Archive for the ‘politics’ Category

Wilson 'Iron Bar' Tuckey

I’ve written several political poems in the few years I’ve been writing poetry. Some have been about specific political players, others about social issues. I think I can say that every poem I’ve written about a politician has been followed by their eventual demise. I’d like to take some credit for the departure of Thatcher, Howard, Abbott, Wilson Tuckey; less keen to think I had any part in the self-destruction of Rudd and Gillard. The life of a political leader in Australia can be short and sharp these days.

Before writing poetry, I had written song lyrics for the South Australian Trade Union Choir. One was “Yes, we have no Osamas” – it took a few years before Bin Laden eventually left the scene. I wrote one about the Hindmarsh Island Bridge affair and one about working conditions (around the time of the ill-fated so-called “Workchoices” policy).

I think the first political poem I wrote was about Wilson Tuckey, pictured above, a particularly obnoxious right-wing, Western Australian politician. As a publican, before entering parliament, he was convicted of assault after striking an Aboriginal man with a length of steel cable. I wrote the poem (in 2009) in response to a challenge to write a love poem from an unusual angle; hence “Wilson Tuckey, I love you man”. The last stanza is:

Wilson Tuckey, I love you man

you show us what it means to be Australian

some call you redneck, some say you’re not cool

but you are our bedrock, you are no fool

you are the brown substance of this wide, sunburnt land

and that’s why, Wilson Tuckey, I really, really, really love you man.

Tuckey lost his seat in 2010.


I wrote one about Margaret Thatcher and Chilean mass-murderer, General Pinochet in 2013, which imagined the conversation between the two when Thatcher had Pinochet round for tea at Downing Street. A snippet is:

How do you take your tea Mr. Pinochet?

Please stay for dinner? We have a buffet.

With all sorts of meats, spare ribs and jugged hare.

When you burn a dead body, is the flesh very rare?

Thatcher died a few months later.


Last year I wrote one about Tony Abbott, modelled on a Billy Collins poem. It imagined undressing the then Prime Minister, and concluded with:

And I could feel his tremor

as I pulled them clear of his ankles,

left him there spreadeagled, naked.

Can still hear

his cry of abandonment,

the way a man completely out of his depth might cry for help

the way newly weds might cry on hearing their union is invalid

the way a child might cry as it sees its mother sink beneath the waves

the way a man dying of shame might issue a last mournful howl.

Just a few weeks ago, Abbott was deposed by his own party.

These poems are now past their use-by date. I was delighted that I had a chance to give the Abbott poem one final outing just a few weeks ago as guest poet at the Friendly Street Halifax Cafe gig. It will now be consigned to history, like its subject (though he shows signs of not going quietly).

Can I claim any part in the demise of my subjects? Well I will anyway, even if it’s just for making one or two people think about the subject of the poem. So, if you are going to write a political poem, air it as often as possible while the topic is still relevant. They are very perishable commodities.

Copyright Mike Hopkins 2015

Live by the onion

die by the onion, we knew

it would end in tears

Copyright Mike Hopkins 2015


Poem number 30 for April 2015. The final one. I’ll miss NaPoWriMo, because it makes me write every day.

Like many people, I’m very uncomfortable with the exploitation of patriotism by politicians, and the selective commemoration of some wars but not others. On Anzac day in Canberra, an aboriginal man was prevented from marching. He had a banner saying “Lest we Forget – The Frontier Wars” (referring to the people killed in undeclared wars between settlers and the aboriginal population). He is an ex-serviceman and wanted to march in commemoration of his dead colleagues, but also in commemoration of aboriginal people killed in the frontier wars. A policeman told him “this day is not for you”.

The Australian War Memorial website says that Anzac Day “.. is the day on which we remember Australians who served and died in all wars, conflicts, and peacekeeping operations.”



