Howl Howl Gargle Gargle Slurp Urgg...

Those of you who have come across the Hitchhikers guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams, will probably recognize the relevancy of the heading of this page to the topic of Poetry.

It is what Arthur hears over the intercom on the Vogon ship just before he puts the babel fish in his ear. They are then captured and taken to the Vogon captain who tortures them by reading them his poetry and subsequently throws them out an airlock, after which...... well, I'll let you read the book (or watch the TV series, or listen to the radio series, or read the radio scripts) to find out more.

I think that my attempts at poetry are probably better than those described in the Guide. Anyway here's a sample so you can judge for yourself.

I also have some poetry post cards which are examples of a combination of my hobbies of Photography and Poetry here.

I have also written a few short stories, mostly Sci-Fi. Click here to read one of them titled "Pushing the Envelope", and here to read another, longer one, titled "Children of the Stars".


Death masked by beauty
Had they the right
those ancient craftsmen
to imbue these tools of destruction
with the essence of our goodness?

Had they the right not to?

These artifacts
the worst of which are grotesque
the best of which
a delicate test ament to our skill
are allegory of our very nature
and can be seen through many eyes

For are these patterns of beauty merely hiding,
masking, the baser truth

are they the welling up from within of a greater destiny

Perhaps they bear hope
for they display an underlying truth
easily forgotten in this age
when our tools display no decoration
that can mask their horrendous power

That beauty and goodness are still there
even when encountering the power
of that which is neither
laid bare by the raw energy
of the advances of our intellect
MARCH 1991


The greatest exchange between people is this
that is given freely
not expecting return
and neither fearing it

A gift painful at times but lasting
which can hold together
poles that repel

A gift seldom given
because of fear
for the pains of rejection
always run deep !

Yet a gift essential
in both its taking and giving
for the w ell being
of mind and heart
APRIL 1991


A race of stars are we
Our brightest burst forth
often in fury and despair
and are gone in an instant

Our dullest we overlook
faded red into the background
dying slowly into age

Others we know not exist
except when illuminated
by odd bursts of unseen light

Some twinkle joyfully
Many blase in anger
Still more collapse within

Always when seen from distance
our differences dissolve into sameness
each uniqueness
just another point of light

But step back
and really look
at this swirling
expanse of brightness
and what do you see ?
APRIL 1991


Prices are always paid
in money
in time
in effort
their size and nature vary infinitely, and their values also
but escaping their paying
means only
that ! nothing has been bought

Prices are always paid
and the best things in life
are not free
but sometimes bought
with payments invisible
and that which is cheap
is usually worth its price

Prices are always paid
even in Zloty
and value
is often not seen easily
and sometimes never
until final payment is made

Prices are always paid
but that which you value
above all else
is always worth its price

Prices are always paid
and the price that counts
has been paid already for us
always and forever
transcendent of the where and when
and dependant only
on our collecting the receipt
AUG 1991


Here we are in our concrete and steel loincloths
wielding our thermonuclear jawbones
and lying to the universe

Look at us !
we're not savages
we're not barbarians
we've got technology
We've got justice
and freedomand democracy

We don't wage war, unless we have to
we don 't kill people, unless they deserve it
we don't let people starve, or freeze on the streets
unless they want to

We're not superstitious
we don't believe in God
we've got doctors, and politicians
we've got science, and condoms, and smart bombs
we've even got Macdonald's

Look at us !
we're the greatest
the pinnacle of evolution
the top of the food chain
the masters of our world

We're not like tramps
lying in the street
suffocating in our own excrement
breathing our own poisons
dying from disease

No, we're the greatest
nature's finest
first above all
FEB 1992


Black's the in colour
these days
for the god of the world

Black and shiny
and comes in all sizes
and sits in the corner
and glows in the dark
and the daylight

Don't tell me it ain't so
that it's not what we worship
t! hat it's pronouncements
don't shape our lives

That soundbites
and infotainment
and friendly presenters
and violence
and crime
and disaster
are not the gospels we live by

Don't tell me we actually care
about the foreign despair
we see every night
how can we?

It's just glow in the dark dreams
packaged by journo's
who know better than we do
the ratings we give

It's not real
the horror overseas
the crime at home
it's just something to tut tut at
and demand that someone else
does something about it

And then we turn it off
and complain
there's nothing decent to watch
and there should be
and we're the ones who are hard done by
because our god
doesn't deliver
OCT 1992


Were you there
as we drove through
the burned out village
in white APC's
from the comfort of our living rooms

We! re you there
to hear the angry blue general
swearing at the men< BR>hiding behind their hands
"Who are you to bloody tell
me no cameras"

Were you there
to see the boy
with burnt out eyes
that all the miracles of
modern science
would struggle to save from
what could have been stopped
by the single honoring
of any
of the many
on pieces of paper

Were you there
to see the pictures
that should have shocked
the world
do nothing
to a world
that can't tell fantasy
from fire
Swartzanagger from Swartzchoff

Were you there
to hear the screams
of those
cleansed ethnically
and to see
the fifty year old evil
rise out of the
new ashes
of our own neglect

Were you there
to hear the prayers for mercy
rise out of identical
burning villages
their only difference
the minaret
or the cross

Of course you were
MAY 1993

Second Poetry Page

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