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EVERYTHING
IS A
MIRACLE
LIMITED EDITION
Number
Everything is a Miracle Ian Hills
Other books by Ian Hills

can be found at
ianhills.weebly.com
Contact the author at:

ianmhills@optusnet.com.au
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About the author

When he was about seven years old Ian wrote a song about a
man in a boat (instead of practicing the piano, which he found
taxing and boring). His mother had left him by himself to
practice and when she returned to find his song, complete
with music notation, on the music stand she seemed to waver
between annoyed and amazed. Ian played the innocent - after
all practicing the piano can take many forms.
When he got his first guitar at seventeen he started writing
songs and poems in earnest and has never stopped. His poems
and songs are often anecdotal, whimsical, humorous and
philosophical, sometimes dark and occasionally outraged. He has published a
number of albums of songs and books of poetry.
He recognised that writing poetry and music does not provide a reliable income,
and developed his interest in healing into a career. He studied psychology and
after graduating with a doctorate in 1970, practiced as a psychologist until his
retirement in 2010. He has written about his life and career in a memoir series:
"Through a hedge backwards".
Ian continues to be a spiritual seeker and an active campaigner for the
environment, peace and human rights and this is often reflected in his poems
and songs. He is a keen amateur photographer and spends his spare time driving
around Australia with his camera.,
Ian has been single, a family man and a divorcee. He has four children and
numerous grandchildren who have enlivened his life and brought greater depth
to his poetry.
When Ian retired from psychology in 2010 he lived for a number of years on a
25-acre bush property in a house he built himself. Eventually looking after a bush
block became too difficult and he now lives in a retirement village near the
centre of Bundaberg. These days he spends his time writing, playing music,
doing a little supervision (so he hasn’t really retired), going on long exploratory
drives through the Australian countryside and taking photographs.
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Penwarn Penart
Ron Penwarn’s art

can be viewed at
penwarnpenart.weebly.com
Get a personally commissioned artwork from Ron Penwarn

by leaving a message at Ron’s webpage
penwarnpenart.weebly.com
or by contacting the author at
ianmhills@optusnet.com.au
5
About the illustrator

Ron Penwarn grew up in country NSW in the tiny heritage
town of Woomargama, north east of Albury, close to Lake
Hume and the forests of what is now Woomargama National
Park. He discovered his vocation as an artist in his early
twenties at a talk and demonstration by Larry Pickering,
Australia’s foremost political cartoonist. Ron has followed his
vocation as an artist ever since.
Ron’s artwork, for which he has received several awards, has been exhibited
widely and has found it’s way into a number of private collections both in
Australia and overseas. His creativity extends over a large range from oils,
watercolour, pen and ink and graphite, to sculpture, woodcarving, metalwork
and large installations. With this book he has extended his range to the
illustration of poetry.
Although Ron has attended a number of art classes and workshops and has
obtained certificates in visual art he considers himself largely self-taught. He
works from intuition rather than technique and feels that he has learned a lot
about art by teaching it to others. His students consider him a gifted teacher and
he puts considerable effort into making art easy to learn.
Ron’s devotion to his art is constantly interrupted by the need to make a living
and he has worked at many ‘boring jobs’ the length and breadth of Australia, in
office, computer, security, radio and hi-fi equipment, as a gardener, as a building
maintenance worker and many others. He found his work as a private art teacher
and as a TAFE teacher far more interesting and stimulating.
Ron has been involved in the scout movement at the grass roots and managerial
level and has run a work for the dole program, teaching people to restore a
seagoing vessel. He has lived on a boat and in a caravan he built and decorated
himself
Ron is a very spiritual man and has, over many years, explored a number of
religions. He has a deep concern for the underdog and for the environment. He
has a keen wit and a warm sense of humour. He is a devoted father and
grandfather. Ron has recently retired and intends to dedicate his retirement to
art and travel.
Ron says “I draw and paint to soothe my mind”.
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EVERYTHING
IS A
MIRACLE
Poems by Ian Hills
Illustrated by Ron Penwarn
8
Published in Australia in 2019 by

Riverland Press
Unit 51, 3 Ovens St, Bundaberg, Qld, 5670, Australia
https://ianhills.weebly.com/
Ian Hills asserts the right to be identified as the author of the poems in this work
© Ian Hills 2019
Ron Penwarn asserts the right to be identified as the creator of the illustrations in this work
© Ron Penwarn 2019
All rights reserved. Apart from fair use no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright
owner.
ISBN 978-0-9953994-5-7
A CiP catalogue record for this book is available from the national library of Australia.
Photograph of Ian Hills by Frank McDonald

https://frankmcdonaldphoto.smugmug.com/
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For John: Defender of the oppressed

and my long-term friend and fellow poet.
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“There are only two ways to live your life.

One is as though nothing is a miracle.
The other is as though everything is a miracle.”
Albert Einstein
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Contents
4 About the author
6 About the illustrator
17 List of illustrations
20 Foreword
22 Preface
24 Acknowledgements
26 What use is poetry?
Inconvenient truths
29 Hung parliament
30 The students are revolting
31 Wunch - a collective noun for bankers
32 The rich man built his house upon the sand
33 My coward’s hand
34 Flying high
35 Decisions
37 We’re all heroes now
39 Have you got what it takes?
41 The cardinal’s ring
Whimsy
45 The gnome dome
46 Orange tree
47 Flea flaw flu
48 Future echoes
49 Alien abduction
51 Whatever happened to the grass?
52 Fair cow
53 Those men
54 Dyslexia bizlecksya
55, Going home
13
Life and the road

59 Magic hitchhiker
61 Modern adventurer
62 Alice Springs is not the place for me
63 The last page
64 Life story
65 Fatal encounter
67 Experienced camper
69 My life with houses
Love
73 Midwife to the soul
74 Try not to turn love away
75 More than we could do
76 Changing times
77 The chase
78 What I thought but didn’t say
79 Tell me your story
80 Rendezvous
81 The sergeant’s daughter
People and happenings

85 Man of the land
86 The good old days
87 Michael and Jilly
88 Show day
89 One-eyed John
90 Alice Springs folk festival
91 Rainbow warrior
92 Traffic accident
93 The maid’s day off
94 I did but see him passing by
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Humour
97 The emu war
99 A Christmas fairy tale
100 Poetic emphasis
101 Don’t let the bastards grind you down
102 Food is forever
103 A very special Christmas
104 The locksmith
105 Tis the season to be stressed out
107 Fad diets
108 My remote
109 The lute of Frederick Flute
Nature
113 Sunlight and birdsong
114 Summer storm
115 Bird tree coming on to night
116 Gentler ecstasies
117 Colour
118 Beside the banyan tree
119 Sunrise
120 Seagulls
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War and peace

123 Paper hero
124 Another war
125 Peace
126 Do you hear the music?
127Waking dream
128 Jolly good job
Greetings and farewells

131 Sunday night at the Alice
132 Farewell to Townsville
133 Welcome to the world
134 Farewell Darren Ey
135 Farewell to the Fennells
136 A world without Ben
137 Destiny
139, Index of titles

141 Index of first lines
145 Chronological Index
149 Index of illustrations
16
Full-page illustrations
By Ron Penwarn
17, 149 Mushroom house
25 Poetry book
27 Hung parliament
43 Billy the gnome
47 Flea flaw flue
48 Which way
51 Beach
55 Pandanis
57 Magic hitchhiker
71 Love
83 Man of the land
95 Eric the emu,
(also front, cover)
111 Nature
115 Bird tree
116 Foxtail palm
121 Kokoda Track
125 Peace
129 Sailing away
17
Miniature illustrations
By Ron Penwarn
29 Hung parliament
45 Billy the gnome
59 Magic hitchhiker
61 Dragon
63 The last page
64 Cloud
64 Stream
65 Caravan
73 Love
85 Man of the land
86 Drover
93 Maid
97 Eric the emu
103 Locksmith
108 My remote
109 Frederick Flute
113 Birdsong
114 Summer storm
123 Paper Hero
128 Atomic cloud
128 Flying pig
137 Death
137 Destiny
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Foreword
Saturday afternoon meetings of the Bundaberg Poets' Society come alive when
Ian comes to the podium. With a Puckish gleam in his eye, he delivers lines
which are often amusing, occasionally provocative, but always heartfelt. Whether
written five decades ago or last night, we fellow writers and readers of verse listen
to Ian's words. As a new poet myself I often find myself inspired both by the
volume and variety of his almost six decades of work.
This collection of Ian's poems, coupled with Ron Penwarn's art, is a sheer
delight. “What Use Is Poetry?” Ian asks, and then gives 100 answers for you to
mull over., Whether it's the tall tale of “Magic Hitchhiker” in the Outback or the
simple pleasure of “Sunlight and Birdsong” or the lunacy of the “Emu War ” you
will find poems to tickle you, challenge you and delight you.
So sit back, relax and enjoy this book. Share it with friends. It's a good
companion.
Katherine Gunderson
Bargara, Queensland
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Preface
In the sixties, when I was still a teenager I developed the habit of carrying around
a small notebook. I used the book to note down ideas for poems, stories and
sketches of designs.
Over the years I found that little book very handy and it gradually became a
make-shift diary with entries that include poems, notes on lectures, I Ching
queries, designs for my house and garden, my blood pressure readings and all
sorts of other jottings. As each book was filled I put it away on a shelf or in a
cupboard and only went back to it when I was looking for something that I had
jotted down a few months previously.
When I eventually got round to investing in a filing cabinet these little booklets
were filed and eventually came to occupy several bulky folders in the top drawer.
Over the years I have occasionally delved into them for material for my books.
I wrote a great many poems in 2018 and towards the end of that year decided
that I had enough material for another book. When deciding which poems to
include in this new book it struck me that it would be nice to include some of my
earlier poems. I pulled the five or so bulky files from the filing cabinet and spread
them on my desk. And so I began what came to be a major expedition to the
past.
About half of the poems I have selected for this book were written between 1961,
when I was 18 and 2011 when I retired from work at the age of 68. The other half
were written during and a few months either side of 2018.
I have noted with the title of each poem the approximate date when it was
written and included a chronology at the back of the book so that you may, if
you chose, trace the changes in my poetry over time.
As I was preparing the manuscript Ron approached me for help in writing copy
to advertise his art. In one of those happy accidents of life one thing led to
another and before long we had agreed that Ron would illustrate my book of
poems. This has been a wonderful collaboration – Ron has made illustrations for
my poems and I have written poems for his illustrations in a seamless flow of
creativity that eventually we had to call to a stop before we found ourselves
producing too much for one book.
My best memory of putting this book together is a long meeting with Ron
reading him some poems that I hoped he might feel moved to illustrate. Within
seconds as I was reading he produced the perfect little illustrations that you will
find scattered here and there through the book.
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Acknowledgements
A book like this takes a lot more that just one bloke writing some poetry. Many
friends have encouraged me and listened politely as I tried out various versions
of my poems. The Bundaberg Poets’ Society has provided a monthly venue and
an audience for my poetry almost as it was written. During my strolls around the
grounds of Liberty Villas and at private meetings I have given unplanned
readings to small impromptu audiences. I have gained a reputation as a flash
poet and I am gratified that not once has anybody said they were not interested
when I produced my latest offering from my shirt pocket with a small flourish.
A small group of friends took considerable time and care to read through all the
poems and nominate their favourites. This was of great assistance when it came
to deciding the order and sequence of the poems in the book. In particular
Leonie Egan, herself an experienced writer and poet, spent many hours editing
the manuscript and gave me invaluable advice - most of which I followed; and
Michael Plutte applied his formidable proof reading skills to the final draft. Of
course all the remaining blunders are fully my own.
Over the years numerous people have been an appreciative audience and in
many other ways encouraged and helped me develop my art. My mother had a
finely tuned ear and taught me the power of expression, rhythm and emphasis.
My high-school English teacher, Mr Justin’s, showed me how to analyse the great
poets and learn their secrets. My grandmother encouraged me to enter my
adolescent poems into poetry competitions.
My long-term friend and fellow poet, John Tomlinson, collaborated with me on
our very first book and continued to circulate my poems on the net until his
recent passing. Oodgeroo Noonaccal, the now famous Aboriginal poet, took the
time at the height of her powers, to encourage me - an ignorant white boy - to
write and write, and showed me how poetry can change the world.
Finally, I am delighted to acknowledge the fine work and comradely
collaboration of Ron Penwarn whose illustrations and company have added
greatly to my enjoyment of the work involved in producing this book.
What a pantheon of mentors and helpers I have had to bring me to the point
where I can publish ‘Everything is a Miracle’! The book has lived up to its name
and I am fortunate indeed.
The acknowledgement I give here is an inadequate token of my appreciation to
all those who so generously donated their time, help, wisdom and support. I
want you all to know that your help is greatly valued.
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What use is poetry?