Not for You

this day is not for you

this march is not for you

this commemoration is not your commemoration

this flag is not your flag

this land is not your land

this war is not your war


(this day is our day

this march is for us

this commemoration is of our dead

this flag is draped on our coffins

this band is playing our music)


this day is not for you

these graves are not your graves

these memorials are not your memorials

these speeches are not your language

these legends are not your legends

these dreams are not your dreams


(This day is our day

This skin is our skin

this lore is our lore

this history is our history

these myths are our myths

this system is our system

this way is our way)


this rule is our rule: THIS DAY IS NOT FOR YOU


Read more at  New Matilda


Copyright Mike Hopkins 2015


On Sunday I took part in the “March in May” demonstration in Adelaide, from Victoria Square to State Parliament. There were marches all over the country, protesting against the Abbott governments budget cuts to health, education, pensions, the ABC, and any other sector you care to name which Abbott does not like. The Murdoch media, predictably, was dismissive. The Sunday Telegraph headline was “The Ferals are Revolting”. Clearly the reporter had not noted the broad cross-section of Australian society represented by the demonstrators: school children, teenagers, parents, grand parents – every age group and every walk of life. Abbott has succeeded where Labor had failed – he has re-mobilised those who believe in a progressive Australia.

In the evening, coincidentally, I watched a gripping documentary called “The Square”, which happened to be about political demonstrators gathering in another square:  Cairo’s Tahrir Square in 2011. The documentary tracks four or five participant in the demonstrations: a Muslim, a couple of young activists, a singer and an actor Khalid Abdalla, who starred in “The Kite Runner”. The demonstrations led to the overthrow of the oppressive Mubarak regime, only to see it replaced by brutal military rule. They then forced the end of military rule to see it replaced by the rule of Mohamed Morsi’s Muslim Brotherhood. Again they forced the end of Morsi’s regime in 2013.

It is an incredible insight into a complex situation, which I had barely understood before. I cannot recommend it highly enough. Rotten Tomatoes gives it 100% and describes it as “… an immersive experience, transporting the viewer deeply into the intense emotional drama and personal stories behind the news”. You can watch the whole film on the net here and here.

I took some quotes from the film and, with some minor alterations, have combined them into a sort of collage:


The Square

They will take you away

for dreaming the wrong dream


The rich don’t demand freedom

Because they already have it


They made two ballot boxes

One for the killers

One for the traitors


We are not looking for a leader

We are looking for a conscience


Religion is not in a book or on paper

Religion is in your head and your heart


They are gassing the hospitals

Even the doctors are dying


The good and free are called traitors

The traitors are called heroes


The Square united us all


© Mike Hopkins 2014, except for quotes from "The Square"


I’m not in a good mood today, having stayed up to the early hours to watch my Premier League team Fulham, desperately needing a win, throw away a two goal lead. Not sure why this still upsets me but it does. So there’s a bit of venom in the brain today, and it’s come out in the form of satire. I acknowledge a debt to the great, veteran, British performance poet Attila the Stockbroker for this one. He did a wonderful piece called “The Bible according to Rupert Murdoch“. I’ve pinched the idea and turned it into this:


The Gospel According to St. Tony

after Attila the Stockbroker


In the beginning was the word

and the word was Stop!


And the Lord said:

Let there be a plague of slogans and let there be a slogan for every prejudice,

Yea, even until the prejudiced themselves will say “Stop the Slogans”


And let St. Tony be the prophet whose mouth will constantly chant these slogans

And let St. Rupert be the holy messenger of these slogans

for he has minions in every corner of the land waiting to write the word.

And let this plague of slogans spread across the land so that the people hear and see nothing except “Stop”.


And St. Tony, in his raiment of red speedo and chest of camel hair, hearing the words of the Lord, smirked in an unholy way.

And St. Rupert said:

Now, let us also send forth the shock jocks of the east for verily, they will gladly mouth these slogan ad nauseam.

And let the old growth forests be felled to feed the paper mills so that my media empire can engrave the word “Stop!” in 4 inch headlines on newsprint every day unto eternity.

And let not the people be allowed to think of anything but “Stop!

For thinking leads to fornication, sodomy and bestiality and if any reporter dares to start an article, not with the holy word “Stop!” let he or she be cast forever from the media empire and spend eternity volunteering for Radio Adelaide.

And the Lord looked down on St. Rupert’s work and on St. Tony’s slogans and saw that they were indeed execrable.

