Nice to see you.

''They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes,
Within a dream.''

2014 Pushcart Prize nominee. (more)

Many stories and poems published worldwide.
My work is raw and from experience and observations.
I never studied writing and never will.


Insecure / Helpless

John Cavacas Photography

Much of my poetry comes from a place deep within, (you rarely see me writing about birds and landscapes for example) and I'm not ashamed to lay open my raw emotions, revealing a somewhat fragile state.
(Genetics? Upbringing? Nothing so simple?)

Many of us are, but some are better at masking it than others.

Unknown source

So here it is.
A poem from 2012 that has never been published. 
(like the bulk of my poetry. Not rejected per se, merely not submitted)

Add to Check Out

My Holier than thou has dropped
Scattered from my persona
I’ve given up on the Defence
(A dilapidated fence)
And pretence.

I’m an empty casket
Waiting for a body
I’m nothing new
But a rusted freight train
Barelling towards the shed
Without any goods.

If only the cargo could be loaded
In a way to allow
An event unfamiliar
A complete special offer
A surprise package
Without fabricated trimmings.

I’m weary of my shell
Is there not an Option Two?
Purchase and Check out
Without Checking out.

An enduring sigh
Even knowing why.

Notre Dame 1934

Poetry has sometimes helped me in bouts of depression. Well, I like to think so.
I can look at it, analyse it, and hopefully then put it behind me. Not always successful of course. That's life.

How do you vent?

More Poetry.

Next post, a trip down Memory Lane.

Coming Soon,

Some good news.
A new video.
An anniversary.

Always open for suggestions. Please help me out by sharing the work. It's the only way to reach others. And I'm a terrible salesman.

Have a great week.


Helpless Lost

I put this meme together so if you like it, please share it around.

I love this quote. It has probably never been more topical, (the phone obsessed drones) though they may have said the same thing when cars took over horses, or the television over radio. As we become more reliant on computers and soon driver-less cars, are we in danger of becoming redundant? Helpless? Lost?

The quote is from Dr. Keller's first professionally published science fiction story, "The Revolt of the Pedestrians". It was published in Amazing Stories in 1928.

It seems Keller (48 at time of this story) was a controversial figure. He was far right ideologically. He was also a trained psychologist. Despite his late start and some unflattering opinions regarding his writing style, he was quite inventive and had many publications before dying forty years later in 1966.

Was Keller wrong?

What is the state of technology today? 
Our we way off track?
Where is it heading? 
Does anyone care?
Would it matter if we did?

Freaky World War 1 motifs

I told you guys that those are MY sticks!

Those who can't do, Review

Those who can’t Poo, Review.

Blocked up and Bitter.
Too many rejections and not enough of the other.

A cacophony of coilers in the caustic conjectures
A gust of hot air, made solid
A tangible fillet of flatulence.

It’s like the stamp without the adhesive
The spit without the polish
The torch without the blow
It’s the hard, cold truth
Of One.

It’s an intellectual Island
Devoid of inhabitants.
It’s a pure same-seeks-same hanker
For another Wanker.

Tsk Tsk
It has to be said
It must be honest
Yet a dash of acerbic spice
And venomous cattiness
Is the required juice
The necessary ingredients
For this snooty serving
Though turgid on the tummy
And it barricades the bowels
The Holier than thou must Exult!
Let’s face it...
Those who can’t do,

Summed up
With the infamous last line
The crème de la crap…

It’s a one equals one
All for the frustration of…

I can’t Poo.

Future reviewer

I thought of posting an actual coiler as these toffs really give me the shits. 
Alas, too much toilet humour can give one stomach cramps.

More Satire Bytes.


Someone moved the goal posts

It’s a long, long way

Up a gravely gradient

To the smooth summit

Of consideration.

Blame the sky

For consistently narrowing

Around one insignificant

Destiny forged object.

