More Poetry About Dinosaurs and Cats

•October 1, 2017 • Leave a Comment

More Poems About Dinosaurs

and Cats


“Write a Poem!”, my Daughter said,

“About the mighty Dinosaur!”

“Ye Gods!” I thought (inside my head),

“I’ve not one single Metaphor,


Or Simile about the Beasts!

Why not a Poem about Cats instead?”

But wait!.. Ideas arise like Yeast,

Inside the Dough that maketh Bread!

Imagination now released

The Poet confidently crowed,

“Why there’s an Epic here, at least,

Worse comes to Worse

there’ll be an Ode!”


The Poet warms now to his task

like Reptiles ‘neath an ancient Sun

when on some river-bank they bask..

Hmm, what this Poem needs now is a Pun!

“Oh NO! Not that!” my Daughter croaked

with her Mother (both in chorus),

“Next there’ll be some awful Joke

about the awesome, giant Thesaurus!”


“I’ve changed my Mind!” she said, succinct,

“just write that Poem about the Cat”.

So, like God making Dinosaurs extinct,

I End this Poem, just like.. that.




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.

“Oh the brave sound of a distant drum!”




•September 23, 2017 • Leave a Comment



Towers of Lonliness,

Alienation, Despair,

Arise all around me

Shadow the Air

Rabbit Cage Layers

Stack upon Stack

Units of Modules

Cracks filled with Smack.


Look in the Mirror,

You’ll see what I see,

A High Rising Future

where Nothing is Free

You’ll pay for the Water

You’ll pay for the Air

You’ll pay when they take

Your Kids into “Care”.


While the Agents of Cancer,

And their Doctrine of Growth,

The Prophets of Profit

Promoters of Bloat

Vampire like Vectors

Descend in a Swarm

To feed while the Politic-

Body’s still warm.


A Shill for each Sucker

A Cop for each Crime

Full Scans at each Checkout

Every reaction is timed,

There’s Nodes on my Broadband

But they can’t be removed,

All Treatment Forbidden

Till Government Approved.





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.




•September 17, 2017 • Leave a Comment



I dreamt I soiled

Myself in Public.

Passed it off as

cutting-edge Style.

Soon all the Cool Kids were doing it

and I became a highly paid

Fashion and Marketing Guru.


Hired the Bag Lady

living in a cardboard box

in the Park across the street,

to head my Community Liaisons Team

and run the Consumer Focus Groups,

while I flew off to Paris

to receive an Award for Ethical Design,

and address the European Parliament

on Climate Change.





The Reverend Hellfire is,

you know.. the guy who writes this stuff.


a cat amongst the ruins

•September 10, 2017 • 2 Comments

a cat amongst the ruins


Sitting amongst the ruins, remnants and remains

of my chaotic Life again,

clothes covered in ashes,

fingers sticky with marmalade

breakfast was hours ago but

I’m still here, staring at the detritus,

dust and debri

scattered across the kitchen table

in rich profusion.


Time passes.

Then in the Silence I hear a sound,

 deep, low and regular.


Eventually I realise it is coming from my cat,

who has been silently asleep for hours,

curled in a comfy chair in the next room,

and who, for reasons unknown,

had just now begun

to purr loudly in his sleep.

Each long, slow, drawn out snore he took

seemed but a deep, extended sigh of pleasure,

a contentment that emanted from deep,

deep within his furry chest.

A sound that said that

even when asleep,

he was glad to be a cat.


And then as I listened,

I suddenly found I could smile again,

and my Life resumed it’s Course once more.




The Reverend Hellfire is a practising Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity Inc.,

and the winner of the 2017 Paul Sherman Award

for services to the Poetic Community.

His Achilles Heel are his Feet of Clay.


I Did Not Trust My Tongue To Speak

•September 5, 2017 • Leave a Comment

For the benefit of our regular readers (all three of you) the Reverend Hellfire has provided this brief explanation



Because I did not trust my tongue to speak

There was no Sunday Sermon this Week

In Silence Wisdom lurks, I’ve heard,

So hush now Pen! Not another Word!




•August 27, 2017 • Leave a Comment



It was a quiet day at the Lab.

Then, unexpectedly, Something stirred

in the previously dormant swill lying inert

in one of the filthy & neglected test-tubes.


There at the bottom of the test-tube,

an Alphabet soup of Amino Acids

were attempting to form Words,

colliding and collapsing rapidly,

in sequential series of cataclysmic catastrophes.

Meanwhile, Meaning itself was attempting to emerge

from the Primal Soup,

like a Signal rising above the Static,

or a four-flippered fish

clambering up onto the slimy mud-banks

of some dank and steaming Primeval swamp.