© Ian Hills 2018
“What use is poetry?” the shopkeeper said

“It won’t keep you clothed and it won’t get you fed.
Your poetry book is keeping you poor.
Nobody’s buying it. What is it for?”
“Well, that’s a good question” I said in reply.

“I just have to write. I don’t know why.
When my life’s in a muddle, I have to confess
Poetry helps me to sort out the mess.”
With a lot in the balance, when chaos snowballs

It helps me to scrape all my shit off the walls
And collect it in a neat little pile on the floor.
I suppose that’s one of the things it’s good for.
And sometimes on impulse I think to send

My latest poetry off to a friend.
If it makes them smile or think something new
I suppose that’s a good thing to do.
Poetry helps us to think in new ways,

Laugh at adversity, sing songs of praise,
Hold our heads high, be truly alive,
Ask the right questions, learn how to survive.
Think of the state of the world, how it’s run.

There are so many things that need to be done
That money won’t fix. So I’m hoping, I guess,
Poetry can get us out of this mess.
26
Hung parliament
27
Inconvenient truths
“Occasionally he stumbled over the truth, but

hastily picked himself up and hurried on as if
nothing had happened.”
Winston Churchill on Baldwin
Hung parliament
The students are revolting
Wunch - a collective noun for bankers
The rich man built his house upon the sand
My coward’s hand
Flying high
Decisions, decisions
We’re all heroes now
Have you got what it takes?
28
Hung parliament
© Ian Hills 2017
Australians all do not lament

The discord in our parliament.
It’s what our pollies all should do:
Argue different points of view.
That’s all that they have done.
So join with me and celebrate

That independents can frustrate
What governments decide
(And expose what they try to hide)
For the good of everyone.
Remember when some bastards promised

To keep the other bastards honest?
Those times are long gone.
Now it’s up to you and me
To elect, for Democracy,
A parliamentary body that’s well hung.
29
The students are revolting

© Ian Hills 2018
The students are revolting. They took the day off school
To let us oldies know that they are more than cross.
We are ignoring global warming like silly old fools,
Just thinking of our gain and ignoring their loss.
It is their generation will be left to sort it out

As the weather kills the crops and the fires burn the towns.
It is they who’ll house the refugees, decide what to do about
The inundated homelands and the blasted killing grounds.
“The students are revolting” the politician said

“You shouldn’t try to lecture us. Stick to your own turf.
What are you doing up at night, you should all be in bed?
Go back to school and get a job. Leave us to run the earth.”
“It is you should go to school,” they patiently replied.

“About global warming you have a lot to learn.
You don’t know much and when you do know you have lied.
You seem happy to sit back and watch our planet burn”.
They sat down outside our parliaments with placards and with chants
And spoke with a passion, a resolute discourse,
Appealing and chastising, demanding we recant.
Laying out the argument with clarity and force.
I feel guilty that my generation did not do enough

To stop the greed that caused earth’s degradation.
But when I see these children, so determined and so tough,
I am proud I had a hand in raising up that generation.
It gives me hope to see them and to hear them show their worth,
To know these kids will sweep away the grime.
They intend to shape society to take care of the earth.
I just pray that we have left them enough time.
30
Wunch: a collective noun for bankers

© Ian Hills 2018
What do you call a group of bankers? I mean a collective noun

That effectively describes them and yet cleverly puts them down.
‘Bastards’ comes to mind of course and there already is a word
That nicely rhymes with banker and it’s not too absurd.
But we really need a word that is not considered crude

Yet describes them to perfection and is deliberately rude.
I can’t think of such a word to describe that banker bunch
So I’ve coined a new one. My new word is ‘wunch’.
‘Wunch’ is just the perfect word – as yet is has no meaning

So you can add the implications according to your leaning.
To me ‘wunch’ means that bankers are a greedy bunch of elves
Sitting in their offices pleasuring themselves.
You might think ‘wunch’ means criminals who would sell out their own
mother
Sitting in their offices pleasuring each other.
We could agree they’re fraudsters who would steal your children’s lunch
That sleazy group of bankers is definitely a ‘wunch’.
I like using ‘wunch’ because you can say it to their face

And they don’t know you’re insulting them and meaning ‘a disgrace’.
But when we use it privately we can say ‘wunch’ with rancour
And we know that we really mean ‘what a wunch of bankers’.
31
The rich man built his house

upon the sand
© Ian Hills 2018
The rich man built his house upon the sand

Next to the sea. It was all pretty grand.
He brought in the dozers, cleared the trees off the land.
And the rains came tumbling down.
The rains came down and the seas came up the dunes
The house needed saving so the government paid the tune.
Saved the rich man’s house from the tides and none too soon.
The rains came tumbling down.
The poor man built his house upon the rock

Out in the bush on a small rural block.
All he could afford was a shed that he could lock.
The council came and they pulled his shanty down.

They claimed it was in danger with the trees all around.
They claimed it was unhealthy and too far out of town.
“Unto him who has shall it be given,” Jesus said

“From he who has not shall it be remov-ed”.
And the poor shall sleep on stony ground, the rich on feather bed.
And the rains come tumbling down.
32
My coward’s hand
© Ian Hills 1983
(Apologies to Eve Merriam whose poem “The Coward” I have misquoted)
If you think you’ve gone about as far as you can go

And you’d like to carry on, but how you just don’t know.
Before you decide to run and hide inside your feather bed
Listen to what a poet said:
“We are all of us afraid.

Someone must make a stand.
Here, coward – take my coward’s hand.”
Remember the women who fought for the vote

And the ones who stand for justice and never give up hope.
Remember the Greenies who saved the Franklin dam
And how the mothers stopped the bloodshed in Vietnam.
Here, take my hand, come and stand with me.

If we stand together then together we will be
Strong enough to speak and see the message spread.
Remember what the poet said:
“We are all of us afraid.

Someone must make a stand.
Here, coward – take my coward’s hand.”
33
Flying high
© Ian Hills 2018
The Liberal party has a right wing but it doesn’t have a left.
You might think this is a problem as it leaves them quite bereft
Of any sort of steerage as they fly about and hurtle
From problem to problem in an ever smaller circle.
But it really is a strength you see because it often feels

That those who move in circles can call themselves big wheels.
The Labor party on the other hand has a left wing and a right,
Which allows it steerage and straight and level flight.
Off in one direction then another they will fly
And they look quite lovely as they zoom around the sky.
They wheel and turn and rise and fall braving every weather.
And sometimes the flock will split and then get back together.
Some parties don’t have any wings, it seems they are too small
To have a left and right wing, or any wings at all.
They don’t often pop their heads up and it seems as if they’ve found
It really is much safer to be closer to the ground.
They often have an easy ride in another party’s pocket.

If they aspire to flight at all they just fire off a rocket.
I hope you didn’t find this little poem too absurd

But I don’t think much of parties or their wings, as you’ve just heard.
“Democracy is the worst kind of government that there is
Apart from all the others” Winston Churchill once said this.
I don’t mean to be contrary, or to start a war of words,

I’m just saying that, to me, politics is for the birds.
34
Decisions, decisions
© Ian Hills 2018
Those government men are at it again,

The way they behave’s a disgrace.
They can’t settle down to give one bloke the crown,
Then get on with running the place.
Backstabbing and grabbing and constantly blabbing

While the country falls down round our ears.
To solve this they will have a leadership spill.
And they can keep that up for years.
They just want to fight about who is right

And they all throw their weight around.
They won’t give an inch or back out of a clinch,
Compromise, or give any ground.
They bully and lie as they reach for the sky.

They don’t care who gets hurt or destroyed.
They don’t worry at all if morality falls
And they lose their souls to the void.
Hearing them from afar it sounds like a bar

Where the alcohol fuels the din.
They don’t want what’s best just to beat up all the rest
And above all else to win.
They just can’t decide who’s along for the ride

And who is a serious contender.
So the one who shouts more gets first in the door
And then they return him to sender.
35
They don’t mind a woman, if she’s a goodun

And they do look good on the front bench.
And that is OK, but there’s no way
They would give the top job to a wench.
Policies changed till they wind up deranged

After so many backflips and dividings.
Changed so many times they can’t make up their minds
Just what it was they were deciding.
We won’t question the banks, oh yes we will, thanks

And we’ll make it a Royal Commission.
Gay marriage is off, then on and then gone
And then on again with your permission.
Shall we dig up the coal and heat up the Poles

Or give the coal mining a rest?
Shall we lower the tax for the rich, who have stacks?
They just can’t decide what’s the best.
If the people in charge are by and large

Indecisive and lacking in vision,
Then we can decide to put them aside -
Show them how to make a decision.
36
We’re all heroes now.

© Ian Hills 1985
They tried to take our heroes away;

Killed them and maimed them,
Hounded and shamed them.
They tried to make us cower.
But for every hero that fell
Ten more have replaced them.
Nothing can erase them
For we’re all heroes now.
When Martin Luther King

Walked through Arkansas
We all watched on with awe -
Went with him heart and song.
And when they gunned him down
It was so hard to stay around,
Lay his memory gently down
And keep moving on.
They sang the songs of our generation -

George and Ringo, John and Paul.
Love and peace - they said it all
For life that’s free and just.
When John Lennon was shot
We mourned an everlasting cry.
And they told the cruellest lie -
That he was killed by one of us.
37
When they sank our Rainbow

We saw the deadly game they played
And we knew they were afraid
Because they could not win.
And now the whole world knows -
Life will always find a way
Love will always have a say
And peace will begin.
There are so many unsung heroes,

So many who have heard the call,
So many who were hounded silent
And went silent to the wall.
Know that you are not forgotten
We honour you and love you all.
This song is for all our heroes

On the whole world, near and far.
We are standing on your shoulders
And you made us what we are.
38
Have you got what it takes?

© Ian Hills 1985
Have you got what it takes to honour what you said,

Remember what you promised when we voted to be led?
Or will you let yourself get greedy; let the power go to your head?
Tell me now have you got what it takes?
Have you got what it takes to save us from destruction,

Close down the Yankee bases and throw out the CIA men?
Have you got what it takes to stop the mining of uranium?
Have you got what it takes to stand up against oppression,

The cops’ and the spooks’ institutional aggression,
The banks and bureaucracies financial obsession?
Have you got what it takes to save us from destroyers,

The loggers, the miners, the missile deployers,
Real estate developers, polluters and exploiters?
Have you got what it takes to be fair to Aborigines,

Give them back some country and return to them some dignity?
So they can live in peace again and we can live in harmony.
39
Did you have what it takes when the French defied the bans
And spread deadly radiation all over North Queensland?
If they thought it was safe they’d test the bloody things in France.
Tell me now did you have what it takes?
Have you got what it takes, or will you take what we’ve got?
Will you give us very little when you promise us a lot?
Do you remember who we are? Do you care or do you not?
Have you got what it takes to save the human race?

