A Shadow Cast

“Are you John Hume’s son?”

They would inquire,
Once they had caught wind of my surname
“I am”
Came the immediate; proud reply.
“Nothing to do with his namesake John Hume up in the North by any chance”
They would pursue.
Both men of peace. Both much respected.

“I worked with your father when he was Hospital Administrator”
“I was in the Civil Defence with your dad”
“I used to work with him in the court house”
“Ah, I remember working with John in Kilroy’s”
“Didn’t he do the Mater Hospital Pools?”
“He was a good man. A kind man. Always had time for everybody.
Was an absolute gent. Always got things done. Always had a smile
On his face.”

“Who is this man?” I thought to myself
This man they call John Hume
The man with a plan
This man of whom they speak
With such fondness and high regard.
With veneration almost
As though he were a saint
To be revered.
A giant among men
Chosen to walk among us mere mortals
Without equal.
Yet treating everyone equally
Such high standards
Such lofty heights
Such charm and charisma.
I did not really know this man
Nor he me.
He was a stranger to me.
And I to him.
A mystery wrapped in an enigma.
Not a patch on him
Yet cut from his cloth
So something of him
Must have rubbed off on me

Yet he loved me unconditionally
Encouraged my talents
Embraced the path I chose to walk,
Even though it wasn’t pensionable
Nor secure
Walking the extra mile with us all
Bending over backwards to support
Always expressed his pride in me,
Via our mutual translator:
My mum. His wife.
He said to her
“I wish I had Ken’s way with words”
I said to her
“I wish I had my dad’s way with people”

You cast a large shadow over us all dad
Spreading far back into a time before I began
Before I was a twinkle in my mother’s eye
Comforting and warm as a thick blanket
Suffocating and inspiring in equal measure.
Your name carried so much substance
And character. Had a gravity to it
So loaded with expectation and history
That I sometimes stumbled under its weight
A weight that I’m only now learning to carry
And embrace.

A rich tapestry of experiences
Sewn together by the same name
By the same man. Bound
Together forever by
The same man’s sorrow
Which made one family, two.
One family’s loss
Became another families birth
Multiplying his legacy
And casting his shadow
Way beyond what he could
Have ever imagined.

Written by Ken Hume
Copyright of Ken Hume 2015

The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a man’s determination.

Don Charisma

«The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a man’s determination.»

— Tommy Lasorda

DonCharisma.com-logo-4 Charisma quotes are sponsored by DonCharisma.com – you dream it we built it … because – “anything is possible with Charisma”

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Published in: Uncategorized on May 6, 2015 at 10:58 am  Leave a Comment  

Social Networking Soap Opera

Another “private” family matter
Played out in public
On Facebook’s cluttered wall
A social-networking soap opera
With more drama in a day
Than a week of Eastenders
One couple’s nasty break-up
Someone else’s attention seeking bender
It’s an hourly episode
24 hours a day
Where you can watch people’s lives implode
While they strive to play
Out their laptop characters
For the Hollyoaks generation
Facebook pokes; procreation
Beginning & ending of
On a small screen scale
Binning & rending of
Where friendships
Are for sale
A pretty pose
A silly face
Take off your clothes
Happy disgrace
All to find & compose
A profile pic
A clever status
That folk will click
Like on
Maybe share
Comment on
Or just stare
At all your photos
Breathing ground for stalkers
Feeding ground for mockers
Saying whatever they want
Without regard for font
Proper spelling or punctuation
Selling their PlayStation
And losing their souls
While confusing their roles
Between real life
And imaginary
Inventing strife
With defamatory
Statements & comments
It’s all too common
Collecting friends
Like stamps
Rejecting friends
To revamp
Your social circle
Slag off
Angela Merkle
21st century definition
Of being ‘cool’
You need a revision
Get off your stool
Or the high-horse
That is Facebook
More like erase-book
Because you’re erasing
Your old self
And embracing
Your no-self
From a big fish
In a small pond
You got your wish
Your identity absconds
You’re now a small fish
Swallowed up by
The internet sharks
The twitter set smarks
Is it everything you hoped for
Is it what you eloped for?

Written by Ken Hume

Butterfly Genesis

Dedicated to my “Butterfly Genesis “: Anne-Marie Stones xxx

“You’re my winged butterfly genesis
My aching heart’s nemesis 
Who brought me out from under this 
Cocoon into unimagined bliss

Antidote to my emotional novacaine 
You gave me a chance to start again 
Now, I’m just singing in the rain 
Like Gene Kelly, I’m entertained

By you and completely entranced 
With your beauty and elegance 
Heart & humour in perfect balance
Excuse me, may I have this dance? 

Strong and weak at the one time
It’s what makes you so sublime
Because I’m invited into mind
You, yet I always seem to find

Refuge from the storms of life 
Strength to rise above the strife 
When I’m lost in the dark of night 
In your arms, I find some light.”

