"Demon Flower"-by the Reverend Hellfire

“Demon Flower”-by the Reverend Hellfire

Poems from the Kurilpa Poets


We are proud to present (in no particular order) an ongoing selection of Verse, photos and Art from the talented members of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity.  Check this page regularly for the latest additions..



It came creeping along with my healthy self,

unfilled with the cares of the world.

There was no missing heart beat

Nor a missing step in my gait

There was no sign of pain to come

But there was this lingering doubt

Whenever I went out to piss

As waters wouldn’t run to my wish

Even when urged,

With my whispered swish , swish ……


Pregnant remained the silence I endured

But the trickle-down effect

Was hard to bear as it was like

The waste of morning dew

On a blazing summer morn..


Cancer was censored out

But it dared to cross my mind

Before the doctors numbers revealed

My PSA count was up, and up again

I was bound for a quick chop

And a quicker stitch up!


My bladder is gone to join the hospital scrap

Me, abandoned to the mercies of a stoma bag

Dragging along the rest of plastic plumbing

My soul marches on to a time of eternal bliss

Oh, how I still pine for my long departed

            Natural Penile Piss !A VijA Vij


Vijyan Chandra © Copyright September 2013.



(-for Lily, with Love)

I Only Rob the Dead”,

She said.

I just break into their houses

while they’re being buried,

They don’t care, they’re dead.

I only take what I can carry

in my hands,

or fit into my bag,

cash, CDs, jewels…

little things like that,

Once I even stopped to feed

their poor forgotten cat.

Poor old thing was hungry, anyway,

the lawyers or the government or

Whoever’s in the Will will get

Every damned thing Else.

The House,

The Land,

the furniture and cars.

They get Everything

I have Nothing.

My life is so damned hard,

Who cares if I use

some dead guys credit card?

Why shouldn’t I take

what I can carry in my hands?

The dead don’t need it anymore

I’m sure they’d understand..”


At this point, my new found friend,

(a young girl who laughs quite carelessly

when she calls herself a thief,

And in darker, desperate moments

has been known to walk the streets),

stops talking, and looks up at me,

with the ancient weariness of her profession

writ sad and large in her golden flecked,

three thousand year old eyes,

through which drift dreams of pyramids

beneath Egyptian skies.  

reverend profile red-Reverend Hellfire




Are we base jumpers or flotsam and jetsam jettisoned

Packages without parachutes

Ethics morality lighten the load [conscience]

Approaching terminal speed?

We, we the people we will not bounce

The sudden stop at the bottom surprisingly is the least of our worries

As we descend through the rights of man, hard won

So carelessly lost

Those who profit from our descent insanely grinning

altimeter  jammed freefalling through fog

Too late, too late they will see the profiteers

Wads of cash cannot soften the impact

For society is shackled together: manacled to the rights of each are the rights of all.

And as our rights plummet not even a dull glimmer of hope illuminates

And invisible our struggle in the cosmos

The troubles of humanity

rate little to intelligent life wherever that may be.

the Loaded Dog barks


  Greg Secomb (The loaded dog) 





The Creator looked at the earth and thought that

he will make man and woman from the dirt

All the bushes in the garden that stand tall The

Creator made them all

All the mountains high, sometimes you have to

ask why

They have their purpose you see The Creator

made them all as he pleased

All the little birds that fly in the trees They go

looking everywhere for seeds

All the different tribes in the land Where

everyone settled on their own ground

The Creator moved over many waters and

created all his sons and daughters

The Creator created the corroboree and a time to

dance for me

The Ochre in the land I paint them on with my

own hands.


-Theresa Creed                   Theresa Creed

(Kalkadoon and Pitta Pitta elder, Theresa was born on the Woorabinda Aboriginal Mission.

Her poems are memories and visions of her families traditional land, their dispossesion and survival)





He knew every riff

every fibre

every artist

every jazz bar

within the city blocks.

New York: the city that does not sleep.

I remember a night of chilled vodka and live jazz

experiancing his connection

to the timbre of the bass

to the rapture of the saxophone

to the reseonance of the trombone

to melodic faded keys of the Grand,

reflecting in Yin is Yang.

To the bellows of the drummersrhythmic beat

to the fusion of entrancing voices.

Every jazz bar had a story, and he knew them all.


His love for the legends of Jazz:

Charlie Parker, John Coltrane,

The Duke, Miles Davis,

I have only named a few.

The list seems endless, much like the music,

His jazz collection enfolded his life.

In reflection I ask in silence

which song lingered in his final moments?


Farewell my brother,


I hope the angels sang with entrancing voices.

Farewell.                  ivan radix

-Ivan Radix 8/2011

(Born on the Caribbean island of Granada, Ivan subsequently lived in New York and Asia for many years before finally settling in Brisbane.)


getting emotiona; Mr R





poem Jpig


More from the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity coming soon..

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