ever thought

my flesh would turn to stone,

my lips ledges for pidgeons to roost?

Some colossal, stoic statue

commemorating outdated civic-virtues

from a bygone Age.

I should have a plinth

on which to stand

like some bronze Columbus,

pointing arm outstretched forever

towards some undiscovered land


Yes I should stand in some

forgotten corner of a Park

beneath the shade of mighty Moreton Bay Fig.

A benign and avuncular Sentinel watching

over the wooden benches by my feet,

with their cargo of courting lovers,

innocent and sweet.




The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet.


~ by reverendhellfire on April 21, 2019.

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