I don't understand
Why it is
I feel the things I feel
I do the things I do
I don't understand
Why it is
You feel the things you feel
You do the things you do
Now, I understand
Why am I emerging from the dark
Staring at a bench in City Park.
Breathless air without a bird in song.
So I sit, unknowing, yet belong.
Sudden waves of anguish taunt my mind.
Vicious, senseless. feral bursts of time.
Then a calming whisper fills my ear
And my reason now, for being here.
Minutes of my final day proceed.
Mockingbirds and peanut squirrels to feed.
Speckled sun through breezy treetops sway
And two hidden figures inch my way.
Choking arms, a weakness, loss of breath;
Forced behind a thicket to my death.
Off they bolted free without a trace.
Now I'm vengeance. Patiently I wait.
I'm aware each footstep, as they move,
But this peaceful park is where I choose.
Soon they stalk again. I know the place.
Little do they know the wrath they face.
An angel formed from
lake of purity,a gift to
darkest parts of hearts.
A chaste damsel,
untouched rose from the
garden of the elves.
Sent to earth,made an
abode in a gentleman's
cherished and loved.
As time travelled,another
fella whom she trusted
lured her to un-saintly act
Her pride laid on altar of
dishonor and infidelity.
Her life she almost
snuffed,she feared the
love of her true love
would be lost. Alas! bond
of love is indivisible.
Shattered,with a broken
spirit she tries to mend
the pieces....on the
shoulder of her lover she
leans,hoping to soothe
her bruised heart.
A true story,a close
pretty lady friend of mine
was raped by her family
called her and told her
his mum was very sick.
She called me and
confided in me .
Don't know whether to
encourage her to call the
Can we stop it?
It’s a crazy, hazy world
All filled with crazy people
The danger we are in
Its sky high, like a steeple
It’s reaching a crescendo
It’s touching air and ground
Earthquakes, hurricanes and floods
These be so often found
Is it too late to stop now?
Can we really turn it back?
Or is there mass destruction
A short way up the track?
Oh,what a hectic month
Oh what a month it’s been
Two lots of relies came
Over from the old country
It’s been a frantic game
I’m not used to all this stuff
But I’m glad it all took place
Although it was real hectic
No frown did crease my face.
One trip to Margaret River
Wow! This, it was a blast
We toured those rich surroundings
Till we went home at last
Then the darned flue knocked me down
And I spent some time in bed
And then I put my back out
As I banged my bloody head.
It seemed that I was on the mend
But my computer shat itself
I lost both poems, and photos
They’re the sum of all my wealth
Thank God I got the poems back
Alas, but not the photos
I guess I lost them, all of them
But this is how it goes
It’s been some heavy karma
That’s all that I can say
But now that it’s all over
I feel real fine today
So it’s back to meditation
And working on my soul
It’s time to get some relaxation
And once more feeling whole
23 October 2013 @1450hrs.
Now here is the story of a restless young man
Who dreamed of fighting in South Vietnam.
He’d learned about war in the comics he’d read
And he knew in his heart that for this he’d been bred.
As soon as it came up, the lads eighteenth year
He went off to enlist for an army career.
He saw some old major and he sat for some tests
Then the shrink and the doctor saw him with the rest
Of those gallant young fellows that wanted to fight
And give to their country the force of their might.
When all this was over it was late in the day
So feeling elated he for home made his way.
About two weeks later a letter arrived
And reading it’s message his spirits raised high.
For he’d been accepted a soldier he’d be
And the feel of the message did fill him with glee.
He had to front up in a couple of days
And then for Kapooka he’d be on his way.
Ten weeks in Kapooka it taught him a lot
He learned to make war and leave bodies to rot.
He was taugh how all commies just murdered and lied
And that he and his country had God on their side.
And that no sacrifice could be too great to make
And it’s an honour to die for a great country’s sake.
His training all over he joined a Platoon
He’d made Infanteer he’d be fighting soon.
It was off to corp training to learn even more
About all of the goodies that go with a war.
He kept seeing his image all tough, mean and strong
For he was a fighter and this was his song.
It was just eight months later that his posting came through
He was off to the jungles, his dream had come true.
Well his plane soon arrived at that sad Nui Dat
Where he first heard the guns as their missiles they spat.
He was fearful at first but he soon became calm
These guns were on his side they’d do him no harm
A month or two later he’s out on patrol
As tail end Charley He’s playing the role
They were deep in the scrub with peace all around
Then the air came alive with this terrible sound.