Before long Meaning was standing on its hind-legs

to get a better view,

while Life itself was querying it’s own Existence.

Then Meaning told Life he believed

that God left clues for them to solve,

like a Cryptic Crossword puzzle, eg.;


In the Beginning was the Word and the Word was..

7. Across; “Self Awareness is a Life Sentence” (9 letters)

..and Lo the Word was “Sentience”,

a tasty addition to any Word Salad

or bowl of Alphabet Soup

on the verge of discovering the Periodic Table/

/Meanwhile, something sinister stirred

in the dim recesses of a hitherto neglected Test-Tube..

A Researcher frowned and muttered

to his assembled colleagues.

“Amino Acids..amphetamines..traces of shoe polish..

Yes, It’s Life.. but not as we Know it!”


At this the Conclave hums like a hive of angry hornets..

“And I use the term KNOW, Gentlemen,

in the strictest Biblical sense!”

he continued with a leer,

“Yes, the Biblical sense, as in (heh-heh)

when Adam got to K-NOAH Eve!”

(Shouting. Cat-calls. The Meeting adjourns.)/


/We cut briefly now to the Middle Ages,

where the seer Nostradamus is Speaking

during one of his famed Prophetic Trances..

“I see Oktoberfest in Munich..

a Bavarian Marching band will drink to excess!”

the Visionary announces.

Skeins & Cymbals!!” enthuses an Acolyte/

/Meanwhile at the bottom

of a cracked and scorch-marked test-tube,

something stirred sluggishly

beneath the oily scum..


“It’s only Life if we Observe it to be Life,

and catalog it as such

after an appropriate peer-review process”,

observed one Observer.

“Its only Life if we can map the gene sequence,

patent it and exploit the Trademark”,

advised the Establishments Legal Advisor.


“Try and form words”,

said a sympathetic, junior Lab Assistant

to the sullen solution from which

occasional bubbles of toxic gas erupted.

“Just take your time”, he coaxed,

“You don’t have to do whole sentences at first..”.

More bubbles rose rapidly then to the surface

and burst in quick succession

to produce a liquid Language,

talking in toxic clouds;

“I… I… I.. want..”, the Sentient Soup began  falteringly tspeak.

“It’s a bit needy, isn’t it”,

sniffed a senior Researcher condescendingly/

/Meanwhile, as the nearly discarded Contents

of a generic, bar-coded test-tube

shared Quantum Space with Schroedinger’s Cat,

the Researchers retired to the Staff Canteen

to consider their Quandary

and ponder their Predicament.

Was it really Life?

Most of the the Scientists were uncertain.

Indeed, many were uncertain even as to their own Status

in terms of the Reality of their own Existence.

“The Individual is a Western Philosophical Construct”

lectured one Western Individual,

who shall duly remain nameless,

and indeed, in accordance

with the terms of their last Request

will be buried in an unmarked

and nameless Grave.


“Oh God! Please don’t let the Animal Rights Activists

find out it’s Alive”, prayed One Atheist.

“Relax..It’s only unsubstantiated rumours..

it’s probably just Swamp Gas,

or Venus setting low in the Western Sky”,

the Public Relations Head soothed/

“Don’t worry! We’ll Copyright & Market

the Intellectual Property

and sell it to the Chinese or Americans,”

encouraged the Legal Advisor.

Tenure for Everyone!”

the Department Head announced

and the Seven Scientests all cheered

then trooped back to work

like industrious Dwarves..


Meanwhile, back in the Lab,

the Test Tubes sparkled..

“I just cleaned them out for you, Luvvie!”

said Mrs MacGuiness, the cleaning lady,

smiling brightly..




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 Humanism

AND the Church of the Universe! (by Special Dispensation)

Hung Over, Strung Out and Ready 2 Roll!


Hunter S Thompson returns from the Dead

•August 21, 2017 • Leave a Comment

Sunday Sermons consults the Ouija Board

for this special interview:

Hunter S Thompson returns from the Dead!

The Banshee Screams for Crab Cake!

If I have to come back here it’s going to get fucking ugly“- Walt Kowalski (Clint Eastwood) in Gran Torino

SS: Doctor are you there?

Dr T: Oh I’m here alright..You filthy little inbred animals! You flag-sucking half-wits! I turn my back on you people for ten years and what do you do? Elect a President who’s coloured orange and has three fingers on each hand! This is the best the American Electoral System can come up with in the 229th year of the Republic.. a running joke from the Simpsons? Ye Gods! Why not go for broke and just vote in Crusty the Clown. He’s got more credibility and he’d bring in the drunken Angry-Loner & Multiple-Alimony votes, two key Trump demographics.