Can you stand up and take it with the egg upon your face?
Can you lead us to deliverance? Can you stand the disgrace?
40
The cardinal’s ring

© Ian Hills 2019
The pope is very progressive. He will not have you kissing his ring.
The cardinal seems not to mind it; in fact you might say it’s his thing.
He likes to dress up in his cassock, regalia and cardinal’s hat
And offer his ring up for kissing he’s terribly keen about that.
The pope is a bit disapproving when you mention the cardinal’s ring,
Declaring he shouldn’t display it or offer it up for kissing.
But cardinals can sometimes be wilful and sadly neglect to obey.
So he’ll ask the cardinal to go on retreat, to repent of his sins and to pray.
He forgives all the sins of the cardinal, though others are not so inclined.
This ring-kissing thing is too much of a sin for them to say ‘never mind’.
The cardinal says he is much maligned; he was a good man all along
And nobody ever stopped him to say that what he was doing was wrong.
This tale has a moral, it’s this: power will do as it chooses

When no one around has the courage to protest against its abuses.
And of course I should not fail to mention and point out just
one more little thing:
Consider yourself very lucky if you’ve not seen the cardinal’s ring.
41
42
Billy the gnome

43
Whimsy
“I've learned to respect the whimsical.”

Michael Leunig
The gnome dome

Orange tree
Flea flaw flue
Future echoes
Alien abduction
Whatever happened to the grass?
Fair cow
Those men
Dyslexia bizlecksya
Going home
44
The gnome dome

© Ian Hills 2018
Billy the gnome did not have a home

So they decided to build him a house.
They got all his friends to bring odds and ends
Because he was a poor as a mouse.
They brought bits of wood, some of them good

And tools of every description:
Hammers and nails, levels and pails,
And some things that might be Egyptian,
Long pieces of string, trowels, and things

For getting perfect right angles,
A pipe cutting saw and several doors,
A window or two and a mangle.
Billy came out of his tent and unbent

To look round at the crowd and commotion.
“What’s going on? You’re wrecking my lawn.”
“We’ll build you a house, that’s the notion.”
In one afternoon they put up a saloon,

A kitchen, a bedroom and toilet.
They did not understand the need for a plan
But that did not seem to spoil it.
It was not really square and not really round

A very odd shape for a home.
But you have to admit it took genius to fit
A roof in the shape of a dome.
Now Billy the gnome lives in a dome

And he loves to have people around.
As they enter they wait and give the poles a good shake
To make sure that it won’t fall down.
45
Orange tree
© Ian Hills 1964
The orange tree’s first blossom

Is a sturdy flower, but small.
Small but perfect petals,
Stems leafless, spiked and tall.
And somehow the oranges aren’t much good at all.
The second blooming of the tree

And then for many years
Is perfect, scented, colourful.
The fruit are perfect spheres.
The seeds within the golden fruit exquisite solid tears.
The orange tree’s last blossom

Is greeted with a frown.
The scent is gone, the stem diseased
The petals pale and brown.
And before it comes to fruit, the tired tree’s cut down.
The first fruits of a life’s work

Seem ludicrous and bare.
Maturing to effectiveness
It ends with great fanfare.
And only it’s effect remains, less tangible than air.
46
Flea fly flue

© Ian Hills 2019
When the flea saw the fly on the floor

He said “we can’t fly out the door.
There’s a flaw in the flue
That we can get through”
So flea and fly flew out the flaw.
47
Future echoes
© Ian Hills 1962
Wandering in the forest

Beetles carry wood
Lining runs and hollows
With next winter’s food.
Dying in the desert

A blind man slakes his thirst
On stones and love and liberty
Not knowing which is worst.
Looking far behind them

Dreamers in the snow
See shadows of the future
And know which way to go.
Look for paradoxes

My dangerous little friend.
Look for the beginning
If you wish to find the end.
48
Alien abduction
© Ian Hills 2005
I got myself a parrot, I called him Silly Jack.

Bright red in his comb and tail, the rest of him was black.
He used to ride around with me, a favourite of the blokes.
He’d keep out of trouble by cracking silly jokes.
They worked a treat on tourists, foreign and Australian,

But one night he came a cropper when he tried one out on aliens.
Y’see Jack got all his sayings from listening to the blokes.
He’d keep out of trouble by cracking silly jokes.
And one thing we always said when meeting some bloke’s Sheila
“Pleased to meet the boss” we’d say, or “Take me to your leader.”
“We come in peace,” we’d always say when entering a dwelling.
“We come in peace.” Jack would shriek, or “Tell me what you’re selling”.
So when the aliens came in the middle of the night

And lit the bush for miles around with an eerie light,
Jack was very curious and went to have a look.
And of course he wasn’t quiet – he’s a parrot, not a chook.
49
“We come in peace,” cried silly Jack when he should have gone and hid.
“Take me to your leader.” And that’s just what they did.
I looked for him for bloody days, saying round the bush
“The aliens got my parrot mate.” I got some funny looks.
Well, he turned up in the end, starving and half dead.

I let him have some brandy and tucked him into bed.
But he was weird after that, very bloody queer.
He wouldn’t say a bloody word. His eyes were full of fear.
He never cracked another joke. He never rides in cars.

I think it’s cause the aliens stuck things up his arse.
And lots of other things they did on that awful night
When they took him to their spaceship on a beam of purple light.
My parrot has gone paranoid. He’ll only talk at night.

He never jokes around at all and he doesn’t like the light.
And another thing that’s very odd – it fair upsets a feller:
Before his comb and tail were red, and now they’ve both turned yeller.
50
Whatever happened to the grass?

© Ian Hills 2018
I stood where Captain Cook once stood high up on a hill

And surveyed the placid waters north and south.
I could see the little reef that wrecked his little ship
And where he saved it in the river mouth.
I tried to imagine how they survived the wreck

Rebuilt the ship and sailed it out of the bay.
The channel is still there, heading to the north,
The route they took to get the ship away.
On the hill there is an easy road to drive up to the top

And a lighthouse, now, to warn about the reefs.
In his log Cook wrote that this was a grassy hill
But now it’s blanketed with trees.
I sat down upon the very spot where they beached the ship
And worked for months to get it fit for sea.
I sat there in a café watching little fish.
I ate my lunch and had a cup of tea.
They still call it Grassy Hill, just like Captain Cook.

It makes me think how changes come so fast.
All the buildings and the roads and the people come to look.
Whatever happened to this hill? Whatever happened to the grass?
51
Fair cow
© Ian Hills 1964
Dark shapes looming in the night

Under the apple tree.
One of them is purest white
And it frightens me.
Horny headed, snorty cow

Please keep well away.
Her breath is foul upon me now
Like decomposing hay.
I see her bleary bloodshot eyes

And shiny yellow teeth.
Down amid the grass she lies
And I am underneath.
All night I’m squashed under rumbles and shakes

A huge weight, smooth and silken
Until the morning when she wakes
And sways off to the milken.
52
Those men
© Ian Hills 1968
Purple men with yellow spots,

With eyes like dots and mouths like slots,
They’ve had trouble – lots and lots.
Those men.
Green men with orange eyes,

Shaky sighs and dark blue ties,
Vainly try to swat the flies.
Those men.
White men with bright red fears,

Silver tears and yellow sneers,
Vainly try to wash their ears.
Those men.
They all came out of one dark pit,

Began to spit and throw a fit,
And I watched them for a bit
Those men.
53
Dyslexia bizlecksya
© Ian Hills 1961
I wonder what will cure my cough.

A cup of coughey should.
And if it does not bump me ough
It might do me some gould.
If I kick with a foot and stand on my feet.

When I put in the boot should I take off my beet?
If you were a farmer and going to plough,

You wouldn’t harness your very best kough.
Your dog would bark and your cat would meough
As you earned their food by the sweat of your brough.
I think there’s a mouse around in this house.

To avoid all the mice I will have to move hice.
54
Going home
© Ian Hills 1995
Home is the big black tree

They cut down years ago.
Home is old traditions
That melt away like snow.
Home is childhood memories
That can’t be set in stone.
Things and people change and change.
You never can go home.
55
56
Magic hitchhiker
57
Life and the road
“I may not have gone where I intended

to go, but I think I have ended up where
I intended to be.”
Douglas Adams
Magic hitchhiker
Modern adventurer
Alice Springs is not the place for me
The last page
Life story
Fatal encounter
Experienced camper
My life with houses
58
Magic hitchhiker
© Ian Hills 2018
I finished up working in Roebourne and decided to
hitchhike to Broome
To take part in a song-writing contest at a festival
starting there soon.
I set off with my swag and my guitar to hitchhike
eight hundred kays.
And on that bleak stretch of highway it seemed
like I hitchhiked for days.
After walking a while down the highway I got a lift for a very short trip,
Dropped off in the middle of nowhere as the sun was starting to dip.
I walked twenty kays in the darkness to the outskirts of a small town.
I rolled out my swag behind a big sign and gratefully put my head down.
In the morning I stood by the roadway and hopefully held out my thumb.
As the day got hotter and hotter I waited for someone to come.
Just as I’d given up hoping I heard the noise of a car.
I jumped to my feet with my thumb out. What happened next was bizarre.
A police car skidded to a stop and I thought “Oh my God now I’m done.
Someone must have filed a complaint and now the police have come”.
But the policemen completely ignored me and went to open the boot
And unloaded onto the side of the road an astonishing pile of loot.
Three suit cases and a hatbox, an umbrella and gold-topped cane,
A black wizard hat adorned with stars, a greatcoat with a lot of food stains.
Then they unloaded their passenger. They were just a little bit rough
But he conducted himself with dignity, although that must have been tough.
They gave him a bit of a talking to with much finger wagging and then
The policemen got back in the car and they drove off again.
He suddenly looked quite bedraggled his possessions all in a sprawl.
He doggedly shifted them all one by one to a neat little pile by a wall.
He approached me all regretful and said in theatrical accent
“Don’t worry I won’t try to steal your ride.
When you’re gone I’ll make my attempt.”
“I’ve been sitting here for hours mate, not even one car has gone by.
This highway is deserted. But by all means you give it a try.”
59
“Do you believe in magic? If you do I’ve got some good news.”
I considered the idea for a moment and thought, “what have I got to lose?”
I gave him the nod and that changed him. He stood up and with
great panache
Donned his black hat, took up his gold cane and put on a
big black moustache
He danced in the road in this get up and chanted to south and to north
Banging his cane on the roadway with much prancing back and forth.
He continued with this for quite a long time then he turned
and said with a smile
“Your ride will be twenty minutes and mine will then be a while.”
I didn’t give that performance much credence I just thought it

a bit of a blast.
But sure enough right on the time that he said a car came by
and went past.
It screeched to a stop and reversed up and a woman said
“Oh, I’ll make room.
Where are you going? I’m sorry to say we can only get you to Broome.”
They got out of the car, re-arranged all their stuff put my swag
and guitar on the top.
He said to me “you’re lucky you know I wasn’t intending to stop.”
As we drove off a singular sight that I’ll remember to my grave:
A smug little wizard on the side of the road with smile and satirical wave.
We drove all day and all night, got to Broome, in time for sunrise
And there in his hat and his greatcoat, with his cane and eccentric disguise
Was the wizard. He greeted me fondly and said he had been there a while.
“How did you get here before me?” I asked. “I’m a wizard”
he said with a smile.
I performed all my songs at the festival and I think that they

went down all right.
I played in a band, learned lots of songs and made music all day
and all night.
I revelled in music and laughter, made quite a lot of new friends.
I searched the whole place for that wizard, but I never did see him again.
60
Modern adventurer
© Ian Hills 2018
The world is full of warnings: Caution automatic doors;

Mind the escalator; Danger wet floors.
These are all to be avoided along with ladders and black cats.
We must wear protective clothing, eye protection
and hard hats.
But some things signal danger and adventure too.

These are still quite dangerous but have scope for derring-do.
We might cross the ‘do not cross’ tape; we might steal a traffic cone.
We might go and swim outside the flags, ignore the skull and cross bones.
Oh! Go and be the wild adventurer, go and wear a witch’s hat

But please don’t have an accident, we really can’t have that.
If you must have an adventure, have it sitting down.
Then you can die ten times before they put you in the ground.
You don’t have to face the boredom of waiting for a train

Or freeze to death without your clothes out in the pouring rain.
You don’t have to sit in mud holes or stay awake all night
Or run until you can no more and then pass out with fright.
Doing battle with a console and a handheld gun device

Can give you an adventure that is altogether nice.
You can rescue your beloved and make your rival flee
And kill the dreaded monsters and still be home for tea.
61
Alice Springs is not the place for me

© Ian Hills 1983
Alice Springs is not the place for me.

It’s an angry little town where the sun beats down
And people struggle to be free -
Where black meets white in an endless fight
About freedom and slavery.
With so many oppressed I cannot rest.