Art by Christian Breitkreutz

I based this poem on the notion that we create our own destinies, often putting them out of reach, dreams to pursue, goals to aspire to and judge our success and failure upon it. When we don't reach it, we blame the universe, anything or anyone but ourselves, who placed us in this unrealistic predicament in the first place. 

Famous After Death - Anne Frank

Needless to say you know the story, so I'll aim to present a few perhaps uncommon facts about this amazing young girl.

Had she not been left to die in Bergen-Belsen she could still be alive. 
As of March 2017, she would be 87 years old.

Anne was born in Frankfurt, making her a German. She moved to the Netherlands at the age of four due to the anti Jewish sentiments of the times, especially given that the Nazi's had come to power.

Anne went to a Montessori school in Amsterdam (unlike her sister) and showed an aptitude for reading and writing. 

Her diary was actually an autograph book, bought by her father just a few days before they went into hiding, after Anne had pointed it out to him in a shop window. It was a present for her thirteenth birthday.

She believed her writing was a gift from God and wanted to become a journalist. Failing that she wished to 'write for herself.'  

She was somewhat of a feminist.  "I need to have something besides a husband and children to devote myself to! ..."


"I want to be useful or bring enjoyment to all people, even those I've never met. I want to go on living even after my death!"

In hiding Anne mentioned her contempt for her mother, often clashing. She was much closer to her father.

Her last diary entry was on the 1st of August, 1944. The family was uncovered three days later.

Half of the people who arrived in the camp that day were gassed immediately, including all children under 15. Anne had just turned 15 and was one of the youngest to be spared. 

Anne's mother Edith died in a concentration camp in 1945 from starvation, approximately a month before Anne and her nineteen year old sister Margot. 

The original Dutch publication in 1947 translates to The Secret Annex. When it was published in English five years later, it was called The Diary of a Young Girl. 

The unabridged version of her diary was finally published in 1995. It described Anne's confusion over sex and childbirth and even described her own genitalia, an aspect which upset some schools in the US who demanded to use the censored version instead.

Her father Otto remarried in 1953 to a neighbour from Amsterdam and a fellow Auschwitz survivor. The woman's daughter had known Anne. Otto died in 1980, aged 81. 

An asteroid that was discovered in 1942 was named 5535 Annefrank in 1995 in her honour.

"I keep my ideals, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart."

More Famous after Death

Searching for Love

Search Part – Love Lost

Take your chances
Out there alone
A world of indifference
Chill you to the bone.

Grass appears greener
Where the sun always shines
Wait ‘til the night falls
Where the outlook is not sublime.

I’m a trick of the light
A mirage deceiving sight
You could bring me home to roost
If you only you could
Discover the truth
No language, no words
A sign language mismatch
Merely a clash of swords
Leaving you spinning
Out there alone
Loud echoes to your cries
Chill you to the bone.

You came to find me
I’d given up and gone
‘You don’t know what you’ve got’
You had baptized a con.

Now it’s you who suffers most
A penniless wanderer
Forever counting the cost

I seek a mere smile
Out there alone
But the years have passed
And worn me to the bone
Worn me out

Post Valentines Day - 2016

I wanted to experiment with a traditional rhyming poem
And the concept of a lyric based song
Mixed with my own style of poem.
An experiment, if you will.
Did it work?

More Poetry

Rolf Harris - The 'Greatest' Albums

As Rolfy hits the News yet again, it's time to revisit some of his Greatest

Hmmm   Should've realised earlier.

Classic Tracks!!

Tie me teenager down sport

It’ll only take a minute

Two little girls

Jake the Middle Leg

Feel me Hidden Peg

Give a little tickle

Autograph with extras

Everyone does it

When you wish upon a squeeze

Our little secret

It wasn’t me

Daddy’s bedtime story

Checking your heartbeat

Lean on me

I did you a favour, remember?