He felt himself falling “Lord is this a dream”
He asked as he heard he his God awful scream.
He lay there not hurting but sensing the worst
As he felt all around where his stomach had burst.
Where once it was firm gaped a warn sticky hole
It seemed that again war had taken it’s toll.
It seemed like a nightmare, a terrible dream
As the medic assured him that it weren’t like it seemed.
He sensed the black silence and quickened with fear
For man stands alone when his end it be clear.
Then something within him gave way to great peace
As his wisdom did whisper that all things must cease.
Then the great mother came, took him gently away
From that place of man’s anger where a body did lay.
A true story of a friend of mine who died in Vietnam written in 1975....Peter
Thaddeus Dowdell was a right proper chap,
Who said pip pip, tally ho and the rest of that crap.
He married a young lady just as arrogant as he,
She looked down her nose at rabble such as we.
Thankfully, both were hacked to death by a crazy ninja Jap.
Two field mice took a walk one day
Then feeling tired, they'd walked a ways
They thought they'd stop and rest a while
For home was further on some miles.
Then they heard the pad of old Toms paws
Which spooked them quite a bit I'm sure
As the cat purred loudly to see the mice
And thought "a meal it would be nice!"
Their whiskers quivered nervously
As, our two mice made haste to flee
So off they scampered for their lives
As old Tom cat for them did strive
That old cat looked he, high and low
And where they were he didn't know
As the two they trembled neath a bush
They could almost touch that mean old puss.
Then Tom gave up and skulked away
And the two mice lived another day
And their lungs filled up with gratitude
They'd foiled that old tom cat, so rude.
Peace, Socrares Dec 2 2003
The loss of innocence.
Little folk come out to play
Alive and filled with joy.
Whilst evil folk with ugly minds
They seek out to destroy
Sweet innocence, with poison acts
To gratify their lust
They create from children’s innocence
An outcast without trust.
A happy world, all filled with joy
That’s how it’s meant to be
These kids should be like rivers
Alive and running free
Yet evil men destroy their souls
And teach them, life is bad
And as they reach maturity
Their live are so, so sad.
Butterflies don’t come no more
And birds no longer sing
There’s only fear within their souls
What joy then can life bring?
Sweet young children made to love
How can they suffer so?
I just don’t know!!!!
How can the world not care enough
To put a stop to this
I guess that some would shrug it off
And say ‘that’s how it is’
But in the end lord Karma comes
And the future looks real grim
Those children well may rule someday
With minds made cruel and dim.
Millions of lives and souls untold
And to account it all
Words, lines, films
A sliver of soft, scarlet ribbon
Writers flare with passion so strong
Filling minds with fantasies, reveries, histories
We consume it all like freshly baked bread
We feed until we are engorged and fed
A viral, universal mess
Ideas and unmade memories
Nothing more or less
My eyes remain glued to the screen
Living it all out
Tears dare to flow—to doubt
I should have thought of that
Can I truly let myself believe,
Someone else lived that!
Pound away your directors, script-writers, fighters
For miles and miles of stories remain unread
While the unknown remain in the grounds of humble malnourishment
Careers for the mind with a twist of the fable
Left us savage for the meal and the crumbs under the table
I can never let the raw truth rest
Naked, bare and empty—soothed
Nothing more or less
I cringed for originality
Observed the world through the unedited scripts
The very act, the poetry pact
The wild animal drooling in the back
I was slapped in the face by my boss who had cracked
As the reviews bloated less and less
They wanted something awful, something flaw-ful—something new
And this empty brain in agony—HISSED
I have lived in no epic battle of account
Of the collateral sufferings of my brothers
The stories the red carpet smothers
And still I ache to create
Before the other ones discover
I returned with ‘‘oh me’s’ and ‘oh my’s’’
With a work of pure genius—a storybook of lies
Nothing more or less
Little have I lacked to dream
Of contortioned pulls and dramatic fire
Stories that rarely brittle or tire
I fiddled with precious glass on edge
Foully eager for self-damage
As if it would trigger some legitimate spark
Searching for creatures and features in the dark
No one unlocked the passage that night
For the starving idea-parched malice of right
But all welcomed with open arms
A pale mannequin filled with jewels and charms
Consuming, fuming dooming
All ghosts hoping, screaming, looming
Hoping that one day they would find themselves on the big screen
Their legacy real as it can possibly get
Nothing more or less