Published in: Uncategorized on September 4, 2014 at 12:01 pm  Leave a Comment  


Drifting off on some on some delirious; dreamy; distant breeze
Sifting through my thoughts as they taunt; tantalize and tease
Serenanaded by the sultry summer sun; swayed by stormy seas
Persuaded by mistress poetry as she plays with me and pleads
This quill has me demented, longing for literary appease
Tranquil yet tormented by this lingering lyrical disease

That jogs and jokes with my tired imagination
Then prods & pokes. This pen-shaped flagellation
Whips me into lacerated; bleeding desperation
Clipped and incarcerated by my needing preperation
100’s of ink-starved stories stuck in mental gestation
One dreads to think the gory rut of zero inspiration

Published in: on August 3, 2014 at 3:13 pm  Leave a Comment  

Clicking of the Pen

“All the window staring
And the paper taring
And my scribbled out ideas
Of my lyrical diarrhea

The clicking of the pen
The stirring of the cup
The turning of the pages
The slow burning erup-
Of inspiration
Or desperation
At the flood or the drought
Of words as they come about
Or they don’t.

The searching & the scraping
The unearthing & landscaping
The digging in the dirt
For a word to heal the hurt.”

Published in: on July 26, 2014 at 1:37 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Little Man Syndrome

Think you suffer from little man syndrome.
Threatened by intelligence, consumed by pride.
No less artificial than a garden gnome.
Colorful & thick on the outside
Inside: Shallow; heartless & alone.

Pretentious; vaucous; irritating; not so tough
You inhabit your own deluded; self-important bubble.
Of your pseudo philosophical quotes, we’ve had enough.
Designed to motivate. Will land you in trouble
One of these days someone will call your bluff.

Work is everything you know. Life doesn’t seem
To exist outside of it’s claustrophobic
Cliquish parameters where you pout; pose & preen
Monitoring every call, agoraphobic
Everybody will soon become, no team

L-Plate Lover

Darling, I’m an L-Plate Lover

With a provisional license to rediscover

How to drive the car of romance

Re-start the engine before I get the chance

To get out of the car and run

Wouldn’t be the 1st time that I’ve done

That, so why don’t you hop in beside me

In the passenger seat so that you can guide me

Because you’ve a full license and have driven

This road before; been hurt; have forgiven

Teach me when to accelerate; when to slow down

When to hit the brakes and to look around

When to turn right; when to turn left

When to listen and what to say next

When to pull over to the side of the road

How to translate the rules and the code

Of the mysterious driver that is the female

Because it’s a driving test I don’t want to fail.


Written by Ken Hume



Published in: Uncategorized on March 14, 2014 at 1:32 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Red is the colour of our blood as it flows
Red is the colour of our love as it goes
Boom, boom; boom, boom and so the yearning starts
Who knew that you could stoke this burning heart?

Red is the colour of all those roses and wine
Red is the colour of my chosen Valentine
Snap, bang goes the token arrow from Cupid’s bow
God damn, you’re smokin’. I’d be stupid to let you go

Red is the colour of your high-healed shoes
Red is the colour that makes it hard to lose
One’s direction when you come into my sight
Pure affection draws me on into your light

Red is the colour of your lipstick on my shirt
Red is the colour that’d always pick me up
Everytime, anytime that I’d see that daring fit
Every line in every rhyme should be wearing it

Red is the colour of paint dashed ‘gainst the wall
Red is the colour that taints gashes when we fall
Drip, drip; drip, drip and so the liquid red is spilling
I once skipped, then I tripped, now head is killing

Me, because I can’t believe that you’re my Valentine
That the arrow found it’s way into this heart of mine
Intoxicating my mind with a sober alcoholic blur
And deemed this romance and time ready to occur

Published in: Uncategorized on February 13, 2014 at 6:06 pm  Leave a Comment  

The Night Owl & The Early Bird

Ken Hume

The Night Owl & The Early Bird


The night owl and the early bird

Could never meet, it’s quite absurd

One pierces the darkness with yellow eyes

The other captures everyone by surprise

The early bird captures the worm

While light makes the night owl squirm

Whoo, whoo is this creature, up so early?

Chirping so enthusiastically, the owl nearly

Chimes in, until he soon remembers

That it’s only 6am on a December

Morning, an obscene & ungodly hour

Be he lacks the will or power

To resist her in her early morning song

Because this bird’s spell over her is strong

Though he still prefers to inhabit the night

I think this owl takes secret delight

In sitting on the tree branch to listen

To her tweet and watch her glisten

With a sparkling; otherworldly charm

Irresistible; contagious, a natural alarm

For the wise and unassuming owl


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Published in: Uncategorized on February 13, 2014 at 5:46 pm  Leave a Comment