Rock a bye baby

My little Wobbleboard

Storytime, on my knee

Plus the Positively Classic Rolfy

HIV Negative

My photo - Saw this in a bargain bin. Had to laugh. Needless to say, I did not buy it. Inspired this post though. (Look at that mouth! Oooppss!)

The Court of King Octopus

The Wild Fondling Boy

I'll be Hung

Hurry Home - I'm Waiting in the dark

London Town - is my Home forever

Along the Road to my Gundy Eye

If I were an invisible man

Don't let the sun go down on me,
but your daughter is good to go


Coming Soon

Some Very Exciting News!

IRONS - A historical convict drama - My short film.

Two brothers divided by circumstance in

bloody, colonial Australia.

Watch it here. 
(Maybe be blocked in some countries-If so let me know please.)

The original film was made in 2004.
This updated version, 2011.

Irons - The Official Site
(Not alot of info on the site)

More of My Short Films

Feedback welcomed. Happy to answer any questions.
anthonyjlangford2 at yahoo com au

Please share.

A re-post from 2011, as I am planning to slowly release my short films online.
Irons is the most recent.
I've made six prior.
Four in the 1990's. Two in the 80's.

Another in the works?

Last One Home Wins

Last One Home Wins

First places
Not always quick to learning
Some come slow to the party
Others never grasp the truth
No matter the surface success

Longevity is built on foundations
Comprised of relationships
Earned and won
As sturdy as roman bricks
And not a glitzy flash on today’s pan

Foundation exists
As others bring home the bacon
And no trophy
At least not today

Rewards are fleeting
In the best of times
Yet those who seek them
Are rarely satisfied

Cling to your ideals
Tomorrows respect awaits.


More Poetry.

I'm proud to present... a smile for your dial!

Not so long ago, in an independent galaxy near you...
A very talented Poet just released his second collection;

Put a Smile on that Face


You may not be into Poetry, many aren't, but this isn't a book about Mrs McGillyicutty's visit to the green rolling hills. You'll find it accessible, chockablock full of biting black humour and startling revelations to boot. You'll find a couple of examples further down (some of the poems are quite controversial so I've posted, shall we say, more PG examples), but prior to that...

Check out the blurbs from the back cover.

‘Eerily reminiscent of the late poet Stan Rice, Kirwan’s words can almost be read as a sarcastic spiritual confession. A ruthlessly honest exploration of the human psyche, on one hand it seems a self-help book for the fabricated dishonesty of society, on the other it gives voice for those who have none. Humour is speckled through Kirwan’s observations, refreshingly brash and unapologetic. Yet there is an unrelenting bleakness to his words, a bleakness all the more tangible because every sentence, every word, is true.’ - Claire Fitzpatrick, poet, journalist

‘The dark, acerbic world of Dominic Kirwan’s second poetry collection may churn the stomach with its no holds barred content, yet in the same breath, can bring about air splitting laughter. It’s smart for certain, but its heart stopping honesty will keep you coming back for that one more fix. Enter the catacombs if you will, but don’t expect the mirror to be kind. It’s far too pure for that.’ - Anthony J. Langford, poet, film maker 

Yes that's my blurb from the book. I do know Dominic but I have never met him. I support him because I truly believe his work is not only unique but astonishing. I challenge anyone to find work that even comes close to his. As an artist myself in search of truth in life and art, I've never come across a poet so deliciously in touch with the folly of the world outside of Bukowski and make you laugh while ripping your guts out. A big call yes, but I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it. 

Please support a unique Australian talent,  shunned by the mainstream bores (so far), and know that you're also supporting the arts and independent publishing. God knows in this capitalist world, we need to preserve our ground roots artists. Plus the guy's living on dry biscuits and baked beans. 

You can purchase it right here...

Gininderra Press (Print copy)  (less than $23)

Amazon (ebook/Kindle)  (less than $6!)

