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‘ In general, quantum mechanics does not predict a single definite result for an observation. Instead, it predicts a number of different possible outcomes and tells us how likely each of these is. ‘
Which side of the Wolf-coin are we looking at
the red or the green
nothing then is certain
not even death but the life one endures
quarks protons neutrons electrons bosons
particles like men and beings in general
bathe not necessarily in the same lifeless soup
great teachers or rather teachers with great followings
those that always attract those who prefer to let others do the thinking for them
especially through transcendentally transmitted interstellar telegraphy
would want us believe
there’s just This One
and all comes and goes to That Only ONE
If only it were just as simple as that
Then what is it that This One wants
Or is It caught up in its own caveat
And must of needs come apart
on the seed that It alone plants
and do what we may
nothing goes wrong
whatever the explanation
everybody is right
right from the start
Big Bang from a tight-fisted unfurling hand
Big Crunch to a crushing tightening stranglehold
and out again
for the Brahma Day
and after aeons the Brahma Night
And at the stillstanding blackhole singularity
neither space nor time
squeezed in and out
Birth as in Death
An eventual point of total extinction
if ever there was one
Yet always the two extremes
and the ever-changing in-betweens
Matter versus Anti-Matter
Here the Yang is not lkely to be set againt the Yin
Though matter itself is neither
Is nor Is-Not-ness
And the 96% Dark Matter
And the infinite number of parallel universes
Does it really matter
‘ … if you meet your antiself, don’t shake hands !
You would both vanish in a great flash of light.’
Vanish into what
or just non-dark matter
Still the duality of matter
Still the ever-changing conundrum
Everything moves jostles couples alters reproduces destructs
‘Sex is emotion in motion.’
into thin air
and roots one here
tied to the lunar year
why should it matter
if we cannot know the reason why
ego id libido
drive faith fame femme father future
if super/alter ego connects the ego
to the collective unconscious
why drown the self in the Great Self
by wilful act
when the Ultimate One
is the sum of all the little ones
Is the Original One incapable of absorbing all the ones
each of whom must move to eat drink sleep
copulate make money grow roots in a society
get and fight to keep a job
make love marry raise children
struggle to keep one’s wife one’s children
one’s house if one can get one
one’s career one’s future
and helter-skelter race to cheat death
If it’s the self-same thing that’s being born anew
What does it matter if it keeps changing in view
Of the desperate haste with which everything
We see smell hear feel intute sense
Keeps hurtling away from the Ding an Sich
And leaves us with a parochial Milky Way
Bastardised stealthily by grandiose Andromeda
Left retrograded entwined within measely galaxy clusters
Through some trillion cataclysmic light years
What’s the impulse to keep moving
Is the yogi’s stilled-centre
The death of all action
Which cannot call for a reaction
Or is the art of keeping still
Merely the art of making belief
‘…actors act out the pun that life is the art of acting
until your performed role becomes your normal character.
Then you are safe inside your character armour.’
As soon as you have thought It out
It turns around and re-structrures Itself inside out
and you know just why
don’t you now
References to the quotations
Stephen W. Hawking, A Brief History of Time : From the Big Bang to Black Holes, London-New York, 1988.
Attributed to Mae West.
Eric N. W. Mottram, « Men & Gods : A Study of Eugene O’Neill », Encore (London), 1963.
I’m not sure the « re-structuring » bit at the end comes from
Steven Weinberg or John Gribbin, or perhaps even from Fred Allan Wolf ?
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2005 ; rev. 2012. From the collection : Poems Omega-Plus, 2005.
A Whistling Girl and a Crowing Hen
By Elton Camp
“We keep thet big flock o’ chickens fer eggs and meat,” Milas explained to his niece Elvira visiting from the city. “We git tired of so much pork an’ we don’t have t’ feed them much. They partly make their own livin’ from eatin’ bugs an’ whut they kin scratch out o’ th’ ground.”
“Kin I feed th’ chick’ns now, Paw?” Albert asked.
The mildly retarded teenager rushed to the corncrib and collected several cobs with dried grains attached. He liked the feel and smell of the corn as he rubbed it from the cob with the palm of his hand. Soon, he had a fistful of the seeds. They felt hard and clean.
“Here, chicky, chicky,” he coaxed. Albert used a pitch higher than his normal voice.
