Parallel lines deep in the mud


In a rut

Travelled too far now

No going back


On the track


Darkness descends

The mocking laughter of toads and frogs

Kneedeep kneedeep


Bogged Bogged Bogged


The sun rises

All mocking stopped


A bright coloured

Rainbow truck


The beast

The wagon

The Mudslinger



What do I do?

The way is clearly forged

This is the way to

Lawn Hills Gorge

Sod off farmer

With your silly truck

Make our own tracks?

We can’t do that.


  1. Are the passengers in the “beast” really stubborn enough to stay on the well defined, clearly marked path, spinning their wheels and slinging their mud even while the rainbow truck shows another path right beside the mud hole they are stuck in?

    1. This is a memory from a fantastic Youth Group event – a pile of us went to Lawn Hills Gorge in far North West Queensland. We took over twelve hours to travel 100km – the night spent under the stars listening to those mocking frogs – a farmer did pull us out of the mud and instructed us on how to get there without following the ruts of former travellers. We had a fantastic time with a fantastic group of people. My sadness in writing this poem is that I still feel a duty of care to this group of people – some of them are gay, some of their children are gay. In this metaphor we are stupid enough to believe that the ruts of a fallible church is the only way – my gay friends are the stumbling block, the Jesus over which we find ourselves stuck. 😦

      1. I didn’t know the backstory but the image and meaning was evident. I love the sights and sounds. Creation itself mocking. The words on the side of the car. Its just great how that common lived experience is now a picture of what is happening to the church. We follow paths that used to work but now are more of a hinderance than a help. And in our confusion and fear too quickly become a mudslinging/ accusing beast. Who is the farmer? Jesus? Apostle Paul? Tapio?

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