SS: So you feel Doctor, that a certain air of unreality has overtaken the American political landscape?

Dr T: Are you kidding me? On Capitol Hill there’s a Grand Jury apparently trying to put together what appears to be a production of “Who Killed Roger Rabbit?” in Russian. Of course many Industry Insiders doubt the project will come to fruition, as Studio Head Trump keeps replacing Director after Director, generally citing, “artistic differences”.

Pouring gasoline on fire, the President’s slavering Hired Hyena & Media Mouthpiece Connie-Anne Kennel attempted to explain the situation thusly;

President-for-Life Trump sees the new production as being a light-hearted, romantic, Musical-Comedy, somewhat in the style of the Sound of Music, whereas recently replaced Director James Comey, saw it in terms of being a Political Thriller more along the lines of “The Manchurian Candidate“, only set this time in Moscow with the Russians as villains instead of the Chinese”.

“Unfortunately newly appointed Director Robert Mueller appears determined to follow the same script as Mr Comey,

and accordingly we wish him well in his career“, Ms Kennel concluded.

No Bubba..its not China Town’s Toon Town! Realities are bleeding into each other..we’re in cross-over mode here people! When Reality Television becomes Reality, strange phenomena are certain to materialize.

No-one, for example, should be surprised at my own sudden reappearance at this particular point in time after more than a decade of silence… For am I not Lono!? He Who Lies Sleeping, Waiting for his People to call Him! And is it not foretold that Lono shall arise and casting down the scurvy swine before him into a Lake of Fire…

SS: If I may interrupt your breast-beating screed for a moment Doctor, do you have any thoughts on the state of the Democratic Party in 2017?

Dr T: They’re a party of Smurfs basically, and will only produce a candidate similarly composed largely of rubber or plastic by-products like themselves. Lisa Simpson should never have been chosen as their candidate in the last election in 2016, but she was owed a lot of political favours in Smurf Town and she felt it was her Time to collect.

Hillary contemplates s her stunning loss to Trump

Sadly, being a silicon based Life Form she had no pulse and voters could sense that lack of the human touch. Senator Simpson might have meant well but she’s a Policy Wonk* with little personal appeal and besides..she’s still carrying a lot of political baggage from her brief marriage to former President Van Houten and the sexual scandals that engulfed that Administration.

SS: How would you compare Donald Trump to your old Bete Noir, Richard Nixon? What advice do you think Nixon would give Trump?

Dr T: Trump makes Nixon look like Lincoln. Trump speaks for all that is cruel and stupid and vicious in the American Character. Actually it’s an odd co-incidence but I was talking to Nixon the other day on the patio of the Purgatory Golf Course (naturally we’re both members) and I asked him that very same question.

SS: What did he say?

Dr T: He said Trump should get a dog. I don’t know. I think he’s still bitter.

SS: Where will it all end Doctor?

Dr T: Tempted as I am to start quoting here from the Book of Revelations and screeching about Lakes of Fire and Nuclear Armegeddon, my gut-instinct as a gambler is that the end of the Trump Administration will see him driven in shame from Washington, in scenes resembling the last reel of Frankenstein, where the angry mob of pitch-fork wielding villagers sets fire to the old Windmill where they’ve cornered the Beast that has terrorized their community for so long. Of course in this case it would be the West Wing they’d be setting fire to, otherwise the analogy holds.

So far however, the flaming torch & pitch-fork wielding demographic still seems to be strongly supporting the President,

which brings us to the third possibility;

a National Socialist style takeover with the backing of several “rogue generals” and elements of the military, with Klan and Aryan Nation style Neo-Nazi’s acting as Brown-Shirts for day to day tasks like rounding up journalists and breaking the windows of establishments that employ Moslems or Mexicans.

SS: You paint a grim picture, Dr Thompson. What then do you advise us to do?

Dr T: Well you could always follow my example, purchase a Smith and Wesson 645 and blow your brains out.


* Editors note: From memory, in my childhood a “Wonk” was a grotesque rubbery figure, somewhat resembling a Smurf, but adorned with a garish shock of hair. Wonks generally adorned the end of pencils, which were inserted up their backside for that purpose. I believe they were invented to prevent lead poisoning in children. How they ended up clustering in focus groups and think tanks determining public policy is beyond me, unless it’s got something to do with Accountants always sucking on them.



The Reverend Hellfire is a practiced 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. 

Can you dig it?