The chickens crowded in front of him in anticipation of a nutritious meal. “Watch whut happens when I throw th’ corn on th’ ground,” he told his younger brother who stood beside him. “I like t’ throw hit all amongst ’em ’n’ watch ’em fight over hit. They’s greedy thangs ’n’ can’t seem t’ git enough.”
“Them two ez fightin,’” remarked Albert’s little brother.
“Naw, they jest both wanted th’ same grain. Thet big ole hen ez th’ boss over th’ pullet. She pecks hit away ever time. Hear com’s th’ rooster. What whut happens when he shows up. There ain’t never but one rooster cause they’d fight ’til one wuz dead. Besides, Paw won’t allow but one since he don’t lay no eggs.”
Shaking his large, red comb, and sporting sharp spurs on his legs, the rooster strutted around in the yard, scratched and pecked at the ground as did the hens, but accomplished the task with great dignity, as if he merely condescended to eat. At his approach, the hens moved aside so he could claim his rightful share of the corn, but they continued to peck hungrily at what they could reach until it was gone.
Elvira walked over as the feeding was almost completed. To Albert’s intense discomfort, the rooster suddenly raced toward a white hen. She squawked and ran away, but he easily overtook her, jumped on her back, seized her smaller comb, lowered his body onto hers, and shook for a few seconds as he fulfilled his conjugal duty.
“Albert, what in the world are they doing?” Elvira innocently asked. “I never saw chickens do that before.”
Her cousin vaguely knew it was something like the bull mounting the cow, but didn’t want to explain that to his cousin or any girl for that matter. Such delicate matters were never discussed.
“I don’t know. Maybe he jest wanted a ride,” he replied as his face turned crimson and he walked quickly away.
The now-fertilized hen indignantly shook her ruffled feathers into place, flapped her wings a couple of times and returned to feeding. The rooster crowed loudly in seeming celebration of his conquest.
Rarely, a hen would attempt to crow. As Dr. Samuel Johnson remarked about a dog walking on its hind legs and a woman preaching, “It was not done well, but one was surprised to see it done at all.”
“Y’u shore shouldn’t have did thet,” remonstrated Milas’ wife as she threw a rock at the offender. “There’ll be no mor’ aigs from y’u.”
A crowing hen alarmed country people as few things could. It seemed contrary to the natural scheme of things and couldn’t be tolerated.
When he learned about the crowing hen, Milas frowned, shook his head, and vowed, “I ain’t puttin’ up wif’ nothin’ like thet ’round heer.”
“Git th’ axe ’n’ go out thar an’ kill thet brown an’ white hen,” he instructed one of his sons.
“Y’u might as well hesh thet squawking,” the teenager said to the hen as she struggled to escape his grasp. Yore gonna make some mighty fine chicken ’n’ dumplings.”
Scientists later discovered that a hen has a bit of rudimentary testis. Under certain conditions the tissue begins to grow. The resulting hormone outflow begins to persuade her that “she” is a “he.” In those days nobody would’ve cared, even if such an explanation had existed. They knew just what to do if a hen dared crow.
“Ah whistlin’ girl ’n’ ah crowin’ hen always com’ t’ some bad end,” repeated anyone who thought of the well-known rhyme when either occasion arose. It was literally true in the case of the hen. The girl, with nothing to fear, grinned in disbelief at the old country saying, but usually stopped whistling just the same. It was better to be “safe than sorry.”
Uneducated and superstitious people had little tolerance for anything that failed to meet their expectations, particularly as to appropriate gender behavior. That included even a hapless hen with an identify crisis. Some things change very little.
Dedicated to: Myself and the kindred spirits
Rise up today so gracefully and comely. Let not the present by the past be spoiled. You are entitled to what is best in the new day; do not let it wasted to loneliness and disgust. Leave the horror of your nightmares as there are good dreams to be fulfilled. You have survived and that is all that matters as you face new challenges and strife.
Life is a race but take things slowly; Pitfalls are the product of being reckless and rush. Set your goal and cast away your worries. Doubts may lead to despair and weariness forestalls a start.
Be realistic! Fantasies may provide refuge to the soul but practical decisions are conceived of tenacity and profound consciousness. Think twice as much and be subtle in accepting things. The art of acceptance is nourishment to the heart and, overtime, a calm spirit has been proven sound and wise.
Undertake your actions with a thorough passion. Perform your job without seeking attention nor trying to establish impression as you can only do so much, but strive to serve justice to the wage that you received by bringing each task well into completion. Be concerned for others but not over-acting; your honest intention may be perceived distasteful and annoying.
