TOOWOON BAY POINT

Crumbling like an ancient warrior's spearhead -
A hardy headland pummelled by a tumbling sea,
Soaking up the sunny strokes of fairy floss skies,
And shining with the wet gloss of glad waves.
Sea snails cling like lovers to rocky craters,
And stealthy crabs sidestep to cover in the cracks,
While frothy rapids tangle the slippery seaweed,
And hungry herons perch and search to hunt and feed.
On steps of the first rise the whip bird flies and cries,
Higher up greedy crows skulk, stalking Pacific carrion,
And the pines stand tall above the stubby banksias
'Round grassy parks edged with scrubby green brush.
The air is never quiet, for the ocean roars aloud
And calls the names of those who love this coastal haven.
Maritime perfumes - salty and fishy - tickle sunburnt noses
And the kindly sea breeze whispers an anonymous welcome.

MELCHIOR

The trek west was Balthasar's first,
He seldom spoke, perhaps from thirst.
Caravanserais on the way
Made him homesick, inclined to pray.
Yet we knew trials waited ahead
And savoured small comforts instead.
Each night the sky was star studded
And in our hearts we each shuddered;
Doubting if real meaning was there,
Wondering if the world would care.
When we arrived we saw turmoil -
Babies' heads smashed by a royal.
Yet we found one safe from all harm
But set to flee beyond hate's arm.
We gifted him as was the quest
With this world's quaint style of bequest.
Turning for home and garden streams,
He haunted us in fitful dreams.
Even when we reached our home ground,
Memories made slumber unsound.
Now on death's bed life slips and sways,
I know those were my greatest days.

CAPITAL MERCY

Billions of years
To get to these deaths,
And trillions of tears.
How many last breaths
Before mercy appears
And executioners rest?

No one will fire the gun
That brings the bloody end.
But they all  become one -
They can't be sane again .

The figureheads rule cruel,
As the voters' will demands,
Until their time comes 'round
And shackles are on their hands.

The son died so we could live.
The prophet says God will forgive.
Do their followers forget?
What has become of grace?
Can no one pay out a debt?
Where's justice in time and space?

Billions of years
To get to these deaths,
And trillions of tears.
How many last breaths

Before it’s God whom we fear
And the merciful are blessed?

The painting is a self-portrait by Myuran Sukumaran, a convicted drug mule awaiting execution in Indonesia.

BLASTED HEARTS

Wounded soldiers wonder when wars will end,
And yet the dead never give peace a thought.
Their blood blooms in fields where blasted hearts blend
While noble hopes turn false where truths once fought.

Now more children of God make their crusade
To claim and win forever a grand cause;
But why must slogan makers be obeyed -
Their mouths sucking sacred texts like hell's whores?

CREED

Jesus is our Lord,
His Spirit is our light,
His Father limits
Our foolishness.

There are no other gods.
There is science -
We must nurture it.
There is history -
We must learn from it.
And there are arts and love.