What I should have said
when Mike Whittle died, was
what a mighty man he was,
though small in stature,
yeah, how he set the students’
minds on fire.
Instead I said
he always jabbed himself with insulin
while we were having lunch
and I said that this was a literary tradition
like Polonius being stabbed in the arras
and Mark Antony falling on his sword after Actium
before Octavian could get there ahead of him.
And then I said that Antony's lover Cleopatra died
when she arranged to be bitten on her ***** by an asp.
And I thought I was a smart *** by saying
don’t get confused and think she was bitten on her asp.
Well, Mike and I did laugh about literary allusions,
along with all that insulin and his pancreas,
during all of those immortal lunches.
But what I should have said was that students
worshiped him, and they said that
‘he gave me my love of learning’.
Mike, you mighty little giant.
And how I loved that you could laugh when the admin staff
tried to cut you down because they hate popularity so much.
Those blasts of laughter in your classes
frightened them and they thought you were
an iconoclast. Oh Mike.  I love you, just like all your students.
That's what I should have said about
the gifts you gave us all in
Learn, Love and Laughter 101.
This is your immortal epitaph.

Mike T Minehan

This message is coming to you on the  
Cee Haitch Zee. This is the
Circumstellar Habitable Zone
for those who don't know astronomy.
I'm god, see, from the other side of the sun.
Yeah. I’m the omnipotent, omniscient
and magnificent one, or, if you can look at me directly,
I'm the Dazzling One.

Now the reason for this xenology
is to tell you the secret of the suns
and to vent all that cosmic stuff,
including the terrestrial file
on life and death, the splendid and the vile,
religion, and why I **** innocent children sometimes.
There. That orta be enough for a while.

So look. I’ll keep it really simple here.
The reason for everything is,
it’s um, gosh. Well. Would you believe?
I don't have this immediately in front of me.
And anyway, it's been a very long time
since I dragged you out of slime.

Now don't go getting emotional here,
because I'll delegate this to Harahel,
he's the Angel of Knowledge, or maybe Gabriel.
Although I suppose we could leave it
till the Day of Trumpets, judgement and hell,
y'know, and go all traditional.

But I really don't mean to be threatening
at this stage,
so I'll get back to you on this one later,
and then I'll give you a shout.
Yeah. This is god calling,
over and out.

Mike T Minehan

I tried to write a poem about The Woman,
but I read it again and didn’t like it,
because it sounded like I knew what I was talking about.
Well, I don’t. Not really, no.
I’m just desperately grateful
that some women noticed me, and some
cared about me and gave me
the world. Their world,
which means everything, you see,
including comfort, fierce loyalty,
and most of all, acceptance and forgiveness.
Forgiveness was their greatest gift of all.
So this stuff about
cosmic kaleidoscopes of desire,
and delirious dreams and
raunchy ***, and, and,
pain sometimes, is,
well, it’s only partly true.
Incandescent love is unconditional.
That's what they gave me, see,
and this all I want to humbly say.

Mike T Minehan

She came first in a dream
when I was fifteen. Yes,
she was the fire of ecstasy and her first licks
set my world aflame.
She's a shape-shifter, sometimes
fair and sometimes dark,
but always naked
when she comes.
She often whispers secrets
in the molten, swollen nights.
She even shows me jungles
and raging torrents down
where tom toms throb.
But when the morning breaks,
and I'm alone,
I struggle to remember.
Accordingly, I search the cities,
the far off mists and mountains
and the subterranean rivers
every burning day.
So it won’t surprise you to know
that where I mostly go to find her now
is under the volcano,
the place of endless fire.
It's where us dreamers and those demons
dance with our desire.

Mike T Minehan

I’m part of the archipelago today,
just a little island lying around,
with a lagoon and some palm trees,
and here I am shooting the breeze
with you.
So I hope the rest of you islands
out there are enjoying the birds,
maybe an albatross with a preposterous
wing span, some turtles, and a castaway
with a bottle or two.
There could even be a galleon on the horizon,
with pieces of eight and doubloons.
Maybe not, but so what?
It doesn’t matter when you let go
and say Hi ** when you’re
part of the archipelago
today.  

Mike T Minehan

When you're a writer, you get invited to strange gigs
sometimes, where usually, the audience is arty farty
or even a bit precious and pretentious.
You know, the blue rinse set.
But I was once invited to recite poetry in a bar,
where I knew my audience might be ******,
or maybe even abusive, and wouldn't give
a **** about writing.
Yeah? Well, I'm a bit of a word warrior, really,
so I didn't back off.
I stepped right in for the fight.

I said straight up that my poem was especially
for people like them who thought that writers are
wishy-washy, woffling, **** weak and luke-warm.
So then I said,
PPPHHHaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrtttttttt.
Very loud.

I told them this was some royal raspberry,
just for people like them,
who thought this was going to be another boring poem.
And then I threw in a few words like, ah, ****, doggy fashion,
finger up the ****, you know, just to liven things up.

I told them what I really thought.
***** You! Especially seeing as how you think poetry’s
some wimpy, bleeding heart, limp **** stuff. Right?
So let's get right down and ***** here.

Which is much more interesting, eh?
And do you know what that says about you?
No?  You bleeding, blinkered, blind-as-bats
broomstick-up-the-arsed, boring, bonehead *******!

So don't call this poet ****-weak any more
or I'll hit you bang between the eyes
and up between your thighs.
I've got some things to say you'd better not ignore.

When it comes to words, I'm a gouger and a biter.
I'm a brawling, hard-as-nails, no-holds-barred street fighter.
I'm a writer.

Yeah, well, no surprise here. That made them quieter.
I'd shut them up. So what did that prove?
I'd just abused and confused them.
It made me think, well, why did I bother?
Poems are for believers and lovers, aren’t they?
They don't need me to fight for them in bars.
Poems just are.
Yes,and some of them might live
as long as the stars.


Mike T Minehan

I don’t want the world,
just a mountain and some waterfalls will do,
yes, and a tropical hideaway
with a palm tree or two,
an outrigger canoe
and you.

If only I can find you again.
Where are you?

Mike T Minehan