But this was capitalism, and it made rich the robber barons of the land and so it was good.


But lo, it came to pass that the people went mad from the constant slogans. They took to drink and drugs, fornication, footy, home renovations and cooking to deaden their pain.

And St. Rupert sent forth his Fox Channel familiars to film the people and all the goings-on thereof, and made it into a top rating reality show.

And so the beginning of the end began.

And from there, things got even worse.


© Mike Hopkins 2014


“The Government has given the go ahead for the purchase of 58 more F-35 Joint Strike Fighters (JSF) at a cost of $12.4 billion – making it the nation’s most expensive Defence asset.” (ABC News, 23/4/14).


Reasons to Spend $12 Billion on Fighter Jets


  1. Saves on medical bills – less Viagra needed by politicians and military top brass.
  2. Loud, fast, impressive flypasts at motor races
  3. Avoids arguments between bureaucrats about whether to spend the money on health or education
  4. Sounds really impressive in speeches – sexy words like ‘strike’, ‘JSF’, ‘fighter’, ‘f-35, ‘hornet’
  5. Exciting daily rides for large numbers of Australians – well 58 of them at least
  6. Wonderful vote of confidence in those great, great people in the armaments industry
  7. You can get somewhere really fast – if you’re on your own, a qualified F-35 fighter pilot and the ‘somewhere’ is an air force base or aircraft carrier
  8. Got to love those vapour trails
  9. Easy to park – can fit into just 4 normal car park spaces *
  10. Gives lots of our money to a really needy country … the U.S.A.
  11. Stimulates jobs … in the U.S.A.
  12. Shows how independent we are from everybody (except the U.S.A.)
  13. Scares the shite out of boat people when you fly really low over them
  14. Big boost to the sales of plastic model aircraft kits and glue
  15. Video stores get increased demand for rentals of  “Top Gun”
 * car park spaces must be at the end of a 750 metre runway


You know it makes sense.


© Mike Hopkins 2014


I’ve always disliked Arthur Sinodinos, if only because he was the close advisor to the Australian politician I detest the most, the awful John Howard.

Sinodinos got into parliament at the last election by being given a Senate spot on the Liberal ticket. He was seen as a likely star performer for the government’s first term and was immediately appointed Assistant Treasurer. He had to stand down from that position recently, when it was revealed that he had a severe conflict of interest during his time as deputy and Chairman of Australian Water Holdings (AWH). He was involved in a deal in which he stood to personally profit by a cool $20 million.

This week, he had to front ICAC (the Independent Commission against Corruption.) where, conveniently, his memory deserted him, and he could not answer most of the Commission’s questions. He seems to remember very little of his time at AWH – though he was paid an annual salary of $200,000 for 45 hours work per year.

Ode to Arthur Sinodinos

Oh Arthur, Arthur, Arthur Sinodinos

So fucking smart, but still an ignoramus

Snout in the trough, you really are mendacious

Like little Johnny Howard, cunning and quite shameless

Scared to tell the truth and die like Coriolanus

Didn’t see nothing, your head was up your anus

When ICAC asks you questions, you answer them with silence

Or blame it on your sister, Martha Sinodinos

Money from the purse, your appetite’s voracious

You could have had it all, and an office of the highest

Now you’re half the man you were, you’re half-a-Sinodinos

© Mike Hopkins 2014


A friend recently raised the subject of nudity in poetry, as an offhand email remark. It got me thinking about the Billy Collins poem “Taking off Emily Dickinson’s Clothes”, which is an irreverent tribute to the great female poet whom he metaphorically undresses.

I quite often find it easier to write a poem modeled on another poem. So it got me thinking and I came up with the unsavoury idea of undressing Australian Prime Minister (God those last three words sound so wrong) Tony Abbott. The poem spilled out fairly quickly. I performed it last Sunday at the most anarchic, no-holds barred poetry gig in Adelaide, “Spoke n Slurred”. I read the poem early on, whilst the audience was relatively sober, which is probably a good thing, because if they’d been drunk I think there might have been some vomiting. However, I later heard that I’d been awarded half of the cash prize for ‘poem of the night’ or something, sharing it with that other man who knows all about drinking and vomiting, Dick Dale.

