So it is that strong feelings make political cant destructive; For in them are inexhaustible reservoirs of prejudices ideologically driven; Passions are morally good when they leave behind that stupidity; Useful politicians orientating their feelings towards great visions; Their beliefs mobilizing their passions, with all doubts and fears accompanying them.    

In the Australian parliament politicians clink-clank like fighting birds in a suburban chicken coop; Bin-liner salespeople hurling clip-board text jibes threatening legal spittle; The trading of insults made amorous with a pinch of sleaze; Their behaviour a gross mimicry of orgiastic raves; Insulting the 70’s Surfies and Sharpies who warred just because they didn’t like each other.  

On a city's western edges, the imprimatur of poverty stains the streets; Where tribal set-upons happen over a loose fence paling; Strife indwells, seemingly seismic; Creating subcultures from out of the pressure; The spray-painted symbols that are stolen by art school students; Printed on torn t-shirts the poor kids can steal.

When the Church nourishes the conscience with revealed truths, hearers are in awe of its teaching; For the humble preacher is their god whom the listeners are wishfully hearing; Against doubt the lurching collect their guilt and correct their mishearing; Through faith they accept the Church’s moral authority with complete trust in its pulpit preaching; With its promises of hope the Church mandates itself to do its persuasive outreaching.