Putting aside your weakness, in some ways you can be a role-model. Let it be that others may learn something productive, however forbearing. You cannot always expect everyone to follow as each has its own sense of individuality and pride. Ridicule not the simple and the belittled for they too shall reap the fruits of their endeavors. Nobody can monopolize knowledge and brilliant ideas; as you see, marvelous inventions and breakthroughs are often the work of the obscure and the underrated.
Very patiently, exercise prudence and be firm in whatever you believe is reasonable. Do whatever is fitting in spite of the opposition. Many are the detractors but greater is the value of the kindred spirits.
Persevere and stay focused. Nevertheless, balance your time as not to suffer the matters of the heart. Seize the moment for life has never been without stress. Rigors and adversities have no match to a willful spirit but time and again the body must recess to rejuvenate. Nourish yourself with positive insights. It is essential in coping up with life’s concerns, albeit you may opt for aide betimes. Speak of your circumstance without articulation for he who is eager to help can simply read between the lines.
Somewhere in life’s journey there may be down phase to go through. Chums may turn backbiters or deserters and that old pals may come only to brag about their achievements rather than consoling. Of such, you may either become envious or disdained. But lo and behold! You are not a failure just because others have succeeded, and surely they have not succeeded just because you failed. Realize that everyone has his defining moment and yours is yet to come.
Therefore, be passive of the prejudice and scorning. You already have enough disappointments to get over with that it is unwise to allow such nonsense to further ruin your disposition. Nonetheless, congratulate yourself that you are not like them had it been the other way around.
Yeah! It is worthwhile to live above sufficient as long as it is through legitimate means, otherwise, the opulence will only fuel the destruction of the soul. Do not be so enticed with the material possessions in this world. What is the essence of containing everything in hand while the heart is so void? If you should spend for frivolities, take heed first the beseeching of the least of your brothers. Fortune holders are but temporary stewards and greediness is a waste of luck.
Give accordingly without expecting reciprocation. Compassion is not any act of giving but something that the heavenly angels can so relate thereby translating a prettier meaning to your existence. Indeed, the eternity that lies beyond the visible is a lot more to be hoped for than that of the fleeting life that we’re in.
Finally, refrain from judging at someone else’s yearning, but do your utmost to defy your own wayward longings. Remember, there is none more appropriate than being subservient to the will of God. In the end, the wealthy and the needy; the Master and his servant; the sinner and the saints; the wild and the tame shall face judgment just the same.
With a grateful countenance, stay humble. You are destined to be a happy soul.
I'm searching far and wide for the facts, getting my hands dirty in the process
When we conquer nations, I say bloodshed and they say progress
I have no desire to be burned at the stake
Simply practicing freedom of speech for Pete's sake
I know it's gonna hurt like none else when I reveal these secrets
But in this case ignorance ain't bliss, so I'm keeping true with no regrets
I've learned way too much and dug too deep to pretend I didn't see what I saw
I get disgusted when they tell me to keep quiet
cause I might just break some obscure law
They call me disrespectful and unpatriotic when I display any kind of negativity
But aren't they equally so when they throw me in a cell when I simply don't agree?
Cause at the end of the day, when all is said and done, the truth is still the truth
And I know when I say that I run the risk of hanging from a noose
But if you don't speak up, for fear of ridicule, either way you're gonna lose
It doesn't really matter if I offend the way you think
All I wanna do is offer you my hand, I don't want you to sink
in the sea of lies, those people behind the scenes are so proud of
The time for silence is finally over, the world has had quite enough
We aren't sheep in line waiting for the slaughter
We are brothers, sisters, sons and daughters!
And don't get me wrong I support the troops, just not the war
Does anyone honestly know what we're fighting for?
Stop hacking at the branches of evil, and grab at the roots
When the truth lies ahead, it's worth getting mud on your boots
I wanna let you know that your heart might shatter when I say this
I know you might be calling me crazy or disturbed, but I accept that risk
I'd like to honor the victims of 9/11 - but the investigation was a sick joke
If you're eating while reading this, for the love of God, don't choke
I need you to spread the word and really ask the hard questions
Any race and any nation is capable of performing crimes too foul to mention
Even our own (though reputedly god-blessed) is no exception
The building fell six seconds flat, from an illogical jet fuel blast
The fact it wasn't hot enough for fuel to explode, no one bothered to explain that
The kamikaze Arabs that flew the plane, a few are still alive, living in their home country
Just give 'em a ring and and say how's it going, oh and by the way,
"How did you defy your own mortality?"