No time to sit and be.
I can’t stand by and let people die
And yet I cannot set them free.
Alice Springs is not the place for me.
62
The last page

© Ian Hills 1968
They say an era of my life is coming to a close,

The time of the dew, the sunshine and the rose,
The years of first love and the aching heart,
The time of creation and novelty and art.
But I can’t turn my back on the fruits of all those years

And forget all the beauty and the laughter and the tears.
I won’t underscore my diary at this very date
And write the self-defeating phrase ‘the end of love and hate’.
I can see a future that is lively and exciting,

Full of love and beauty, delightful and inviting.
Forget an accomplished and boring middle age.
Be prepared, dear diary, this is not the last page.
63
Life story
© Ian Hills 1982
I sometimes feel my life’s a cloud floating in the sky,

Moved around by breezes, torn apart by storms.
I watch myself and wonder how I ever learned to fly.
Do breezes move my cloud along, or do I move the sky?
I sometimes feel my life’s a leaf floating in a stream,

Rocked around by currents, sinking on the reefs.
I watch myself and wonder what is happening in this dream,
Does water move my leaf along, or do I move the stream?
And so it comes to this: perhaps I have these troubles,

Just for interest sake, in a million years of bliss.
And in my cosmic mind I tell myself a story -
A lifelong dream that’s much too good to miss.
64
A fatal encounter
© Ian Hills 2018
I was heading to North Queensland on the

inland route
On my map there was a symbol of a tree.
The tree was marked by Leichhardt,
an explorer of repute.
So I thought that I would stop for a look-see.
The site itself was miserable, just a stump inside a cage

To try and stop the vandals I assume
And next to it a replica for unobstructed gaze.
But then they’d put a cage around that too.
‘You can’t even see the Leichhardt mark, it has disappeared’

That is what the vandals had to say.
You might think all this an oddity or even a bit weird
But weirder was what happened on the way.
There wasn’t much to think about as I drove along

The landscape was quite flat and brown and dry.
So I was a bit distracted and singing a little song
When a minibus and trailer hurtled by.
It overtook me on a corner and crossed a double line.

It nearly had a head on with a truck.
The trailer nearly sideswiped me – he really cut it fine.
I even heard a lady shout ‘Oh fuck’.
And after it had disappeared out along the road,

Around the bend it nearly didn’t make,
I had a little flashback of the words along the side
And I thought ‘No, that must be a mistake.’
For in my feared imagining the words were very clear,

At least that is how it seemed to me,
An inscription that inspired in me a great amount of fear.
I thought the words said ‘Fatal Bus Company’.
65
‘What can that mean?’ I wondered ‘was that a fatal bus?’

‘Or is it just the company at risk?
Or do they really mean to kill all the rest of us?'
I couldn’t work out what to make of this.
‘It can’t be right, it’s just my mind - it’s always playing tricks.’
And I wondered what the words might really be.
And that kept me quite occupied for another twenty clicks
Until I pulled up beside the Leichardt tree.
Across the road there was a tavern with a session in full swing.
And the bus whose passengers had nearly died
Was parked outside the tavern, covered in years of dings.
So I went to see what’s written on the side.
Turns out I was mistaken and I had misread the sign.

It didn’t say ‘Fatal Bus Company’.
Instead there was a legend of a slightly different kind.
‘Fatal Transport’ was what it turned out to be.
When I made enquiries about this gruesome name

I was told there was a simple rationale:
This family was in transport since the days of camel trains
A famous Afghan family named Fatal.
I guess Fatal went with Leichhardt on that expedition

Along with Leichhardt’s team of cameleers.
They crossed the dry bush country with a mountain of provisions.
That might give a man like Fatal some ideas.
Perhaps Fatal saw the prospect offered by a trading route

Continued up and down the track when Leichhardt left,
Bringing up provisions and the mail and even fruit.
And his descendants haven’t finished with it yet.
Both men did their bit. They crossed the plains and rivers.
Leichhardt marked the track that was his mission.
Fatal worked the track and with the things that he delivered,
I like to think he sold the many books on Leichhardt’s expedition.
66
Experienced camper
© Ian Hills 2018
A few years ago I retired and decided to go on a trip -

To camp out on the road for a couple of months, be a nomad for a bit.
And for that I would need a camper. The main thing I had to work out:
When I had to stop for a lie down, there must be no mucking about.
For I had a bad sleeping sickness and waiting it just won’t allow.
When I need to stop and sleep for a while, I have to do it right now.
No pushing up ceilings, unfolding the walls or mucking about with the bits.
Just open the door and fall into bed, that’s all I can do when it hits.
I searched high and low for a camper like that and couldn’t buy one
off the shelf.
So in the end I gave up the search and decided to make one my-self.
I bought a nice trailer and put in a bed, built a canopy over the top.
The sides just lift up when I need to lie down. I loaded her up and I’m off.
I drove round Australia on the first trip. From Cairns across to Broome
Down the west coast to Freo, then across Nullarbor and home.
I took in the sights and spoke to the blokes and busked in the streets
and the pubs.
I liked it so much I travelled for months and I camped in the towns
and the scrub.
And the camper kept going, did not miss a beat - just trundled along behind.
It carried my gear and my food and my bed with nothing to weigh
on my mind.
A few months at home then a trip up the Cape, now that was
a dry conversation.
The camper kept going, bumping along on the worst road in the nation.
I fell off a cliff in the Daintree. That was a bit of a pain.

I spent a few months in plaster before I went camping again.
I had so many adventures I couldn’t tell you them all
And my little camper came with me and together we had a ball.
67
I had some repairs done in Normanton on a trip to the Cape

when it rained.
And I left all my clothes in a laundromat there; I was getting a bit
scatterbrained.
I bought some new clobber in Winton - the museum was
something to see.
Then I decided that I’d had enough for a while back home
for the camper and me.
Of the trips that I made in my camper one stands out as the best.
I drove a bit north from Bundy and then headed out to the west.
I picked up the Warrego River, down to the Darling and then
Right down the Murray to Adelaide before heading back home again.
What a trip that was on the rivers. The sensation I just can’t describe -
Flowing along with the water – the amazing riverine vibe.
And the birds and the bush and the people and the stories
down on the river
Were a joy and a pure inspiration that will stay in my mind forever.
My camper days are over now. I’ve not been on the road for a while,
So I really should sell my camper to someone with a similar style.
Sad to farewell the old camper, but there’s no point it gathering dust.
It should to go to another adventurer someone with
the same wanderlust.
So I’ve painted it up to look pretty and advertised it on the net

Hoping that I’ll find a buyer who will value all that they get.
For all of the virtues I’ve listed, the best one I pay tribute to:
This is an experienced camper and it will look after you.
68
My life with houses

© Ian Hills 2018
I don’t recall my first home. I think it was destroyed
By the German bombers that they all called fritz.
They tried to flatten London and my folks were quite annoyed
By the bombs they dropped down on us in the Blitz.
I don’t recall the terror and the nights of false alarms,
Or only very vaguely. I was a babe in arms.
Time flickers by.
There was a massive window in my second home.
The authorities rehoused us in a once abandoned shop.
The only building standing, strange and all alone
In a street of bombed out houses. A survivor of the drop.
I remember standing in the street with silence all around.
Only just a toddler, waiting for a sound.
My third home was a cottage for the builders of the tower
That stood beside our row of timber frames.
A parlour and a kitchen, with gaslights and no power.
And a garden full of flowers and a childhood full of games.
We played on the Common and we thought it pretty cool
To hang around the markets on our way to school.
Our next home was a mansion, all of three stories high.
We had our own bedrooms and the walls didn’t shake.
The bathroom had hot water and the roof was always dry.
And it had a cosy kitchen where my mother used to bake.
We played in the forest and the streets all around
And went to school in London on the Underground.
We migrated to Australia and my dad designed a home
On a bluff above a river and a plain.
We could see for miles and for miles we would roam
And never thought to see London again.
I went to school in Redcliffe and studied for exams
And learned to think and wonder and work out who I am
69
My next house was my very own, for my own family.

I went to work and studied late at night.
A little house on high set stumps with a yard full of trees
And children to play in it much to my delight.
Bringing up the children and working at the varsity
Was a very busy life full of laughter and adversity?
My next home was my favourite: on the outskirts of a town
Living in the bush with lovely weather.
We had a busy life between the city and the gown
And did a lot of growing up together.
But good times do not last and there came a time to part
From the family and the home we had – it nearly broke my heart.
I moved around a lot in the next few years -
A life of work and travel on my own.
I had many adventures full of laughter and tears.
In all that time I didn’t have a home.
I lived out of a swag in the back of a car.
I worked at many different jobs and wandered near and far.
Eventually I built a home on a bluff above a river
A kit home built with love and sweat and swearing.
And my children came to visit with their children all together.
A time of reconnecting and loving and caring.
I lived on my own and I got on with my life,
But I felt a little lonely without children and a wife.
My home is in a village now with likeminded neighbours
With lovely gardens in the centre of a town.
A full and easy life free from heavy labours
A lovely little place to settle down.
A great place to reflect on the excitement and the strife.
And the many memories of a full and happy life.
Time flickers by.
70
71
Love
“All you need is love.”

Paul McCartney
Try not to turn love away

Midwife to the soul
More than we could do
Changing times
The Chase
What I thought but didn’t say
Tell me your story
Rendezvous
The Sergeant’s daughter
72
Midwife to the soul

© Ian Hills 1978
How I long to bear your pain

Or at least, to make it stop.
But like a midwife, I
Can only wait and watch you try
And be with you when you cry.
Be with you when you smile again.
I wish that I could share my vision

I wish that I could draw a plan.
But I can only make my mission
To be with you as I can.
The trying seems to reach no goal.

I think your cries will break my heart.
And yet I know that you will see
An end to all this misery.
A breakthrough that will set you free.
The rebirth of your soul.
73
Try not to turn love away

© Ian Hills 1975
I was born in the wartime. My parents were inclined

To peace in a mad world of fear.
But I heard all the crying, the running and dying
And learned to hold back my tears.
In bomb shelters nightly she held me so tightly
To keep her own fears at bay.
As I was growing I came to a knowing:
Try not to turn love away.
I grew up a healer, a lover, a feeler -

Kept my own fears locked away.
Mature and delightful, heavy or lightful,
I always knew what to say.
Alone in my head, my fears were unsaid
And I practiced survival all day.
And deep in my heart I held to the art.
I tried not to turn love away.
How can I tell all the things that befell?

The things that were done and were said:
All the clinging to hope and the trying to cope
On the street and inside my own head.
If I gather these gems on a string, well what then
Does the sum of it all have to say?
The whisper they make as the beads click and shake:
Try not to turn love away.
74
More than we could do

© Ian Hills 1985
How I loved you near to me

A sleeping, waking fantasy.
It felt like this was meant to be
Being close to you.
And we flew on angels’ wings
Listening to the planets sing.
Ready then for anything
Except what we might do.
Changing through the changing years:

Loving, laughing, hates and tears.
It never was what it appeared -
Just an interlude.
All those dreadful rows we had
All the ways of feeling bad.
For love you want but never had
Can really make you feud.
Sad to find out in the end

We could have been the best of friends.
But lovers break and cannot mend
The love that makes them true.
Now what can I say to you?
Only that our love was true
Just not the way we wanted to.
It was more than we could do.
75
Changing times
© Ian Hills 2018
I can still remember, I’m very sad to say,

When men were sent to prison for the crime of being gay.
Then there was a social minefield that must be negotiated:
Who could safely be approached and when the field should be vacated.
If one was the focus of misguided propositions -
How to disengage without arousing much suspicion?
He was cruising at our party and looking for a fling

And the girl I had my eye on thought that he was just the thing.
She flirted with a passion and even sat upon his knee.
He gave her the brush off though she was pretty as could be.
Finally she asked him ‘don’t you like what you see’
And he said ‘no you’re ugly’ and tried to palm her off on me.
She suddenly was angry and arced up like a flare

‘How dare you say such things to me, how dare you bloody dare.’
He couldn’t say that he was gay and would never be attracted
So he pretended to be drunk, outrageous and distracted.
‘You’re drunk,’ she then exclaimed, ‘that’s why you are so rude.
If you were sober you would like me, ‘cos I’m pretty and subdued.’
‘You’re right’ he said ‘I’m very drunk and feeling far from active
And in the morning I’ll be sober but you still won’t be attractive’.
These days things have changed a lot. He’d be not afraid to say
‘In the morning I’ll be sober and I’m sure I’ll still be gay’.
These days men are not arrested for being drunk and found in bed.
The hazard now is while they’re drunk they, by mistake, get wed.
Things have changed in fifty years we’ve come such a long way
But dating is still awkward – more awkward if you’re gay.
Just in case you’re wondering if I did any good:

When I approached the lady, she just wasn’t in the mood.
76
The chase
© Ian Hills 1962
What a tease, a flirt, a boy-snatcher -

A girl a guy wants to watch.
And most of the guys do want to watch her
And she takes them all down a notch.
If you want to dance she doesn’t.

