Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
I do not know?
Instance of combustion
Light, Heat, Flame
A burning mass
As on a hearth
21 February 2013
Beautiful ones are dying/
Directors on silent the film is sponsored by reality/
Voiceovers turn into scandals not propensity /
Actors with no clue they get glued in life's show their future is screwed/
Born raged their actions are so real/
Kill or be killed quest between scenes/
Poverty is more than the defining moment screams/
Hunger bleeding dreams with no makeup pencils/
A wakeup call before the final cut/
A turning point of a lifetime plot/
It’s a warm-up elevating hopes before credits/
Death too expensive/
No rehearsals nor sequels/
Dark clouded cameras carry life insurances/
Raining scenes on corruption’s free way and streets/
The cancer eating stunning extras/
Avalon cemetery the only Stadium Lavatory flushing off written off characters/
Beautiful ones are dying/
Speech of Tears – Zamreen Zarook
Drops of tears from our purl conveys a lot,
Each an every shedding has a ballot,
By identifying the core, our hands should allot,
Because, some might be extremely as shallot.
Chipper and blissfulness gives you cool tears,
Whereas in console and divesting flow hot tears,
Fear and pains give drains of tears,
Nothing that can be patch with dollars.
Some deliveries are automatic,
While some productions are acoustic,
Another drain says I am really bombastic,
Tears are at last solely cubistic.
They convey the emotions,
People go in search for solutions,
They become happy when they are with the precautions,
Reactions again as the tears, it’s the real abbreviation.
Gravity pulls my tears into pools.
Im sinking in sorrow -emotional fuels.
Just turn back the time, I just want a moment.
To say goodbye once, to cherish and own it.
I loved my granddad - a man more than great.
Paired with my Granny as the perfect mate.
A montage of memories that rush my soul.
My eyes fill with tears, I'm losing control.
Just keep it together, it's what he would want.
They all say the same, but I stand in front.
Happiness swells, yet sadness prevails.
Like Christ on the cross, with hands full of nails.
Life has a reason, and death isn't treason.
-It's moving on up.. A lifetime's a season.
I look to the sky and say my goodbye.
The time won't turn back, I gave it a try.
I close my eyes and imagine this-
Paradise in a place full of bliss.
World peace in a piece of the world.
Without loss and bombs never hurled.
Snow that falls that doesn't freeze.
Sun that shines that doesn't cease.
A land where "The forever" is real.
A scene where the sick always heal.
Life with infinite love, like gusts in the wind.
Two little doves, with eternities to spend.
God has a plan, fool-proof to the core.
Now Granddad's with him, a reward of much more.
A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.
Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.
Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.
Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.
What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.
My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.
Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.
In memory of Bob
A true story.
It was in spring of two thousand when I first saw Bob. I’d just started working at Perth Dental hospital, and in fact it was my first day there. I walked up to the front door of this building, but it wasn’t yet opened. So I turned around and went to sit in the bus shelter which was just outside the building. As I went to sit down I noted a dark skinned gentleman sitting there with a happy, benign look on his face. He was about five feet eight give or take a little, and he was rather a thickset man who looked like he’d done his fair share of hard work in his sixty years or more.
There was something about this Gentleman that I could not quite put my finger on. He had a certain charisma about him; not the phony kind of charisma that one seen in the car salesman or the philanderer who messes with women’s heads, no, Bob had a kind of friendly smile for everyone that he met, and he seemed to draw people into him with his love, and gigantic heart. I knew as soon as I met him that Bob was most definitely for me.
As Bob looked at me and smiled, the whole world seemed to open up. He said “Ow ya going mate” in a loud ebullient manner, then we started to chat. Bob was like myself, a thinker, and straight away we started philosophizing about this, that, and the other, and it was like we had known each other forever. Then all of a sudden I found Bob talking about death, and the difference in the way the Maori people faced death, compared to the rather the silly way us white folk look at the subject with great fear in our hearts. Now this had always interested me, and somehow it just seemed natural to talk to this Maori gentlemen on this subject, and we spoke about it till the doors opened and it was time to work.
I don’t think anything happens just by chance, and I definitely have this feeling that Bob and I were meant to meet, and I really think this was a major destiny thing. I have found during the course of my life, that as I am aging, I can feel something pushing me into a certain direction, and I always felt that Bob was part of all this; and I had much to learn from him. Although I have never believed in organized religion, and never followed one I have always felt deeply spiritual, and I have met many people who I learned from, and Bob was most definitely one of them with all his great wisdom and patience. As I came to know Bob, we had many dialogues together, on many subjects. Bob used to love music and could always have time to plonk away on his guitar. He used to come round to my place and we would play songs together, though both he and I were no Eric Clapton’s, I would bang around on my guitar and play the harp, while we would both take out turns at singing. We’d have a smoke or a beer or two, and we’d play songs all day long, ahhh, I remember those days well, the memories are so strong.
Bob was one hell of a man, I could tell that he had been a wild one in his youth,
But when I knew him in his sixties he was an icon of wisdom and virtue; he had a kind word for everyone, and gave all his time to anybody who needed him, always.
