Unashamedly Male


The man in his child’s life was huge, strong and manly,

To the woman in the child’s life, he was her total world.

He was rough, tough, drunk, violent and often cowardly.

He’d direct anger at the child, on her, he‘d not withhold.

The child and she would suppress common vulnerability.


As he grew, the sadder she became. The child stayed angry.

To ensure the lad his safety, he had taught him how to fight.

He’d wear bruises proudly and hide his hurt behind his glee.

She’d grip his arms gently, say nothing but she cried at night.

None of them at peace with the torment they set blindly free.


She had an early release. With wrenching sobs, her heart broke.

She died lonely. Both men in her life rejected her expectation.

They fought that day in the guilt, her sudden passing did invoke.

Raging in their anger and suppressing their loss, till neither won.

As manly men mostly do, in private stubbornness neither spoke.


They parted in angry silence, their sad kinship at an early end,

In paths at odds, each hoping the other would a little concede.

The old on a path to redemption, a gentler outlook a god send.

He‘d found a true nature; suppression no longer a cursed need.

In ageing he became as she’d wanted. He regretted her sad end.



A wasted life the younger led, until in loneliness wrongly wed.

She had carried a suppressed, angry destructive selfish brew.

In blues they’d battled her obsession to where her violence led.

Till her dominating world fell apart and to her mother she flew.

The babes left in his care, jolted more than being no longer wed.


They shook hands as men, paused and then hugged as lovers do.

They shed an embarrassed tear or two and laughed at each other.

The grandchildren rushed to join a family hug. They’d had too few.

They were allies in all against the dad. It caused greatest bother.

In the closeness, the old man’s gentleness, in all of them grew.


The younger battled anger in making peace with his father.

‘Son I’d like to talk about your mum’, he’d said very quietly.

‘It’s a long time ago. We’re mates now, we need not bother’.

‘You’re right, you know, son’, he’d replied smiling gratefully.

Communicating in shared silence, each forgiving the other.


‘Goodnight Granddad, Love you Granddad.’

‘Love you.’ was his short reply.

‘Goodnight Granddad, Love you Granddad.’

‘Love you.’ was all he’d supply.

The son lined up, ‘good night, love you, Dad,’

‘God bless you.’ he’d instead of love reply.


Big Artie

Queenslander, Queenslander, the roar goes up once or twice a year,

Urging on the maroon heroes, of whom we know, will show no fear.

It chills the spine of everyone far flung from the outback to our coast.

But a spirit soars above us all, a mighty first maroon, a legendary ghost.


From a lonely grave he leads them, storming up the middle, ranging up outside.

In defence standing among them, shoulder to shoulder with his mighty mates.

Urging softly, each to fiercely stand his ground, to defend, so as to turn the tide.

The final whistle blows, returns a legendary maroon, unbowed to his pearly gates.


Saint Peter’ll greet him with a coldie and a pie. ‘How’d you do?’ He’ll in excitement start.

‘You know full well we don’t always win, but Queenslanders still have the bigger heart.’

Down here we mere mortals know, it’s the Queensland spirit the big man showed us,

In his short time upon the ground, that turned his mighty example, into our impetus.


Four Seasons of Man

The spring is strong as the race is begun

He is young and his youthful urge virile.

In youth a woman allures the young man

To chase, to explore, to taste and beguile.


The pill ensures a victory or two in a quest

Lustily engaged by all except a Puritan few.

The learning is sound and leads with zest

To growth; adaptation with an honest review.


The summer is brightest with one aspect clear.

In sensible young men, a life’s love is oft found.

A woman tethered to trust, respect and care,

He falls infatuated, mesmerised and bound.


Two rings of gold, a short term prize, known to both.

A bride upon to dote, to cherish with love professed

In one with wealth to share, a plan on future growth

Building much more than a mere selfish, loving nest


Warmth remains, but in autumn’s richest golden glow

The wealth from trust, commitment and love grown,

Produces a gift or two, which only nature can bestow.

The bounty, a family as they are now to be known


The father walks in larger strides of responsibility

Gathering a child in safe arms to lift and to squeal,

As well providing the base food, shelter and security,

On solid ground with simple common sense appeal.


As winter’s final chills approach, a deeper self is known.

The past provides the roadmap for future endeavour.

A father’s work is done; in pride sees his child is flown,

His other lives in hope of another generation to flower.


I’m softer now the stress is done,

I’m gentle now the urgency’s gone,

I’m smiling for my life has again begun.

I’m able now to do the other things

I dreamed I always could have done.

Oh To be a Fly in Benalla Tonight

We sort of came together in a quest of two.

While in pain we met upon the ocean bay,

Sadly you received less than I took from you.

In time, too short, we parted. What can I say?

Hope in our friendship and lost yearning too.


So with words of wit and suggestion too

I hope you enjoy your night with Chris

With laughter, light and hearty and a few

Of the other things that bring you bliss,

And a gentle wealth yet unknown to you.


I’ll be thinking of your oh so tender touch

And other secrets you don’t often share

Unless with expert tongue and the such

In exploration, you find one day to dare.

I’d be in an envy I hope you’d never catch


My night is still all so young and my lovers

All three, so far away and so lonely flung.

Thinking of you and Chris an image hovers

The likes of which, like songs lightly sung,

Along with images of former naked lovers

Are best left in the mind or I’d become well and truly hung.

Sonnet to Michael


In families’ lore, love finds the way it grew

Throughout the passages worn with rut

Down into nooks, crannies and crevices too,

Spreading affection and bonds none rebut.


Oft it changes an unknown word or line

But it’s meaning, it’s words of pun or fun

Seldom do detract or add a minus sign

Additions tend add an allure like none.


Rarely new traditions are remote creations.

Midst tangled siblings, parents and grand,

Rattish behaviours will cause generations,

To know, share and kindly to understand.


Our world is to smile, to laugh, fun to share and to deeply think.

Past and future youth and age seek growth with a common wink.

Manly All Manly By the Sea


Many came to this shady place from across the open sea.

Many flown by boat and plane, but none had actually swum.

Arriving in ancient aim, born or as a pure economic refugee,

Most with no invite or visa, and none to the beat of a drum.


This cool shadowy place, in afternoon’s sleepy comfort,

Stolen from each before, in humpy, in tent or apartment.

Their silent echoes, containing a long forgotten thought,

Thriving trade breezes, authority couldn’t tax or prevent.


Why we keep returning, all after an absence of years,

None really fathom and the yachtsmen least of all.

It’s likely the weather but few among us really cares,

More likely the ambience, more a mood we all enthral.


Gatherer, hunter, fisherman, farmer or bludger,

In all a fearsome custodial tribe yet to emerge.

Except one borrowing a berth or at bay’s anchor,

In his dream, a vast ownerless home of converge.