Pell: A Poem

A young tall shavenheaded far-flung backroom friend of mine has asked me to read the following, uncompleted verse on Tuesday at the Primates. I will, of course. Of course I will.

It came in two grabs, and I hope he adds to it.

I will put it up, progressively, as he sends it in.


Attend the fate of Father Pell
Who strives to save our souls from hell,
Yet now is brought to per’lous pass,
And many a sore and aching arse,

Unlike the saintly Lot of fame
Whose daughters saved an angel’s shame.
His shepherds spurned the quim’s delights
In favour of their acolytes.

Into this bum-fuck Shangri-La
Came Anthony from Warringah,
His bastard child a cause for cheer:
“At least we know he’s not a queer!”

And even when he jumped the wall
- for siren songs trump Jesus’ call -
For quite a while there, all was well:
Votes for Abbott, hush for Pell.

Yet crack by crack do cracks appear
In such a cruel yet thin veneer.
First Pell is named with those who sinn’d
In civil case, in court, in print,

And worse to come! Young Anthony
Is also quite a prick, for he
Supports these sexual preferences
By handing out of references.

Hauled up they were, to answer quick
For what was done by holy dick
In outrage (and in irony)
An Inquisition came to be.

It’s hard to hold your congregants
When priests are known as deviants:
Confessions by the dozen, score
Hundreds, thousands, even more.

At least for Tony all it meant
Was he’d win, be the government.
Far worse the fate awaiting Pell,
A billion years or so in Hell,

And this is what the clergy choose;
Tis better, sir, to join the Jews!
At least they only clip your tail,
Then let you be. Amen. Wassail.

Leave a comment ?


  1. Seeing a thread for poetry, I dare to post about the movie I saw this afternoon a top class German one called “Barbara”…
    One of the best I seen this year so far, maybe the best.
    I will not say anymore, as Bob might be planning to review it here; I agree with Peter Bradshaw and give it four stars out of five.

  2. There’s nothing new in the above verses. It’s been done before.
    What is interesting - the priestly grip of your Leader, enfolding the hand of Gates. Very odd woman.
    Did you see the picture of them in the Lodge? Her hair’s the same colour as the furniture.

  3. A fine effort, “Young tall shavenheaded far-flung backroom friend of [Bob's]” though one or two rhymes are a little dodgy :smile:

    The second last stanza is (we hope) in error. Though not as regards Pell; there’s a place in Dante’s 8th Circle of Hell waiting for him.

    Sometimes I think that it would be nice if there was a Hell, for the condign punishment of recreants.


  4. Yep, no more welching, no more felching.
    No more skimming, no more rimming.
    No more thuggery, no more buggery.
    No more choirboys, they’re not just friar’s toys.
    No more cover ups, no more selling pups.
    No more haws and hums, no more kiddie’s achy bums..

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