Did you know a cool 60 mil was spent on digging into Clinton's love life?
Yet only a fraction of that was spent trying to figure out
who ordered the extermination of over a thousand lives...
Seems to me some poor sap is getting paid big bucks to drink the Kool Aid
Seems to me someone's laughing their head off while the rest of are getting played
Don't take my word it, I'm just one person after all, start your own research
All I'm asking is for you to think for yourself, and don't get too cozy on your perch
Pay close attention when they advance two steps only to jump back one
And when you notice you gotta catch them in the act, not after its already done
This isn't political opinion; the loss of human life is just something I don't condone
Life is just way too precious to be debating the humaneness of drones
Yeah, I support our brave troops, so for once do what's right and send 'em back home!
NOTE: I didn't write this for creative purposes, for this is no laughing matter, but a serious issue. What happened on the day of 9/11 was one of the most appalling crimes in recent history - please, don't listen to the basic news stations and take it for absolute truth. There are over a hundred contradictions in the "official story" they give out. What I mentioned in this rap is just bread crumbs compared to the whole story. The majority of people won't even consider the slightest possibility that 9/11 was an inside job (even when countless facts and holes in their story, lead one to believe that's exactly what it was). It is an absolute disgrace to the victims of 9/11, to leave the investigation in such obscurity and unanswered questions. This is not politics here... these are human beings we are talking about. I beg of you to not just take my word for it, but start your own research. There are several very thorough documentaries on the subject, that were put together by small groups of people eager to find the truth. Loose Change is a good one.
*There are only two damsels in this tale; all variations were simply for ease of writing.
Once Kate and Isabella went
To see the pretty fields of Gwent
And traipse through forest shade
They packed a picnic lunch for two
And skipped away in dresses blue
To find a charming glade
First tea and cakes, then off to play
They laughed and wandered all the day
'Till day was waxing faint
Then homeward faced, linked arm in arm
With never fear to cause alarm
Nor caution bring restraint
Alas! Alas! there lay a hole
With plot to swallow heart and soul
One golden-headed girl
That wretched hole may death berate
And end of being imprecate
That vile, vicious churl!
"Oh, help me, Kate!" cried Isobel
But fingers slipped and in she fell
'Mid shock and disbelief
Then Isabella, far below
Called, "Quickly, Katie! quickly go
For aid and sure relief."
Then Katie knelt beside the brim
Once sparkling eyes with tears aswim
And said, "I'll here remain."
But Isobel at once demurred
"Oh, Kate, some help must be secured
I cannot move for pain."
So off she went and searched around
But not one soul could there be found
Nor ever likely step't
She stopped awhile to sit and rest
Her folded hands to bosom pressed
And there she softly wept
A mounted knight then riding by
Beheld her tears and heard her sigh
And off his palfrey lit
Said he, "Fair damsel, golden-haired
Such doleful frame must be repaired
So speak thou whilst I sit."
"Alas, good Knight!" quoth woeful Kate
It may, I fear, be just too late
To save my friend to day
With haste, good knight, come, follow me
And see if succour yet may be
Oh, help me, knight, I pray."
The knight bestrode his lofty seat
Then set her aftward nice and neat
And off they set at trot
The knight she held with firmest hold
'Till at the pit both dark and cold
They Isabella sought
While night sped on at rapid pace
The knight set out to win the race
And save the damsel whole
A rope he from his saddle fetched
And tree to Isabella stretched
Then clambered in the hole
Right down the rope he quickly swung
And to her side he deftly sprung
He raised her from the dust
He tied a rope from waist to waist
And she her arms about him placed
In sweet, confiding trust
A span or two to hand he climbed
With Isabella right behind
'Till safety was secured
Then Kate and Isobel embraced
Said Kate, "What awful things you faced
And terrors you endured!"
Well, this was Isobel's reply
"Oh, Kate, I should not tell a lie
In word or even deed
Except to brave that curséd fall
It really was not bad at all
I knew you would succeed."
Then to the knight she turned and saith
"I thank thee, Knight, by all my faith
For saving me this night
Thus here I give my ring to wear
And trust that ye might ever fare
As well in ev'ry fight."
Then quoth the knight, "Thy ring I take
With faith that it myself will make
A nobler, better man
To fight for justice, truth, and peace
In hope that vice and evil cease
In ev'ry way I can.