I’ll be reading “Taking off Tony Abbott’s Clothes”, tomorrow (26th January 2013), in a 20 minute set I’m doing at the ArtsFeast in Strathalbyn. So be warned, you may want to stay away, or bring a bucket.

Here’s Billy’s more savoury version:

and here’s a link to the ArtsFeast programme, which has loads of great performers and workshops. I’m on at 4:10 p.m.

Poem number 20.

A first draft. It may become a much longer poem – it certainly needs some work on the end. But I like ranting political poems and this is one of those. Influenced directly by hearing the incredible Omar Musa performing his poem “My Generation” in Adelaide recently. This is a sort of tribute / apology / explanation in response to Omar’s piece.

My generation

My generation

surfed on a post war tsunami of hope

smashing strictures and tradition.


My generation

was populated by long hairs

and hippies, rock rebels

folk music revolutionaries, guitar and harmonica hyped protest singers

driven by psychedelic visionaries and beat poet pulses


My generation

was stained by bubblegum bores and paedophile pop stars

titillated by centre spreads nude from the waist up not down

idolised sport stars who were working class heroes on working class wages


My generation

saw change as normal

apathy as appalling

had street marches, sit ins

Marxism, socialism, dreams and ideals

was not commoditised, commercialised, incentivized and monetized


My generation

had free education, free school milk

free health care, free bus passes and free love

skinheads, racists, mods and rockers

dole queues, lock outs, class warfare provoked by the privileged


My generation looked on in horror but looked on just the same

Looked on as rights became privileges

Looked on as the idea of society was demonised and individuality was beatified

Looked on as greed was glorified and compassion scorned

Looked on as possessions became an endless procession

and acquisition became a life mission

As the best education and health was reserved for those with wealth

As street marches and strikes were replaced by online petitions and Facebook likes


Yes, my generation fucked it up.

Yes we let it slip through our hands

Yes we were idealistic, impractical, introverted, incoherent, inflexible

But this generation doesn’t have to take it

Doesn’t have to be sucked into the system

Doesn’t have to be distracted by baubles


This generation can win it all back.


Yes you can.


Copyright Mike Hopkins 2013

In the ModPo course (which I have just about finished, 10 weeks of hard but excellent work), some of the language poets studied, experiment with translation. Some use Google to write alternative versions of an existing poem, or a new poem.

Here’s the result of an experiment of mine.

I’ve taken a famous line from the Australian National Anthem, a line which is somewhat controversial, as it is certainly not observed in the attitude of politicians to refugees. The line is:

For those who’ve come across the seas we’ve boundless plains to share

I put the line into Google translator, and passed it repeatedly back and forth between English and a foreign language, in alphabetical order, starting with Afrikaans and ending in Yiddish. If the translation from English to another language, back to English resulted in any change to the line, I put the line into the ‘poem’, and then passed it onto the next language in the list.

What’s the point, you might say? Good question. Maybe none. Except that it does make us think about the meaning of words, the meaning of translation, the translation of meaning, and it was a bit of fun. The transformation from first to last line is an interesting one, I think.

Here’s the end result:


For those who’ve come across the seas we’ve boundless plains to share

For those who came over the sea we’ve boundless plains to share

For those who came over the sea we have boundless field to share

For those who came from over the sea we have limitless field of post

For those who came from the sea we have an inexhaustible field post

For those who came to the sea we have a post in the field of renewable

Those in the sea we have a post in the field of renewable

Those who are at sea we have a message for renewable

The sea has we have a message for renewable

Sea we have a message for renewable

Tues we have a message for renewables

Tuesday we have a message on renewable energy

Tuesday we report on renewable energy

Tuesday we refer to renewable energy

Tuesday we refer to the renewable energy

Tuesday we refer to renewable energy

Tuesday we look at the renewable energy

Tuesday we are looking for renewable energy

Tuesday we are seeking renewable energy

Tuesday we want renewable energy

Tuesday we want to make renewable energy

Tuesday we want to create renewable energy

Tuesday we want to build renewable energy

Tuesday we need to develop renewable energy