The Last Funeral

When the Funeral Director died
No one quite knew what to do
Thankfully, in a show of stunning foresight
He had left behind a list of instructions
To be followed exactly
In the unlikely event of his passing

Black balloons lifted his coffin into the sky
Mourners shot at it with BB guns
Being somewhat inexperienced with firearms
They missed him
The Funeral Director’s casket soon disappeared completely
Drifting into the ether
A vanishing black speck in the eye of the sky

So at the official Wake
Of the official Funeral
Of the last official Funeral Director
An announcement is made:

“There will no longer be any more funerals.”

Death is standing next to a bowl of spiked punch
When he hears this
He adjusts his burning, syphilitic testicles
Shifting them just a little to the left
This sudden, unexpected news
(although it should have been blatantly obvious by now)
Rips through him like wildfire

Death realises
That this truly is The End
He is out of a job
He sighs
He grips both sides of the punch bowl
He dunks his face into the fruity slop
And like a pale horse at a septic watering hole
He proceeds to drink

Three raucous hours of drunken debauchery later
Death is dead
According to the Coroner
It was alcohol poisoning
According to those who knew him
Death died of a broken heart

There will be no funeral.

Excerpt from This is a Public Disservice Announcement

Perhaps the colour blind
See the world as it truly is?
Maybe only the deaf
Can hear what is actually going on?

We need light
To recognise the darkness
That surrounds us
The blind have no such handicap
Yet they bump into things
That are not there

If you are completely blind
And you are reading this
I can sympathise
Something needs to be done
The light at the end of your tunnel
Does not come in Braille

If you are completely blind
And you are reading this
You really are doing quite well
But you may be a hapless victim
Of gross misdiagnosis

Do you see what I mean?


Mr. Kirwan also created the artwork.

The original La La Land

artist unknown - possibly Dan Dingler or S. Steindorf**

I was physically assaulted... Ireland in 1997. I spent a week in hospital. Afterwards, for some months, (actually years) I was in a state of PTSD, without really grasping it. In those days, counselling wasn't as prevalent as now. Besides, I just wanted to forget about it. The entire trip was about to trying to relive some past glorious days living and working in London.
Anyway, I was in a brief relationship straight after that incident. It folded after five months, but I was greatly upset over it. She wasn't anything special. Truly. I had latched onto her, seeking solace, without realising. I returned to Australia with my tail between my legs, with two years of violent nightmares to come. *

In 2011, I wrote this poem about it. I was alarmed at the number of people walking around, clueless as to their surroundings. It's worse now. It's an epidemic. People have a false view of the world around them. Shit can occur regardless of course, but you can avoid trouble if you're alert. 

The poem was published in 2014. Here's the post where I announced it. (The site that published it has not archived the actual poem).
So here it is again. The original! Nothing to do with Ryan Gosling but when I saw the La La Land title pop up in IMDb in 2015, I had to laugh. 

Welcome to La La Land

Not without an inkling
I was cautious
As I revisited, a former life in London,
Now faded.
Snippets of smiles, with a nasty side unseen.
A formidable facade
Passing off as reality.
And so I entered La La Land
Without knowing.

I had my heart ripped out by a twat
Who was only a reciprocal for
My post-traumatic stress.
I’d spent a week in hospital in Ireland
After having my head kicked in.
Wrong place
Wrong time
My actions, barely relevant.

That sense of security
Right and wrong
Is a fucking pretense.

Safety is an ideal
Not a surety
If someone wants to bring you undone
To the extreme
They will.

So go on with your headphones
Your swagger and your ethos
As you smartphone your way into oblivion

This is La La Land.

More Poetry

* I have no memory of the assault. I don't know what happened. I did have my head kicked in. I had swelling on the brain. Horrific headaches. I couldn't see out of one eye due to swelling for some time. No broken bones however. 
Unfortunately it was the second assault I've received. And no I'm not a troublemaker. The complete opposite. A story for another day.

** Thanks to artist Laurie Langford who first shared this image.