She makes you chase her round the floor.
And all the boys watch for the moment
To chase her round and round some more.
She tells her friends she thinks I like her

And I worry that I might.
She thinks she has me in her power
And I’m afraid she’s right.
77
What I thought but didn’t say

© Ian Hills 2018
We got married, man and wife.

It went well. We had a good life.
It was serious love and a lot of play.
That’s what I thought but didn’t say.
One day she said that she would leave.

I didn’t agree, I couldn’t believe.
For the sake of the kids she decided to stay.
One day she left without a word -

Flew off like an uncaged bird.
Empty rooms haunted my day.
She said that I don’t understand

And that’s because I am a man.
And she is quite right, in a way.
Love has an end, we must accept.

It’s rare a love for life is kept
And ends after your dying day.
That’s what I think but do not say.
78
Tell me your story

© Ian Hills 1978
I can see from your face

That you’ve suffered much too long.
I can see in your eyes
That lots of things are wrong.
So tell me your story -

I’ll tell my story too.
Together we can
Make our dreams come true.
Tell me your story -

And I’ll tell you mine.
Tell me where you come from -
What you bring, what’s left behind.
Then maybe together

We can see what’s going on.
Paint it, write it, dance it.
Sing it in a song.
Tell me your story,

I’ll tell my story too.
And we’ll make a harmony
To make our dreams come true.
79
Rendezvous
© Ian Hills 1961
Go silently along the veranda,

Secretly down the stair,
Carefully up the rocky steps,
Over the grass and you’re there.
Mind the stones on the roadway,

Don’t cry out at the pain in your feet.
You’ll have to hurry if you’re going to catch
The one you are dying to meet.
Turning off the roadway

Down the steepling track,
Past the caravan and the well.
Hurry - you’ve got to get back.
Through the bushes, hard to see,

Under the fencing wire,
Right on down to the river’s edge.
Lucky the tide isn’t higher.
Across the shallows, up to your knees,

Up the stony bank,
Skirt the mud and the water holes
To the track that leads up to the tank.
And now here’s the meeting, the holding of hands -

Just time for a goodnight kiss.
You’ll go home and say you’ve been out for a walk
But you won’t say a thing about this.
80
The Sergeant’s daughter

© Ian Hills 1998
What is the name of that pretty young lady

Sitting so still with her hand to her hair?
She sits in a corner and watches the dancing
With a smile on her face
And a chill in the air.
That is the daughter of Sergeant McGrady

Who killed off his captain so rumours declare.
Though no one can prove it was him pulled the trigger,
But the smile on his face
And the chill in the air.
Do they visit the sins of the father unfairly

On innocent children? And this one so rare.
And who dares to risk a kind hand on her shoulder,
For the smile on her face
With that chill in the air.
We ride out together one fine early morning.

‘Her father’s a madman, oh how do you dare?’
Her breath is white smoky, her cheeks are red rosy.
There’s a smile on her face
And a chill in the air.
If luck does not leave me and love not deceive me

We’ll be together and make a fine pair.
And on cold Sunday mornings I’ll cherish the dawning
For the smile on her face
And the chill in the air.
81
82
Man of the land
83
People and happenings
“Accept the things to which fate

binds you, and love the people
with whom fate brings you
together, but do so with all your
heart.”
Marcus Aurelius
Man of the land

The good old days
Michael and Jilly
Show day
One-eyed John
Alice Springs folk festival
Rainbow warrior
Traffic accident
The maid’s day off
I did but see him passing by
84
Man of the Land

© Ian Hills 2005
A little bit west of the highway,

Around a couple of bends,
I’ve got a little shack out there
I visit on the weekends.
I sit on my veranda
With a stubby in my hand
Dreaming I’m a man of the land.
It’s a little bit of country

To get away from town,
A little bit of sanity
When the city gets me down.
I’m a weekend blockie
And I know that’s what I am.
I’m just dreaming I’m a man of the land.
I can drive a tractor,

Cutting down the grass,
Doing all the heavy work
Sitting on my arse.
But I don’t ride round on horses
Chasing little lambs.
I’m just dreaming I’m a man of the land.
I grow lots of gum trees,

Kangaroos and birds,
Possums and koalas,
Wallabies in herds.
And I sit on my veranda
With a stubby in my hand
Dreaming I’m a man of the land.
85
The good old days

© Ian Hills 1961
Years ago when I was young

I went riding out on a cattle drove
With the dust choking throat and lung
And the evening quiet with the fire ablaze
Where we cooked without a stove.
Those were the good old days.
I made my home the rolling plain

Where the grass comes up to the highest horse.
What I would give to go back again
Into the sun and the dry heat waves.
To remember it fills my heart with remorse
And I long for the good old days.
When I was young I wandered far.

I earned it here and I spent it there.
My many jobs have left their scar.
As I watch the sun in its fading rays
In my stiff old age with my greying hair
I long for the good old days.
I am tired and near the end

I sit and ponder on my life -
My old memories, my good friends.
As I think back on my wild old ways,
The dry, the wet, the money, the strife
And the mates of the good old days.
86
Michael and Jilly

© Ian Hills 2019
Michael cooks food that’s delicious

With recipes new and ambitious
With immaculate taste.
His magnificent waist
Demonstrates that his meals are nutritious.
His wife is a lady named Jilly.

Some say that she dresses too frilly.
But those in the know
Say that is not so -
Her clothes are just gilding a lily.
87
Show day
© Ian Hills 1962
The night is bright. Around the town the lights

Shout news of their wares
For the people of the land.
Wide-eyed children view the sights.
Couples wander hand in hand
Wilfully unaware of stares.
Sad eyed men, who carry the burdens of mankind

Upon the corners of their lips,
Seek their youth from long ago.
Bright eyed farmers seeking, find
A public bar or picture show
And treat their kids to fish and chips.
88
One-eyed John
© Ian Hills 1976
One-eyed John is French

He has a limp and he talks in a whisper.
He’s as ugly as sin from the places he’s been.
One-eyed John.
But when he laughs it’s like sunshine on the mountain

Drifting down through the leaves in early morning.
And when he smiles with his eye
It’s like standing in the sky.
One-eyed John.
One-eyed John is sick.

He has TB, rheumatic fever and glaucoma.
It looks like every breath is pain
As he stands there in the rain.
One-eyed John.
But people stand in the weather talking to him

Just to be near him, his happiness and warmth.
His way of talking, calm and slow,
Is the greatest thing they know.
One-eyed John.
89
Alice Springs folk festival

© Ian Hills 1983
It all happens when the folkies meet at Easter in Alice Springs.

We all go to The Centre on wheels and thumbs and wings.
We all sing around the Alice and dance and booze on too.
We do it all at Alice Springs till there’s nothing left to do.
There are lots of guitars and whistles and flutes and violins and drums
And folks that sing (and some who can’t) and some just sits and hums.
There’s even a guy with a Celtic harp and another with a mandolin.
We sing and dance till morning comes and then we start again.
There’s Eric Bogle looking terribly noble in a duet with Tony Miles
And Bernard Boland being erudite about a carpet snake with piles.
There’s a ceilidh on the Friday night with booze and fights and things.
It all happens when the folkies meet at Easter in Alice Springs.
There’s Acapella (two girls and a fella) who sing all on their own.
And Bernard Boland sings again (about dogs and garden gnomes).
There are Irish jigs on accordions and there’s nothing you can do.
They’ll play the same tune sixteen times with a new name
each time through.
There’s Ted Egan listening (though mostly to himself)

And Tony Miles regales us with turning on to wealth.
There’s every high you can think of to turn you on to folk.
If you survive the Alice live, be sure you’ll go home broke.
90
Rainbow warrior
© Ian Hills 1982
When I look into your eyes,

Intense and wide, all flashing fire,
If I look deep I seem to see you
Riding on a dragon
That shimmers with a glow:
Colours of a rainbow.
I see you riding out from dragon’s lair,

Dew sparkling in your hair,
And in your eyes compassion
For the people and the earth.
I seem to see you so:
Warrior of the rainbow.
91
Traffic accident
© Ian Hills 2018
She rode out in the morning, horse bounding with delight,

Hair blowing out behind her a truly lovely sight.
And following in her wake there was her band of merry men
Shouting and hallooing as they thundered through the glen.
Left in the mud behind them a glint of golden hair.

Before I ever reached her I knew it was my Clair.
She wore the blue and yellow smock I gave her in the spring.
To see her lying there so still was such a dreadful thing.
For she was full of movement and laughter and song.

Whenever she was with you there would be, before too long,
Dancing and chasing and merriment and toys
And running and colour and shouting and noise.
We buried her next morning; we were as quiet as mice.

They sent a man with money to pay the body price.
A handful of coins he gave me, a fee meant to replace
The beauty and the love that has vanished without trace.
I told him it’s a shame that they were in such a hurry

That they didn’t notice children or they simply didn’t worry.
He said that he was sorry; it was just the way it went.
And the money was a fair price for a tragic accident.
I see the girl out sometimes. She looks as sad as me

And the boys that tag along with her a sorry lot to see.
So many lives were blighted on that dreadful day
By speed and youth and merriment and being in the way.
92
The maid’s day off

© Ian Hills 2018
On the maid’s day off she went walking in the rain.

She thought it was the best that she could do -
Walking to the park and walking back again
Trying hard to see a better view.
The thing that she could not do was stay inside the house
With the silence and the atmospheric chill.
Sitting in her room as quiet as a mouse
Avoiding words that wound and looks that kill.
She dawdled by the pond not minding she was wet

Feeding ducks with little bits of bread.
This little taste of freedom was all that she could get -
And savouring the fancies in her head.
She had a sudden thought – why not keep on walking down

Following this path on to the track
And out along the road that goes on to the next town.
Walking on and never coming back.
Without a second thought that is exactly what she did.

Her fate took on a very different theme.
Shaping her own life instead of doing what she’s bid
Starting from a day off and a dream.
93

© Ian Hills 2018
A parody of Thomas Ford’s “There is a lady sweet and kind”
He is a prince – the royal kind.

The Prince of Wales– the next in line.
And I can only wonder why.
I stood in line for the next in line

For an awfully lengthy period of time.
He stopped for some, but passed me by
He said ‘hello’ to the next but one

And then he passed me at a run.
He didn’t even catch my eye
‘Where are you from?’ I heard him say.

She said ‘I come from Hervey Bay.’
‘And where is that?’ was his reply
When our Queen dies the bells will ring

And then this prince will be the king.
He’ll be the king until he dies
94
Eric the emu
95
Humour
“A sense of humour is just

common sense, dancing.”
William James
The emu war

A Christmas fairy tale
Poetic emphasis
Don’t let the bastards grind you down
Food is forever
A very special Christmas
Tis the season to be stressed out
Fad diets
My remote
The lute of Frederick Flute
96
The emu war

© Ian Hills 2019
There once was an emu named Eric

Whose neck was a long as a derrick.
His neck was so long
He could only say ‘bong’
And look down his nose like a cleric.
Out on the great western plain

The emus were at it again.
They ate all the crops
And they couldn’t be stopped.
So of course they would have to be slain.
Farmers asked for the army to come -

An idea that was just a bit rum.
Though there wasn’t a need
The army agreed;
To get plumes for their hats and shoot guns.
The emus came on at the run

To the army’s two machine guns.
‘Twas the first shot that mattered
The emus scattered
And the army did not hit a one.
Then young Eric took up command,

Formed the emus into guerrilla bands.
And they ran around
All over the ground
And stuffed up the military plans.
97
Then the captain said he’d had enough

And he spoke to his boss in a huff.
“Shooting at birds
Is quite absurd.
I didn’t sign up for this stuff.”
“Shooting emus just isn’t fun.