"But let us neither tarry long
For hark! the cricket's evening song
Pervades the damp'ning air
So let me take thee, damsel, home
'Twould never do to leave thee roam
On halting legs to there."
Thus Isobel his palfrey rode
While Kate and he beside her strode
Right to their township sweet
"'Tis Belle and Kate!" the watchman called
And quickly down the drawbridge hauled
That they their kin might meet
The threesome turned from roads away
To streets of black and muted grey
'Till safely home at last
"Oh, praise the Lord," quoth Isobel
That though some trouble us befell
Those troubles now are past!"
"'Tis not so true," quoth Knight with grin
There yet remains to get thee in
And halting legs at that."
Then from the palfrey off she slipped
The knight her falling figure gripped
And bore her o'er the mat
His burden carried up the stairs
'Mid father's, mother's wond'ring stares
And gently placed in bed
Her father asked her why he came
She said that she was nearly lame
And dizzied in the head
At that he wished the knight to stay
But through the dark he rode away
His lamp the crescent moon
And though he had some deed to do
Those pretty maidens somehow knew
The knight would see them soon
When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood
just how much words effect us.
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.
By Stanley Collymore
Never speak ill of the dead we’re constantly and solemnly
exhorted regardless of who they are or the life that
they freely chose to live, as they’re no longer
around, is the lame and unconvincing excuse
that’s often and dishonestly given in explanation, to rebut or
defend their name, any accusations or adverse criticisms,
however concrete or valid they might be, being made
against them; and in those circumstances therefore
to then embark on such a plan would in itself be
quite unbecoming while serving as nothing
more than a cheap and cowardly way of
attempting to exact one’s own revenge.
But hang on a moment, how truly valid is this
simplistic and supposedly moral exhortation; and why
should the intervention of death, distinct from any
other known phenomenon, be the sole exculpation for
someone’s life-long sins and premeditated wrongdoings
that disparagingly have callously, schemingly,
perniciously, quite methodically and comprehensively
destroyed the lives of so many who were
exclusively picked on and especially targeted for
reasons of dogmatic political ideology, or
those specifically and illogically
associated with their race
I was never a miner viewed as the country’s low-life and
thusmalevolently castigated as the enemy within, but
I am and have longstandingly been a proud trade
unionist whose movement just as
viciously by this self-centred,
venal and privileged elite was likewise tarred
with the same condemnatory brush and
scandalously branded the same.
Similarly, I was an anti-apartheid activist firmly
committed, as I always will be, to the noble concept
globally of the universality of human rights, equality
for all human beings and the ultimate eradication
of racism, tirelessly working also in tandem
for freedom of expression by everyone,
genuine democracy and the lawful and
moral right to withhold one’s labour,
and particularly so in manufactured industrial
disputes specifically designed to disrupt the cohesion,
deliberately break-up and ruthlessly destroy the
bargaining rights of all trade unions.
So why would I, or anyone else for that matter
with a social conscience, want to actually
eulogize and not rightly despise someone who,
while together with their husband was
profiting massively financially from South Africa’s
apartheid system, none the less perversely saw fit
to label Nelson Mandela a terrorist and roundly
vilify the ANC as a terrorist organization, while
astonishingly and without a modicum of regret
laud the architects of apartheid and the
ardent supporters of institutionalized
racism as the veritable champions of
what they deem as democracy?
Unless, of course, such individuals have short or convenient
memories and are themselves a complete abomination of what
society, which we were told by this woman doesn’t exist,
or come to that humanity should actually represent!
So I’ve no apologies to make or will I relent from
the stance I’ve taken because Death, inevitable
to us all, has finally, and some would
justifiably say, long-sufferingly and somewhat
kindly stepped in and brought the life of yet
another tyrant to its end. So feel free those of you
who want to eulogize or even dress yourself up
in sackcloth and ashes if you wish amidst your contrived beating
of chests and sorrowful refrains; but in doing so, I’d like for
you in your unrestrained orgy of engineered anguish
and false grief to jointly entreat you to abstain
from ever doing any of this in my name.
© Stanley V. Collymore
12 April 2013.
In the midst of life there is death the great leveller of us all. We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. So what doth it profit a man or woman if in their life time they gain all the riches of the world yet lose their soul for eternity? The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the Name of the Lord.
I waited and waited--out-- on my front steps.
I saw that they were coming, I saw my box was next.
The postman,He handed--a short stack to me.
My eyes scanning quickly, some message from she?