He used to hear me waffling on like an idiot, trying to make him like me [as I always did] but never once did he tell me how foolish I was, he would just smile knowingly at me. He used to stand there at the window for hours, just drinking in the trees, or the clouds in the sky, and yet he was so aware, I used to try to sneak up on him; it couldn’t be done. His awareness was incredible.
Then one day Bob fell ill with terminal cancer, and he knew that he had very little time left on this Earth. He lay there sick for days in intolerable pain, but you never heard one complaint from him, even when he only had days to live, he was still worrying about the welfare of others. When the day finally come for Bob to leave his shell; he was lying there in deep sleep, when all of a sudden he woke up, with a smile on his face. His children asked him ‘Dad, do you want some pain killers” Bob laughed, compassion written all over his face, and he said to them ‘Not one of you has a clue, have you’ and he died with a big smile on his face.
His daughter got in touch with me, and told me about his death, and also told me that his last wish was to have me watch his soul leave his body. I felt very honored about this and went and sat with his body [as Maoris do]. I got the most peaceful feeling come to me [which I presume was his spirit leaving his body] as I watched his silent body, a Mari war stick and a beautiful rose lay across his chest. I still see it, and I feel blessed by it. He was my Maori warrior, and I adored the man.
Where am I? Why is it dark?
This isn’t what I had in mind when I left the park…
Why isn’t the wind whispering…the songbirds singing?
All I remember is a telephone ringing…
A scream and a crash and a pain in my side…
Is this what happens after one’s died?
I don’t feel like myself, I feel wild and free,
Yet I’m cold and alone, 'stead of filled with glee.
My whole life I’ve studied, and pondered, and prayed,
Trying to fathom what would happen this day
But now that it’s here, I’m beginning to fear
Maybe the afterlife’s not what it appears…
It’s certainly not what I’ve been told by my preacher
Or my parents or brother or best friend or teacher…
Is it a bad thing, or is it good?
Maybe it’s just not quite understood...
While I was on Earth, I just couldn’t wait
To meet good St. Peter at the heavenly gate
And ask him a question or query or two
“What was my purpose?” “What good did I do?”
“What’s it all for?” “How does it all flow?”
“Can I have one more body, one more try, one more go?”
But where is the angel? Where is the gate? And
If this is Hell, then where is Ol’ Satan?
Am I a lost soul? Am I forgotten?
Am I to be left here until I am rotten?
Lo and behold! what, now, can this be?
Is this a wonderful spiritual epiphany?
Is this the magical feeling all souls receive
When they leave Earth? Oh! was I that naïve?
How could I have not seen the realism?
Why was I consumed in man-made idealism?
This is more wondrous than all I was taught
Oh, all the times I argued and fought
With others, ‘bout how their views were asinine
Now I see, theirs were just as wrong as mine!
Little I thought was actually correct!
How, why, did I let others petty beliefs infect
My untouched, my pure, my virgin mind?
I regret all the hours I self-tortured to find
That compared to what I see now, I was empty and blind…
Wait - - What is this that I see?
What is this gateway that is revealed unto me?
Now a door is opened to my immortal soul
I am expected now to enter my life’s final goal…
I am scared, intimidated, but still I am glad…
For the truth I have just seen is anything but bad.
This is the end of my journey, I’ve nothing to fear,
For now I am going Beyond the Frontier.
A full moon night
to my delight
what is so wrong
with doing what's right
nothing is right
after so long
no use in complaining
time to move on
The Dream Water one day
might take me away
farther from the comfort
I float on my back
then shut my eyes
my body now sinking
into ocean arms open wide
Now swallow your son
back to his nature
when he is no longer
needed to stay here
the next generation
are dooming themselves
they need my experience
to guide them through hell
Why should I bother
on my own, I strive through
I turn my back on the thought
of bothering to save you
alone in this world
my, is it spacious
I'm finally smiling,
never so gracious.
A smile moves across her lips
She gazes at her crime
A scar across her flesh and soul
To haunt her for all time
She’ll waste away for all she cares
Never stops to use her brain
Doesn’t care about the ones who are close
All she cares about is pain
She wants to be what the others expect of her
Doesn’t care about the self-respect for her
A rose can’t be a forget-me-not
Can’t she see what all she has got
Never to go back again
She feels the world is at an end
She will never show her grief
Although she’ll cry in empty streetS
She’d sooner live like a desolate mole
Living in fear in an empty hole
Screaming silent wails alone
Content to live in her mental home
A final tear falls from her eye
It hits the ground, it’s followed by
A beautiful body, mutated by hate
A kind word could have stopped it, but it is too late
One two many bricks in the wall in her mind
Molding her demise because her heart was blind
This self conscious being could never have won
For she was destroyed by the beautiful ones
She wouldn’t fight back, wouldn’t respect herself
In the end, she managed only to wreck herself
A rose can’t be a forget-me-not
Little did she know, she had all she had sought