AI ruined the Easter raffle

No point playing the raffle

For the jellybeans in a jar

When you have a neural implant

That exactly scans the number

Trivia nights are out

With your encyclopaedic programming

What's the point of hide-and-seek

With enhanced thermal imaging

There's benefit to bridge the pathways

That control our ambulation

It's fine that you'll replace the milk

With a blink for online acquisition

But if a friend shares their excitement

At a book you must read

And you input it in real time

There really is no need

The joy of the unknown is lost

When you're synched with a cloud

You'll be a hive-mind know-it-all

No mysteries to shroud

It won't help you write poetry though

Or other purviews of the dreamers

Despite the algorithmic outputs

You create with other streamers

It won't enhance your wonder

When, in a moment, pausing,

You feel a sunbeam on your face

And the peace of thinking nothing

You'll have all the information

In the servers' collection

Immediately to mind

But what of your reflection?

Birds in the backyard (a song)

Sullivan and I recorded this song together:

When I went into the garden today

I could hear the birds

I wish I could make them stay

But this is what I heard:

A flock or two of cockatoo                                                       A pretty pair of parrots                                                       A great gala of pink galahs                                                       The chorus of corellas

Native miners in minor key                                                       A troop of Major Mitchells                                                       Honeyeaters who gently sang                                                       And there were golden whistlers                                                      

When I went into the garden today                                                       I could hear the birds                                                       I wish I could have made them stay                                                       But this is what I heard:

The larking of the sweet mud larks                                                       Rosellas in rising song                                                       An orchestra of kestrel calls                                                       And kookaburras laughing along

The soft chimes of the bellbirds rang                                                       The lorikeets held a key                                                       The butcherbirds tried to sing in tune                                                       But Butchered it wonderfully

Funhouse