Then came some excitment, addressed to my door.
A strange tiny package, unlike any before.
I torn at it lightly, not knowing what was inside.
In brown wrapping paper--just what did it hide?
My hands started trembling, my fingers collide,
I thought that I heard- something humming inside.
As I pulled back the wrapping, I grew very sure.
It held in it her answer..the one I'd waited for.
I pulled on one string that she had looped around,
Then I heard it again--that strange humming sound.
The string floated down, twisting and turning to rest.
As I noticed beside it, could this be some nest?
I ripped at the wrapping, I pulled and I tore..
Unlike any present--I'd opened before.
A tiny hole opened, from the side of my gift.
She knew it would be there...to make my heart lift.
Then all of the sudden--this box-- it opened up wide.
I'd unleashed its contents, I'd freed its insides.
A very big smile--appeared on my lips.
I had to calm down--my emotions to grip.
The humming grew louder and then louder again.
Its sound got familar, I'd heard it--but when?
My mind raced so quickly, This hum heard before.
I'd heard it---I knew it-- from outside my back door.
That sound so familar..a hum..I listened for more.
I pulled open a corner and what did I see?
Two tiny eyes--looking at me.
My hands again trembled--then my fingers did knot--
and out of the wrapping, this hummingbird shot.
He first landed gentlely--right in my left hand
He then beat his wings,just where would it land?
These wings brushed me gently,as he brushed my right cheek
and captured the tears-- that my eyes--did then leak.
My phone, then it rang. And I've caller I.D.
Who's number was it? Just who would it be?
The lights spelled her name,the call was from she.
"Did You open the package? That I last week sent?"
"I hoped it would arrived unbroken or bent."
I broke out in laughter,
I'd waited so long..
I thanked her and thanked her..
I felt that my heart, was starting to lift.
She'd sent me a friend, for my lady out back.
My small lady hum bird....the man bird,she lacked.
If You get a package..from the one you desire..
the one that you care for..the one who inspires..
Wish on the stars---all hanging above.
and hope thats it humming and packaged with love.
Solitaire / Solitude
Solitude will be my recognition, my fame !
Solitude is my time to claim !
Solitary is my adopted name !
Solitaire is the name of my game,
to play away these hours of mine
until there is nothing left of my time
on this plane or of this rhyme.
B. J. “A ” 2
October 19th 2001
July thirty first
Two thousand and one
An end has come, to times filled with the recordings of sounds
from a glorious, ancient past.
Time has come to empty the mind of what hounds,
time to indulge in a lengthy fast.
Time before now
There is beauty, where there is light,
but, it has become obvious !, that night
is not a place of beauty, peace or rest
for a man, who, out of his life, has made a mess
of troubles, troubled thoughts and deep reflections.
And like me , they get lost in the quagmire,
and at the cost of my soul on fire,
burning with flames of pain, in depressions
grip, without the ability to solve, that which is,
trouble, which my lot in life is.
B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001
Another Time before now
My heart cries out, with each lonely tear drop
I realizing that, of my life, I have made a flop
and in the process, lost little pieces of mu soul,
forever washed away, evaporating into thin air.
What a heart wrenching thing for one to know,
to believe about his life, to believe it is not fair,
that all they were – those tiny pieces that formally
fit together and made up the whole – a family
that was my soul, never again for me to know,
for tear drops nourish not, nor will they make grow.
Only lubricate the path, the way of letting go.
B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001
Still another time
There is this killing chill, filling the air
that leaves me in a deep state of despair
as my young, fair haired Daughter,
seems to have forgotten all I had taught her
as she makes a prisoner of my heart and soul,
with her vengeance, caging my spirit in a gaol
of her spite, as the might of her hatred encases,
dictates the course of my life, as it races
towards thoughts of her young son,
my beautiful, second Grandson,
who, like her, is lost to my touch, my embraces
due to the bars she has erected, the distance she places.
Me, my life, they have become the walls she builds
that grow ever thicker, wider, more distant, higher,
an impenetrable wall of searing, blinding fire.
B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001
And still another
I do not know where it is ?, that I might be
if it were not for my dark haired, lovely, Melanie.
I do not know what it is, that my mind would see ?,
in this life if it was not for my youngest,
thoughtful Daughter, who deserved the best,
deserves much, much better from me.
For now, it seems, she just wants to be free !
