Here I am on a Jet Plane, somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. Therefore today’s Throwback Friday poem is a very appropriate finale piece, to coincide with my amazing adventures in Canada over the past 21 days.
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It Was Time To Leave (Revised)
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It’s time to tidy up my mess Clean up the room and get dressed It’s time to pack my suitcase Fill the travel bag and vacate this place It’s time to put on my famous rocker shoes And walk away from this dream come true It’s time to say heartfelt goodbyes To these wonderful Canadian guys It’s time for final hugs and kisses Sad farewells and best wishes It’s time for my usual emotional tears Separate myself from these every day cheers It’s time to flyaway from a land of berries and fairies Leave this magical world of faraway families It’s time to say a million thank you’s For making my stay a Really Real great do It’s time for me to travel back home With glorious memories of this magical Astrodome
Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in May 2023) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as the opening poem in Chapter 8, War: A Waste of Time
“And I have carried on this war. Though no one wins an endless fight. I have claimed that God has guided me. And killed to prove I’m right.” Lyrics from Damien Rice’s song, “What if I’m wrong.”
Between Lines, Who Holds the Power
Do you see – a man walking on water? Did you see – his feet were bleeding? Do you read – the missing scriptures? Did you read – your own family tree? Do you hear, speechless angels, singing? Did you hear – the songbirds crying?
Do you feel – the erased wars calling? Did you feel – the hard rains falling? Do you know – the ones who are lying? Did you know, the refugees are dying?
“What If I’m Wrong”, Lyrics, by Damien Rice
I could wrestle with tomorrow Until tomorrow’s in the past Because I have torn apart what’s beautiful To prove that nothing lasts I have stayed locked behind these doors To show there’s no way out I got lost within the space between The question and the doubt I have built a wall between
What I believed and what is true I have sacrificed the love I had For power over you
I have convicted those who disagree And walked over the weak I have placed a gun within the mouth Of those who dared to speak
And on an ordinary day In an ordinary way I have crushed the minds of children With extraordinary shame
And I have carried on this war Though no one wins an endless fight I have claimed that God has guided me And killed to prove I’m right
What if I’m wrong What if I’m wrong What if I’m wrong What if I’m wrong
Is this soul worth saving at all? Cause if I lose my wings then surely I must fall And the gods prayed to the gods they made
We could wrestle with tomorrow until tomorrow’s in the past We could tear apart what’s beautiful To prove that nothing lasts
We could stay locked behind the doors To show there’s no way out We could get lost within the space between The question and the doubt
Photos FromOur Time in Booktown. Friday afternoon Was set‑up time for both the Bookstall Vendors and the Food Vendors — a quiet buzz of preparation before the weekend unfolded.
Saturday: Was all about settling in and getting to know our fellow book vendors in Marquee T — Robert, Janette, Suzanne & Karen, Collin, and Lynette.
Although officially “T”, we were affectionately nicknamed the Zombie Marquee, thanks to Robert’s eye‑catching banner at the entrance.
Of course, my assistant salesman was the true star attraction of my bookstall.
Down at ground level, under the tables, Frankie and the little girl next door — tucked beneath her dad’s table of books — became fast friends.
Every now and then, we wandered through the festival to soak up the wonderful carnival atmosphere.
There was dancing in the streets, violin music drifting from a balcony, giant book readers roaming about, and even Larry the Lizard slithered into our tent to say hello.
A lucky snapshot: a bird crossing an invisible line between sun and sky, caught in the quiet shimmer of possibility.
From Beyond Nowhere
Below the invisible line, Between the sun and time, It is impossible to know That what we perceive Are the stars’ definitive stare, Or, whether the outer glow Is the universe’s cosmic snow From beyond nowhere.
This Tanka was inspired by a moment of stillness and lift — a bird rising into the blue, catching the wind as if it knew exactly where it needed to go. It’s a small meditation on movement, uncertainty, and the quiet hope that carries us toward calmer places.
To Catch the Wind(a Tanka)
Let me catch the wind, blowing toward the unknown, where silver seeds grow beyond the world’s toxic snow, into peaceful olive trees.
All the Essentials are packed Clunes, here we come!
The Clunes Booktown Festival, one of Australia’s largest and most-loved literary gatherings, celebrates its 20th Anniversary this year. I’ll be there this weekend, March 21st and 22nd, set up in one of the bustling Book Trader Marquees (Fraser St, Marquee “T”) with Frankie beside me, proudly taking on his role as assistant salesman and crowd‑greeter. With the days full of books, conversations, and festival buzz, I won’t be blogging much over the weekend — but once we’re back home and the dust has settled, I’ll share a few stories and photos from our time in Booktown.
As always, it should be a wonderful weekend in Booktown, and I’m looking forward to sharing a few highlights once Frankie and I return.
Wishing everyone a wonderful weekend — and if you’re heading to Clunes, do stop by and say hello.
In a world scarred by mines, machines, and careless extraction, the sky remains a refuge for those who choose to protect rather than exploit. These Black Knights rise through that open air as nature’s quiet defenders, calling us to join their watch.
Black Knights
We are nature’s Black Knights, guardians of the planet’s salvage rights. Watch us soar into the light
There above the earth’s trees, where the atmosphere is free, beyond the Daleks of mankind’s dreadful coalmines and destructive landmines. “ Now is the time to become a member of our sky’s peaceful nerve centre. We welcome all monitors, menders, clever inventors, and recycled pretenders.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 