They are fast and they dodge when they run.
Guerrilla emus we find
Will attack from behind ”
So they left without getting much done.
And each year when the emus meet

They talk of the army’s retreat.
Young emus are told
Of Eric the bold
And the emus that never were beat.
Emus won the war of the farms

And still are a cause of alarm.
But they are such good fighters
That we’ve put the blighters
Up on our coat of arms.
98
A Christmas fairy tale

© Ian Hills 2018
Santa’s in a flurry coming up to Christmas Eve -

More than the usual hurry. A crisis you won’t believe.
It’s not a lack of presents or the usual prices hike -
He has trouble with his workforce. The Elves have gone on strike!
“What shall I do?” Old Santa says, “I can’t meet those demands.
Where will I get the money?” And he throws up his hands.
Negotiations reach an impasse. Santa makes a stand.
He brings in foreign workers, all the way from Fairyland.
Now there are heaps of Fairies and they are keen to work,
Enthusiastic, cheerful, never known to shirk.
They whizz around and do their jobs, these qualities are prized.
But they are whimsical and clumsy, and a bit disorganised.
So, Santa’s in his office just before the Christmas run.

He’s tearing his hair out. The packing’s not begun
And half the toys are broken. It looks like he is sunk.
And the Fairies are off partying and most of them are drunk.
Then suddenly the door swings in, a swirl of snow and wind.
A Fairy drags the hugest tree that you have ever seen
And in a cheery little voice, full of Christmas banter
He says with the cheeky grin, “where shall I stick this, Santa?”
Now we follow that tradition, just like Santa did you see?
We stick a little Fairy atop the Christmas tree.
99
Poetic emphasis
© Ian Hills 2018
I’ve found that writing poetry is a very tricky task.

First of all you find a subject, sometimes a big ask,
Then you get the words just right and fitting with a beat
And rhyme it every second line and you think that it’s complete.
But no its not, it isn’t done, not by a long chalk

For poetry must read well, and also it must talk.
And when you say the thing out loud the important thing is this:
Rhythm must align with poetic emphasis.
For emphasis adds meaning to a poetic line

You might mean “this, mine” but you don’t mean “this – mine!”
Here’s another example, one of my favourite lines:
Emphasis can change the meaning and even change the time.
“What is this thing called love?” describes to perfection

The lovely, heady early days of a romantic connection.
But if you change the emphasis just a little bit
It moves it on a week or so to when you might commit.
“What is this thing called, love?” you will say to him.

“Well dear, that’s my girdle – I wear it to look slim”.
And now it’s make or break time, will love still endure
When she knows my little secrets? Will I loose my allure?
Change the stress point yet again and move along in years.
“What is this thing called, love?” he will say in tears.
“Why dear that’s a cup, don’t be so absurd”
“Oh yes so it is, I just couldn’t find the word.”
It is so important to get this balance right.

Shuffling the words around can keep you up all night.
It is most important when moving to catharsis
To find the right syl-lable for po-etic em-phasis.
100
Don’t let the bastards grind you down

© Ian Hills 1978
If people try to make you do what you consider wrong

And you find it’s very hard not to go along.
You’re tired out with arguing, it’s hard to stand your ground.
Just don’t let the bastards grind you down.
If you think you’ve made the biggest blunder of your life

And you don’t know where to turn for very good advice.
If you think you’ve been a fool then face it like a clown
But don’t let the bastards grind you down.
There comes a time for everyone to stand for what is right.

The trouble is that when you do you get in a terrible fight.
Stand your ground or run away, don’t worry if you win
Just don’t let the bastards slip it in.
Don’t let the bastards grind you down.

They’ll put you in a mixer
And grind you round and round,
But don’t let the bastards grind you down.
101
Food is forever on my mind

© Ian Hills 2018
Some foods are delicious and some foods are nutritious.

To find a food that’s both is a rare and lovely thing.
So when I find a food that not only is delicious
But is also very healthy, it makes me dance and sing.
There’s a yoghurt called Zero that is my current hero -

Low in sugar and in fat, and I like the taste a lot.
But for all its clever talk, it must be made of chalk.
Take all the fat from yoghurt and chalk is what you’ve got.
There’s a fruit loaf, low in fat, all wholemeal flour in that

And it’s full of lovely, fruity bits.
It has a spicy flavour that I really like to savour
But if I eat too much of it, then I get the shits.
I like fruit on the go but there’s still a lot to know:

Grapes have too much sugar; bananas make you fat.
An orange or a pear is good for oily hair
And plums are antioxidant. Who ever thought of that?
Food choices are complex. What shall I eat next?

Food is all around me. My anxiety is such
That whatever I decide is the next to go inside
The problem I encounter is: I always eat too much.
102
The locksmith
© Ian Hills 2018
I’m afraid it must be said, although it might sound mental:

Any resemblance to persons living or dead
is entirely coincidental.
An enterprising locksmith tried to set up in our town.

He put posters in the local shops and touted up and down.
He put adverts in the paper and in the yellow pages.
And waited for some business for ages and ages.
Then one day he had a brainwave – he would find them where there’re at
And put an ad in the personals. Everyone reads that.
He wrote a brilliant ad after giving it much thought.
The advert just said ‘locksmith’. He kept it sweet and short.
And the phone calls started coming in and he got lots of jobs,
But some calls were quite dubious. They were very, very odd.
The things they want a locksmith for you wouldn’t like to think.
Let’s just say they were unusual with a heavy touch of kink.
When he got a ‘funny’ call he thought it was terrific.

He’d string the caller on until the query was specific.
And when the caller told him just what it was he lusted
The locksmith lowered the boom and pretended he’s disgusted.
Work was so much fun for him with his mobile phone
So long as he could take the calls when he was quite alone.
But on a trip to Brisbane (he was driving – he’s the man)
It was his wife that took the call and the shit that hit the fan.
So now the joke’s on him and he takes it in good part.

He cancelled his cheeky ad though it nearly broke his heart.
And now he gets no funny calls – he is a serious man of leisure.
That ad was the foundation of his business – and his pleasure.
103
A very special Christmas

© Ian hills 2017
Going to a specialist is never very nice.

It means your GP’s found a problem needing specialist advice.
So of course you start to worry and very, very soon
You are full of fear and fluster in a specialist’s waiting room.
And your mind is full of questions: will I be coming back

Or go straight through to the ICU - a suspected heart attack?
Will I need a triple bypass, or maybe even worse
A flower filled, black and shiny, chauffeur driven hearse.
He sent me for an ultrasound and listened to my heart.

He put electrodes on my chest and watched the wiggles on the chart.
He tapped my tummy with his fingers. It made a hollow ring.
That must be OK I’m thinking, it didn’t seem to worry him.
Then I put my clothes on and we had a little chat.

Then he said, “I’ll see you in a year ” and that was that.
So it’s not because it’s Christmas that my heart is full of cheer.
It’s because my cardiologist thinks I’ll be alive next year.
104

© Ian Hills 2018
Coming to the end of another tough year.
Making sure that nothing’s left out.
Making sure that all are in good cheer.
Get the food in, buy the presents,
Try to work out what they’d like.
Hide the presents from the children.
Can you tell me how you hide a bike?

Put the tree up in the lounge room.
Put the Christmas fairy on the top.
Forget the Christmas lights are faulty.
Switch them on and make your brain go pop.
Watch the kids climb up the ladder
Trying hard to reach the highest limb.
Take them off to see the doctor
Hoping that the fall was not too grim.

No one wants to visit auntie.
You know what she’s like on New Year’s Day.
Seven bottles of Chianti.
She only needs the two and she’s away.
And which parents do we visit?
Whose turn is it for Christmas lunch this year?
I can’t remember which one is it?
And who should get the food, and who brings the beer?
105
Take the kids to visit Santa

Dressed up in a suit that makes him sweat.
They come back happy, at the canter.
Whatever did he promise them they’d get.
Baby sits there looking frightened.
Five year old won’t get off his knee.
Ten year old smug and enlightened.
He can’t wait to say its all phoney.
Aren’t you glad when it’s all over?

Another festive season came and went.
The children are like pigs in clover.
And all your money has been spent.
And what do you have to show for it:
A little torch that shines bright as the sun.
And next year we will still go for it
Because all in all it is such fun.
106
Fad diets
© Ian Hills 2018
I’ve seen diets come and go, hundreds over the years.
Don’t eat potatoes or onions or bread or any food that has ears.
On the Pritikin diet for ages: I ate nothing too sweet or too fat.
Then Pritikin died of a cancer. I wasn’t so keen after that.
Now they say don’t eat any trans fat – that’s any food made by machine:
Sausages, bread even meat pies – the whole bloody works it would seem.
Trans fat makes pastry so crispy and doesn’t go rancid at all.
It extends the shelf life of the product. The consumer’s shelf life hits the wall.
Of course we’ll try to avoid it and of course it will prove to be hard

To abstain from full fat yoghurt, butter, blue cheese, and lard.
Anyway it’s a bit of a problem ensuring trans fat’s not on the table.
Food regulations don’t stipulate that trans fat must be on the label.
Some say don’t eat cheese or tomatoes, others don’t eat any meat.
Don’t eat rice, don’t eat fruit, don’t eat carrots -
don’t eat protein that doesn’t have feet.
All this advice is confusing. I think they can all take a hike.
The only advice that’s a constant is to stop eating something you like.
The latest thing now is bacteria. If your tummy bugs are the wrong sort
They can make you so fat you’re enormous, it depends on the type
that you caught.
They say that there is a solution. All that you’ve got to do
Is have a faecal transfusion – get the good bugs into you.
To give you a faecal transfusion there’s a couple of things they can do

But whichever way that you take it, it’s still someone else’s old poo.
Ingesting the poo of a skinny man, I really don’t fancy that.
I’ve given it all a great deal of thought and I think that I’d rather be fat.
107
My remote is buggered
Ian Hills © 2018
My remote is on the blink

The bloody thing’s gone bung.
I’ve done everything I think.
I’ll tell you what I’ve done.
I shook it till it rattled

And I banged it on the floor.
I even changed the batteries
What could I do more?
Should I put it in a bag of rice

Or is that for mobile phones?
I’ve squirted it with WD -
Electronic cortisone.
None of it worked, so in despair

I broke the thing apart
And cleaned it with a cotton bud,
Hoping that might make it start.
Then it was all in pieces.

And I thought myself so clever
Till I realised with sinking heart:
It won’t go back together.
So after all that hassle

And the many hours gone,
I leave my seat, get on my feet
And turn the bugger on.
108
The lute of Frederick Flute

© Ian Hills 2018
Frederick Flute can play the lute.

He can play it badly.
He would play all night and day
And it was awful, sadly.
When Frederick Flute plays the lute

He likes to sing along.
But he sings, you see, in a different key
And it sounds all wrong.
When Frederick Flute plays the lute

And he starts to sing
He sings so high his voice can break
Your glass and other things.
Frederick Flute has lost his lute.

We feel it’s for the best.
We sold it to a jackeroo
And he has gone out west.
I feel sad for that poor lad

And the cows that he’ll be leading.
If he plays the lute like Frederick Flute
The herd will be stampeding.
So if you stray out that way

And a lute starts playing scrambled
You’d best look out and wave and shout
Or else you might get trampled.
109
110
111
Nature
“Look deep into nature, and then you will

understand everything better.”
Albert Einstein
Sunlight and birdsong

Summer storm
Bird tree coming on to night
Gentler ecstasies
Colour
Beside the banyan tree
Sunrise
Seagulls
112
Sunlight and birdsong

© Ian Hills 2018
One misty freezing morning, focussed on my health,

I meditate the sunrise to wake my inner self.
And I start to wonder if perhaps I have been silly
To sit out in a paddock when it was so chilly.
I had two pairs of pants on, a beany on my head,

My Ugg boots and my fur lined gloves and the doona from my bed.
In freezing meditation I could barely move my eyes.
And drifting to nirvana I had a sweet surprise.
A little bird fluttered down and sat upon my thumb

And I lit up in wonder – though my hand was numb.
It surveyed me intently, inspecting everything,
Then fluffing up its feathers it began to sing.
It sang to me for forever before it flew away

Leaving me in wonder to meditate the day.
Then the sun shone brightly and the mist was gone
And I was glowing through and through with sunlight and birdsong
113
Summer storm
© Ian Hills 1987
Bird is moving leg and bill.