B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001
And yet another
The sleepless dreaming of humankind,
is to leave the waking nightmare behind,
reach deep down inside, to touch and find,
all the stuff of its soul. Its heart, its mind
so that in the end mankind will stand high and shine.
B. J. “A ” 2
July 31st 2001
My girl child, a beautiful woman so far away
fills my eyes, fills my thoughts every day.
Her life I left behind, let slip away so long ago.
How she feels ?, who she is ?, so little do I know.
My love for her I try, I hope I do show ?
Does she see?, can she feel it grow and grow ?,
as the years left behind, lost, stow
away, enlighten me one day to all I have missed.
B. J. “A” 2
July 31st 2001
As the son stands
Casting shadows upon this land,
I know not where I stand,
where I might fit in, or who I am.
There is no one to lend a hand
as the cold winds wipe me from the sand.
Not a trace !, find not, I can ?
Do I fly with the sun ?,
from the shadows do I run ?,
or is it ?, with them I walk
passing over others, never to talk.
Or do I stand ?, with the land
as the sun passes over head
The shadows, a blanket for my bed.
Laying there, sleeping is my soul
and in that state of reverie, never to know ?
B. J. “A” 2
July 31st 2001
NEWS Item AP: TOGO
LOME – In an effort to topple a government set up to end a 24 year dictatorship rebellious army troops seized the state broadcasting station yesterday, then left the building but returned several hours later and recaptured it. Up to six people died in the clashes. The rebels forced a broadcaster to report demands that the prime minister Joseph Koffigoh resign and dissolve the high council set up to oversee the transition from military rule to democracy.
Revolution in Togo
I was lying on my lawn chair on a sunny summer day
With a dozen pack of Heineken and there I planned to stay
My wife came screaming from the house, most upset I must say
She knew there was trouble brewing, that I’d have to go away
In her hand she had the newspaper, waved it wildly in my face
I looked quickly at the headline and my heart began to race
What, I cried, a revolution? That could not be the case!
A revolution out in Togo? But we all came from that place!
“That’s impossible” I shouted, it is such a peaceful place
A revolution out in Togo? What a terrible disgrace!
I wondered what was brewing, what the problem there could be
My imagination then took over and the rest is history
I could see the picture clearly, I could see it all come down
It was all about the money, and the purse strings of the town
John Mulroy’d been in opposition for two terms maybe three
He was sick of watching the corruption and all the bribery
The foreigners came from Makaroff and San Clara and took hold
Taking all the jobs and contracts, lined their pockets with our gold
Johns support from Runnymede and Kamsack were stuck outside
Getting menial jobs and thinking they’d been taken for a ride
Rollie Hamel was Johns inside man, he was working for the town
Telling John what was going on and what was coming down
John was now determined to stop the debauchery
And raise himself an army to set the people free
He got the Nabe boys and the Burbacks and a couple of their friends
To mount an armed insurrection and bring this to an end
They quickly took the broadcast station in the back of Richies’ store
Within two hours the regular army came crashing through the door
What a standoff as they stared each other down with dirty looks
Talking about the law and the dubious entries in the village books
It was turning ugly for no one was backing down
But Richie’s store was also the only liquor store in town
In the meantime I had panicked with a sense of responsibility
For there are times when a man must fight to protect his dignity
I sold my house and all my toys to buy supplies and guns
To try and save the homeland from the invading Huns
I arrived in Togo just in time to get to Richies’ store
And found a bunch of bodies lying passed out on the floor
What happened? I cried, with dread to anyone that could hear
John Mulroy said, with groggy head, t’was the best party of the year
“We came down last night to have a beer and watch the hockey game
Drank a too much and passed out on the floor here, what a shame
We drank up all the whiskey, the whole supply in town
Then we finished off the moonshine as the third period wound down”
I said “What happened to the revolution going on here at home?”
He looked at my newspaper article and said “No, that says in Lome”
Lome I said, confused now, where the hell is Lome?
He said that’s in a place called Togo, I said well…. that is my home…..?
He said “No you idiot, that’s not here, it’s an African country
Everybody’s heard about it”, I thought “Yeah, everyone but me”
I said “Damn it, I’ve got loads of equipment, what can I do with it?”
He said “Sell it I guess, to tell the truth I don’t really give a shit”
So, I have two dozen crossbows, two hundred arrows and 3 Willis jeeps
I came fully prepared to fight the war, prepared to play for keeps
I have enough stores and weapons so any revolution I can dowse
I’m trying hard to sell it now so I can buy a house