The rantings and ravings of this finely tuned lunatic in the form of poetry and verse. A quasi attempt to share with you insights into the indescribable. The truth will set you free but it will probably kick your arse first. Be my guest!

“Why do I get so angry on Sunday morning?”

f there is no “I” to feel angry,
Why do I get so angry?

If there is no “I” to feel scared,
Why do I get so scared?

If this is all an illusion,
Why does it seem so real?


The roosters wake me up,
the village stirs,
fires are lit,
and breakfast is prepared

I have heard said that…

there are 3 types of people that come to live and work in PNG:
1) Missionaries
2) Mercenaries
3) Misfits

“Dam that church”

Yes! The one that wakes me up every “fuckin” Sunday morning.

(Excuse the language but there are times when the use of certain “words” gets the point across).

“Back on a PMV”

1st day back at work
after a 5 week break,
and my 1st PMV ride
into town


Was never one for goodbyes,
torn away again.
Ever since I was a young lad,
always goodbye

“Port Moresby and hospitals”

The best room in the best hospital in POM,
lucky me!
A few screams from the street,
the odd gunshot.


Restleness abounds,
Must travel,
must stay in motion

“Heading North”

North we go,
Byron Bay, Grafton and Coffs.
Beaches, girls and the Pacific H’Way

“Waiting for the train”

Sitting, waiting, looking.
Railway stations and people,

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