Trees are standing very still.
Lake is shining like the sky.
Not a sigh
On the hill:
Summer still.
Now the bird is soaring in the breeze.

Now the lake is rising in small seas.
Now the leaves are shaking in the rain.
Shake and drip,
Drip again:
Summer rain.
Bird is flying over hill.

Grasses sparkle, very still.
Trees are standing wet and green.
Water sheen,
Grey and warm:
Summer storm.
114
Bird tree coming on to night

© Ian Hills 1978
A bird tree in a river pond on sunset nearing dusk;

The fading light and stillness pierce the city husk.
The fountain in the moonshine spraying liquid light
Reminds me of my bird tree, coming on to night.
The pools of light in darkling water sparkle in the breeze

And tug at distant memory of other ponds and trees.
As the white birds flying over floating in the light
Settle in the bird tree, coming on to night.
And the ducks call quick and softly to the white birds in the tree.
And the tree, the pond, the light pools, call softly back to me.
And floating in my mind is a host of other sights
Of my pond and bird tree, coming on to night.
115
Gentler ecstasies
© Ian Hills 1984
My spirit seeks high ecstasy,

Light, rhythm, joy and fantasy.
My body refuses me
And dulls my joy with pain.
I see the sky,

I feel the breeze.
I smell the flowers,
I hear the bees.
I put my restless self at ease
With gentler ecstasies
116
Colour
© Ian Hills 1961
First the yellow - desert sand,

Desolate earth. Windswept land,
Changing, dangerous, vast and free.
Then the green of fertile earth

Fresh with dew - a jewel’s worth.
Then a crowning touch of red

Which alone is glory, but when wed
With purple, yellow, blue and green
Bends to the eye such joys of sight
That I will never ask for night.
117
Beside the banyan tree

© Ian Hills 2018
They set a trap to catch him. They waited half the night.
They thought he might come calling and it seemed that they were right.
The captain even took a turn of sentry by the wall.
Hoping he would catch him when the fox came to call.
The fox, the fox, I see the fox! He ran behind the shed.
Let the dogs out. Get the guns. Get everyone out of bed.
We’d better catch the bastard before he gets away.
I’ve had enough of his midnight raids. Now we’ll make him pay.
Standing in the moonlight fox looked me in the eye,

Giving us a moment before bidding me goodbye.
A moment of connection. As he looked at me
I looked at him in wonder, beside the banyan tree.
Don’t wait, don’t wait. Flee my friend. Run into the night.
Hide from every footfall. Hide from every light.
Run over to the river and along the waterfront.
Lie low until the morning mist can hide you from the hunt.
Then suddenly he vanishes down into the drains.

He hides his head in darkness, and there he will remain
Until the mist comes creeping at the break of day.
Then stealthily he checks the ground and silently away.
Drifting through the woodland on the other side of night,

He makes his way to safety in the misty morning light.
And I often wonder if he ever thinks of me

And the moment I remember beside the banyan tree.
118
Sunrise
© Ian Hills 1975
Last night I couldn’t sleep so I went down to the shore

To watch the sun rise on the sea.
I was feeling tired and grumpy and life was just a bore
And every thing had got the best of me.
As I watched the dawn spreading in the sky

Everything became bright and new.
As I watched the sunrise, I really don’t know why,
I began to feel much brighter too.
There’s a sunrise in the sky every single day

And each day it makes the world anew.
It loosens up the problems that got tangled yesterday
And turns the sky from black, to red, to blue.
119
Seagulls
© Ian Hills 1962
Hovering, spinning, wheeling, crying

Swooping, rising: seagulls flying.
White tipped wings outspread and steady,
Watchful eyes, beaks at the ready
To catch a shivering silver fish
And fly to safety in the cliffs.
Now they glide in a full swing

Clustering together.
Now dispersing, wheeling, crying,
Thrown apart by wind and weather.
Now one dives to strike the prey
And fish in beak to fly away.
The wind once more the circle flings

It scatters, settles, blends.
On and on and round and round
With beating wings and weird sound,
The seagulls wheel and watch for prey
Until the sun sets on the day.
They fly to roost among the rocks
Screeching, squabbling seagull flocks.
120
Kokoda Track
121
War and peace
“The supreme art of war is to subdue the

enemy without fighting.”
Sun Tzu
Paper hero
Another war
Peace
Do you hear the music?
Waking dream
Jolly good job
122
Paper hero
(c) Ian Hills 1981
Hello dad it's good to hear your voice.

I got in from Vietnam quite a while ago.
I just can't find a job and I'm down
to my last two bob.
And no one wants to know me.
I'm a paper hero.
Yes I drink a bit, but you know that's not it,
Even the old soaks don't want to know.
I'm drinking to forget what I just can't handle yet:
No one wants to know me.
I'm a paper hero.
In the jungle it was awful.
I was scared like I'd never been before.
Wondering what went wrong - there were so many Vietcong
And everywhere you look there seem to be more.
In the city, it's not easy
Never knowing who's your friend.
Always wondering when you'll ever be safe again.
Knowing they will get you in the end.
Well, now I'm home again, I wish it was the same.
But I know it's all changed since I went away.
No one wants to know what it was like to go
No one wants to know me.
I'm a paper hero.
Everybody knows that killing is all wrong.
And everybody knows that we shouldn't have fought the Vietcong.
And everybody knows that we really should have won.
So no one wants to know me.
I'm a paper hero.
123
Another war
© Ian Hills 2005
We have learned less than nothing

If we now go thoughtless
To another war
For nothing but vainglory
Or defeat.
And at the end

Another generation
Of lonely lives
Blasted by nightmare recollections.
And then
The long revenge
Of a neighbour badly used.
124
Peace
© Ian Hills 1963
The fields stretch out before my eyes,

My shirt cools in the breeze,
I breathe a sigh to the earth and the sky
And sit down under the trees.
The grasses smell of softest hay,

The heat falls down through the leaves,
Cicadas serenade the sky,
My dog sleeps over my knees.
125

© Ian Hills 1963
A melody fair
Trips through the air.
A thunderous note
Swells your heart in your throat.
Melody divine
With notes smooth as wine
Sustains your soul
And makes you whole.
Notes blend to make it

And then forsake it.
It brings peace and rest,
Renews you with zest.
126
Waking dream
© Ian Hills 1963
Birds sing, grass grows, wind blows.

Green is my colour and blue my surround.
Red, purple and gold, all new and all old.
Soar with your feet on the ground.
Come with me and dance to the music.

The traffic is friendly, the rain is at peace.
I love you and the world and I dare
To breathe so much more than the air.
127
Jolly good job (a brief history

of aerial bombardment)
© Ian Hills 2018
Little birdie flying high

Drops his luggage from the sky.
‘Ew’ says the farmer wiping his eye,
‘Jolly good job that cows can’t fly’.
Little biplane flying high

Drops grenades down from the sky.
The hayloft burns and there’s mayhem.
Good job there’s not more of them.
Little bomber in the sky

Drops its payload from on high.
Takes out a street –completely gone.
Good job they don’t make bigger bombs.
Enola Gaye flying high

Drops an A-bomb from the sky.
Kills Hiroshima. War is done.
Good job they only made the one.
Fifteen thousand A-bombs, dammit,

That’s enough to kill the planet.
Say farewell to the human race.
Good job there’s no A-bombs in space.
Time moves on and very soon

We’re sending people to the moon.
Jolly good job: when the earth is gone
We’ll find a new place to live on.
A planet where there is no war

That is what we’re looking for.
There’ll be no bombers in the sky
Where only birds and pigs can fly.
128
129
Greetings and farewells
“Don’t cry because it’s over.

Smile because it happened.”
Dr. Seuss
Sunday night at the Alice

Farewell to Townsville
Welcome to the world
Farewell Darren Ey
Farewell to the Fennell’s
A world without Ben
Destiny
130
Sunday night at the Alice

© Ian Hills 1980
It’s Sunday night at the Alice. It’s time to head for home.
Time to think of leaving here and head out on our own.
Sunday night at the Alice and we’ve been flying high.
It’s been a great weekend. Now its time to say goodbye.
Hey there give me your address. Can you lend me a pen?

I’ve got a funny feeling that I’ll never see you again.
I’ve learned to sing some great new songs that I never

knew before
And I don’t want to stop now. I want to learn some more.
I’ve learned to see trees dancing and hear the pixies sing.
I fell in love with a unicorn and I heard the bluebells ring.
The festival is over now. All good things must end.

But I’ll take away some brand new songs and a lot of
brand new friends.
131
Farewell to Townsville
© Ian Hills 1981
I’ll say goodbye to the beaches and the hill,

The sunshine and the island and the sea.
I’ll say goodbye to the people that I love -
The places and the people who have been so good to me.
It’s time to leave. I must be moving on.

It was good to be here, now it’s right to leave.
Adventure calls and I reply, “I’ll come,”
To make another life, sing another song.
To leave is sad, the sadness of the free.

Good things often start with what you lose.
Remember me and I’ll remember you,
The things we did, the way we were,
The tearful and the cheerful, for the old and the new.
I spent the best years of my life here

And always felt so right here.
I grew as the city grew
With the things she made me learn.
Knowing I am going, I am grieving to be leaving
And treasuring the memories
Till the day that I return.
132
Welcome to the world

© Ian Hills 1985
We are pleased to be the first to greet you

And to hear your first great cry.
We cheered for joy to meet you
And hear you calling in reply.
We laughed together for the wonder

Of your tiny hands and curls.
We are proud to be the first to tell you
“Welcome to the world.”
133
Farewell Darren Ey
© Ian Hills 2018
Darren Ey is leaving and we are going to miss him.

He ran this place so perfectly; sometimes you could just kiss him.
He kept the gardens beautiful and ran the Village bus
And solved a million problems with a minimum of fuss.
It’s been good to know him and sad to say goodbye.

There is no doubt we won’t forget our time with Darren Ey.
Twice there were dreadful floods and we thought that we would drown.
He helped us all to safety in a higher part of town.
And when the floods receded and there was no more rain
He helped to fix the place up so we could move back in again.
And though it was a dreadful time with everything awry

It would have all been so much worse without Darren Ey.
He would come and change the light bulbs and do it straight away
Or any extra help you need - he’d be there that same day.
He’d help to reach or lift or push, assist with this or that.
But anyone who misbehaved – he’d come and have a chat.
He never tried to overcharge or blame for wear and tear.

I’ve never had a landlord so honest and so fair.
Darren Ey is moving on to new exciting things

And we will all look out for him and what his future brings.
We wish him all the best of luck with his new enterprise.
We know he’ll be successful at whatever thing he tries.
And in the future we’ll remember and be proud we knew the guy.
You can’t forget a bloke like that, we all know Darren Ey.
134
Farewell to the Fennell’s

© Ian Hills 2018
It’s been very good to know you

In the land of Liberty.
You’ve been the best of neighbours
And the best of friends to me.
We’re really going to miss you

And your tales of derring-do
In Australia’s great outback
And in the boardrooms too.
We’ll always hold you in our hearts

Wherever you may go
And even as we miss you
There’s one thing we all know:
You can’t keep good people down

We all know this firsthand -
That Pat’s still writing poetry
And Mark still works the land.
135
A world without Ben:

an elegy for my brother
© Ian Hills 2018
Who will keep the bastards honest now that Ben is gone?
Expose corruption in high places – who will take that on?
When workers died and bosses lied it was Ben who let us know.
Where the rich exploit the poor he was there to strike a blow.
Ben would always win an argument and leave you in his wake
Wondering how he knew so much and not make a mistake.
Some called him argumentative; he always loved a fight.
And often you forgave him that – he was so often right.
An investigative journalist – they say he was the best.

A journalist of journalists, he would never rest
Until he had the story. He always followed through
Till he unearthed the secret that you didn’t want him to.
He exposed corruption and rich people’s greed

That makes poor people suffer when they really are in need.
Wittenoom and Maralinga, the government, the banks:
So many people hated him, for that he gets my thanks.
Generous with his success, a miser with his pain

Cutting to his critics, charming and yet vain.
A good man to have your back when push comes to shove.
I found him easy to admire, more difficult to love.
I wanted to be closer but that was hard to do.

He liked to have his space and I like to have mine too.
He had thousands of admirers, but few invited home.
And like so many heroes he died at home alone.
Ave Ben Hills 1942-2018
136
Destiny
© Ian Hills 1984
That old man has been a welcome friend.

Many hours together we’ve talked about the end.
Polishing his crescent moon, his razor-bladed scythe,
He offered me an honourable discharge from life.
I didn’t take it then, I often wonder why.

He made it sound so easy to slip away from life.
Perhaps it was my other friend

Who offered me no journey’s end.
A greater gift she offered me:
My destiny.
“Destiny, not destination.

Being is the goal ”
She said.
“Living is a celebration.
Celebrate your soul”.
137
138
Title index
A Christmas fairy tale 99
Alice Springs is not the place for me 62
Alice Springs folk festival 90
Alien abduction 49
Another war 124
A very special Christmas 104
A world without Ben 136
Beside the banyan tree 118
Bird tree coming on to night 115
Changing times 76
Colour 117
Decisions 35
Destiny 137
Don’t let the bastards grind you down 101
Do you hear the music 126
Dyslexia bizlecksya 54
Experienced camper 67
Fad diets 107
Fair cow 52
Farewell Darren Ey 134
Farewell to the Fennell’s 135
Farewell to Townsville 132
Fatal encounter 65
Flea flaw flu 47
Flying high 34
Food is forever 102
Future echoes 48
Gentler ecstasies 116
Going home 55
Have you got what it takes? 39
Hung parliament 29
I did but see him passing by 94
Jolly good job 128
Life story 64
Magic hitchhiker 59
Man of the land 85
Michael and Jilly 87
Midwife to the soul 73
139
Modern adventurer 61
More than we could do 75
My coward’s hand 33
My life with houses 69
My remote 108
One-eyed John 89
Orange tree 46
Paper hero 123
Peace 125
Poetic emphasis 100
Rainbow warrior 91
Rendezvous 80
Seagulls 120
Show day 88
Summer storm 114
Sunday night at the Alice 131
Sunlight and birdsong 113
Sunrise 119
Tell me your story 79
The chase 77
The emu war 97
The gnome dome 45
The good old days 86
The last page 63
The locksmith 103
The lute of Frederick Flute 109
The maid’s day off 93
The rich man built his house upon the sand 32
The sergeant’s daughter 81
The students are revolting 30
Those men 53
Tis the season to be stressed out 105
Traffic accident 92
Try not to turn love away 74
Waking dream 127
Welcome to the world 133
We’re all heroes now 37
What use is poetry? 26
Whatever happened to the grass 51
What I thought but didn’t say 78
Wunch - a collective noun for bankers 31
140
Index of first lines

A
A bird tree in a river pond on sunset nearing dusk 115
A few years ago I retired and decided to go on a trip 67
A little bit west of the highway 85
Alice Springs is not the place for me 62
Australians all do not lament 29
B
Billy the gnome did not have a home 45
Bird is moving leg and bill 114
Birds sing, grass grows, wind blows 127
D
Dark shapes looming in the night 52
Darren Ey is leaving and we are going to miss him 134
Do you hear the music? 126
F
First the yellow - desert sand 117
Frederick Flute can play the lute 109
G
Go silently along the veranda 80
Going to a specialist is never very nice 104
H
Have you got what it takes to honour what you said 39
He is a prince – the royal kind 94
Hello dad it's good to hear your voice 123
Home is the big black tree 55
Hovering, spinning, wheeling, crying 120
How I long to bear your pain 73
How I loved you near to me 75
141
I
I can see from your face 79
I can still remember I’m very sad to say 76
I don’t recall my first home. I think it was destroyed 69
I finished up working in Roebourne 59
I got myself a parrot. I called him Silly Jack 49
I sometimes feel my life’s a cloud floating in the sky 64
I stood where Captain Cook once stood high up on a hill 51
I was born in the wartime. My parents were inclined 74
I was heading to North Queensland on the inland route 65
I wonder what will cure my cough 54
I’ll say goodbye to the beaches and the hill 132
I’m afraid it must be said 103
I’ve found that writing poetry is a very tricky task 100
I’ve seen diets come and go, hundreds over the years 107
If people try to make you do what you consider wrong 101
If you think you’ve gone about as far as you can go 33
It all happens when the folkies meet at Easter in Alice Springs 90
It’s been very good to know you 135
It’s Sunday night at the Alice. Time to head for home 131
L
Last night I couldn’t sleep so I went down to the shore 119
Little birdie flying high 128
M
Michael cooks food that’s delicious 87
My remote is on the blink 108
My spirit seeks high ecstasy 116
O
On the maid’s day off she went walking in the rain 93
One misty freezing morning, focussed on my health 113
One-eyed John is French 89
P
Purple men with yellow spots 53
142
S
Santa’s in a flurry coming up to Christmas Eve 99
She rode out in the morning, horse bounding with delight 92
Some foods are delicious and some foods are nutritious 102
T
That old man has been a welcome friend 137
The fields stretch out before my eyes 125
The Liberal party has a right wing but it doesn’t have a left 34
The night is bright. Around the town the lights 88
The orange tree’s first blossom 46
The pope is very progressive. He will not have you kissing his ring 41
The rich man built his house upon the sand 32
The students are revolting. They took the day off school 30
The world is full of warnings: caution automatic doors 61
There once was an emu named Eric 97
They say an era of my life is coming to a close 63
They set a trap to catch him. They waited half the night 118
They tried to take our heroes away 37
Those government men are at it again 35
Tis the season to be stressed out 105
W
Wandering in the forest 48
We are pleased to be the first to greet you 133
We got married, man and wife 78
We have learned less than nothing 124
What a tease, a flirt, a boy-snatcher 77
What do you call a group of bankers? I mean a collective noun 31
What is the name of that pretty young lady 81
What use is poetry?” the shopkeeper said 26
When I look into your eyes 91
When the flea saw the fly on the floor 47
Who will keep the bastards honest now that Ben is gone 136
Y
Years ago when I was young 86
143
144
Chronological Index
1960’s
Colour .......................................... 117
Do you hear the music? ............. 126
Dyslexia bizlecksya ..................... 54
Fair cow........................................ 52
Future echoes .............................. 48
Orange tree .................................. 46
Peace ............................................. 125
Rendezvous ................................. 80
Seagulls......................................... 120
Show day ...................................... 88
The chase ..................................... 77
The good old days ...................... 86
The last page................................ 63
Those men ................................... 53
Waking dream ............................ 127
1970’s
Bird tree coming on to night .... 115
Don’t let the bastards ................. 101
Midwife to the soul..................... 73
One-eyed John ............................ 89
Sunrise.......................................... 119
Tell me your story ...................... 79
Try not to turn love away .......... 74
1980’s
Alice Springs folk festival .......... 90
Alice Springs is not the place .... 62
Destiny ......................................... 137
Farewell to Townsville ............... 132
Gentler ecstasies ......................... 116
Have you got what it takes?....... 39
Life story ...................................... 64
More than we could do .............. 75
145
My coward’s hand ........................... 33

Paper hero ........................................ 123
Rainbow warrior.............................. 91
Summer Storm ................................ 114
Sunday night at the Alice ............... 131
Welcome to the world .................... 133
We’re all heroes now. ..................... 37
1990’s
Going home ..................................... 55
The sergeant’s daughter ................. 81
2000’s
Alien abduction ............................... 49
Another war ..................................... 124
Man of the land ............................... 85
2010’s
A Christmas fairy tale ..................... 99
A very special Christmas ................ 104
A world without Ben....................... 136
Beside the Banyan Tree .................. 118
Changing times................................ 76
Decisions, decisions ........................ 35
Experienced Camper ...................... 67
Fad diets............................................ 107
Farewell Darren Ey ......................... 134
Farewell to the Fennell’s ................. 135
Fatal Encounter ............................... 65
Flea flaw flue .................................... 47
Flying high ....................................... 34
Food is forever on my mind .......... 102
Hung Parliament ............................ 29
I did but see him passing by .......... 94
Jolly good job ................................... 128
146
Magic hitchhiker ............................ 59

Michael and Jilly ............................ 87
Modern adventurer ....................... 61
My life with houses ........................ 69
My remote is buggered ................. 108
Poetic emphasis ............................. 100
Sunlight and birdsong ................... 113
The emu war ................................... 97
The gnome dome ........................... 45
The locksmith................................. 103
The lute of Frederick Flute ........... 109
The maid’s day off ......................... 93
The rich man built his house ....... 32
The students are revolting ........... 30
Tis the season to be stressed out .. 105
Traffic accident .............................. 92
Whatever happened to the grass . 51
What I thought but didn’t say ...... 78
What use is poetry? ....................... 26
Wunch: a collective noun ............. 31
147
148
Index of illustrations
Full page illustrations
51 Beach
43 Billy the gnome
115 Bird tree
95 Eric the emu
(also front cover)
47 Flea flaw flue
116, 149 Foxtail palm
27 Hung parliament
121 Kokoda Track
71 Love
57 Magic hitchhiker
83 Man of the land
17, 148 Musgroom house
111 Nature
55 Pandanis
125 Peace
25 Poetry book
129 Sailing away
48 Which way
149
Miniature illustrations
128 Atomic cloud,
45 Billy the gnome
113 Birdsong
65 Caravan
64 Cloud
137 Death
137 Destiny
61 Dragon
86 Drover
97 Eric the emu
128 Flying pig,
109 Frederick Flute,
29 Hung parliament,
103 Locksmith
73 Love
59 Magic hitchhiker,
93 Maid
85 Man of the land
108 My remote,
123 Paper Hero,
65 Stream
114 Summer storm,
63 The last page
150

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EVERYTHING

Other books by Ian Hills

Contact the author at:

About the author

Ron Penwarn’s art

Get a personally commissioned artwork from Ron Penwarn

or by contacting the author at

About the illustrator

Illustrated by Ron Penwarn

Published in Australia in 2019 by

Photograph of Ian Hills by Frank McDonald

For John: Defender of the oppressed

“There are only two ways to live your life.

26 What use is poetry?

Life and the road

People and happenings

War and peace

Greetings and farewells

139, Index of titles

What use is poetry?

“What use is poetry?” the shopkeeper said

“Well, that’s a good question” I said in reply.

With a lot in the balance, when chaos snowballs

And sometimes on impulse I think to send

Poetry helps us to think in new ways,

Think of the state of the world, how it’s run.

“Occasionally he stumbled over the truth, but

Australians all do not lament

So join with me and celebrate

Remember when some bastards promised

The students are revolting

It is their generation will be left to sort it out

“The students are revolting” the politician said

“It is you should go to school,” they patiently replied.

I feel guilty that my generation did not do enough

Wunch: a collective noun for bankers

What do you call a group of bankers? I mean a collective noun

But we really need a word that is not considered crude

‘Wunch’ is just the perfect word – as yet is has no meaning

I like using ‘wunch’ because you can say it to their face

The rich man built his house

The rich man built his house upon the sand

The poor man built his house upon the rock

The council came and they pulled his shanty down.

“Unto him who has shall it be given,” Jesus said

If you think you’ve gone about as far as you can go

“We are all of us afraid.

Remember the women who fought for the vote

Here, take my hand, come and stand with me.

“We are all of us afraid.

But it really is a strength you see because it often feels

They often have an easy ride in another party’s pocket.

I hope you didn’t find this little poem too absurd

I don’t mean to be contrary, or to start a war of words,

Those government men are at it again,

Backstabbing and grabbing and constantly blabbing

They just want to fight about who is right

They bully and lie as they reach for the sky.

Hearing them from afar it sounds like a bar

They just can’t decide who’s along for the ride

They don’t mind a woman, if she’s a goodun

Policies changed till they wind up deranged

We won’t question the banks, oh yes we will, thanks