Best Auxiliary Poems
I'll never forget the date, the nineteenth of November
It's etched firmly in my mind, and I'll always remember
It was the day that I had my spinal decompression surgery
And hopefully it would put an end to over a year of misery.
I was struggling to walk, and it was depressing for me
And it was especially frustrating for all my close family
I couldn't go cycling or for walks in the countryside
I just wanted to stay at home and from the world hide.
My journey started with physio, but exercise caused me pain
And I couldn't help but wonder if I'd ever be the same again
My MRI scan showed trapped nerves at the base of my spine
I opted for surgery and the surgeon reassured me I'd be fine.
I arrived at the hospital and was under the care of a surgeon
A renowned Consultant Spinal Neurosurgeon, Mr Faizul Hassan
They put surgical socks on me, along with a hospital gown
Then a porter arrived at nine o'clock to take me down.
They put a mask on my face and then I went to sleep
And it was a quarter to one when I was woken by a beep
A nurse then asked me if I wanted a drink of water
And I thought I'm having an op, maybe I'll have it later.
But I'd had my operation, and I didn't feel any leg or back pain
I was so relieved I'd had it done and I could live normally again
The porter took me back to ward one and the nurses were there
It is their kindness I'll never forget and their excellent care.
And all the surgeons too who performed my operation
They've given me my life back; for them I'm full of admiration
And all the porters, admin staff and auxiliary nurses too
They all play a vital part in making dreams come true.
I'm recovering at home now and post op I've got slight pain
I'm so glad to have had it done; I have plenty to gain
My three daughters and my wife are now looking after me
And I consider myself lucky to have such a caring family.
In a fortnight I've got to have staples removed from my back
Then my back won't feel so stiff, and I'll soon be back on track
And I've got to take it easy for a few months and watch what I do
No heavy lifting of any kind and in six weeks return for a review.
Written on the 23rd November 2023
Dedicated to all the staff at the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital in Birmingham. UK.
“Tamam Shud”
Handsome comes
as handsome goes
forgotten
not missed
lies waiting
intestate
a code
undeciphered
Mystery in the end -
far more interesting
answers calling
something whispers:
"Death -
open gate ...
Come in"
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"Spin Spin Sugar" / Sneaker Pimps
https://youtu.be/uGPdpWbg5bU
"Police found a book nearby
from which,
the piece of paper was torn -
the works of a 12th century poet -
and on the inside cover
found some sort of code,
and a local telephone number."
1. Tamam Shud Case
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tamam_Shud_case
2. "The man, fully dressed in a business suit, was found propped against the seawall at Somerton Park Beach, in southern Adelaide, on December 1, 1948."
https://www.abc.net.au/news/2020-10-08/new-animation-shows-face-of-mystery-somerton-man/12717590
3. Somerton Man/Blog
https://tomsbytwo.com/2021/02/02/two-definable-patterns-in-the-tamam-shud-code/
4. Somerton Man/CasoCriminal
https://casocriminal.org/en/unsolved-cases/mystery-of-the-somerton-man-taman-shud-case/
5. Tamam Shud / translate.
"In Persian "tamam" is a noun that simply means "the end" and it can also be used in the sense when something is finished or completed. The "shud" bit on the end is an auxiliary verb that puts it into the past tense, so "tamam shud" means "ended" or "finished".
6. Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rubaiyat_of_Omar_Khayyam
7. Edward Fitzgerald (poet)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_FitzGerald_(poet)
8. ASIO
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Australian_Security_Intelligence_Organisation
9.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RAAF_Woomera_Range_Complex
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Radium_Hill
Psychological Science/Criminology,
double major.
LYRICS/ "Spin Spin Sugar", Sneaker Pimps
https://genius.com/Sneaker-pimps-spin-spin-sugar-lyrics
Through invisible bars
Of his wide expansive space,
He searched far into the night sky
And settled upon a distant star,
Where the wounds she had administered
Did not resemble upheaval at all.
This bridge he had crossed
A time warp, a pathway through space
In chains of link-less shackles,
On the “SS Bounty Celest”
Stacked to the brim with earth’s forlorn,
Alas prisoners from a congested world
Where with no recognition of one’s culture
By its self-governed order without borders,
Into the melting pot one and all did fall.
Deep within this God forsaken galaxy
An outback far beyond,
Where the limit of sunlit days
Roll into moonless nights
And the hours are long.
Man, with his acute sense of superiority
Feels free to explore roam and contaminate,
And with the logic
Of digital and mechanical auxiliary,
Destroys in His name
All that had gone before.
© Harry J Horsman 2018
America is not a Free Buffet
Loch David Crane, M. Ed.
Border Patrol Auxiliary
22 September 2008
America is not a free buffet
for benefit of those from far away.
We have our borders, customs, laws, and rules
securing our posterity from fools,
criminals, diseased people, and those
who mean us harm and carry bombs.
Malaria and leprosy are brought
by the undocumented who aren't caught.
The dumb, the desperate, or the diseased,
those lacking skills and schooling from "back home,"
all feel entitled through our fence to roam.
They break in here, and that's why we're displeased.
But those who choose to come here legally
have done it right, deserving to be free.
My Heart beats faster when I touch my Gun
Loch David Crane,
Border Patrol Auxiliary
26 January 2010
We track illegal aliens in the snow.
It's easy to see where their booties go.
But "huddled masses yearning to breathe free"
should wait in line and come here legally.
Your thievery dishonors those who came
here legally, but have Latino names.
If you, like others, waited patiently
we'd welcome you "from sea to shining sea."
"Observe, report, direct" and document:
these lawful practices are our intent.
On nights like this, lit brightly by the Moon,
I monitor the freqs from our comms room.
My heart beats faster when I touch my gun:
it's in the holster empty, safety on.
(freqs are frequencies on the radio in the Communications center.)
People sing in praise of a lead performer;
And the person playing the second fiddle
Often goes unsung and unhonoured.
That is the fate of all such auxiliary artistes, say,
A guitarist strumming the chords—
To keep up the rhythm
Or, as typically in India,
The tambura player,
providing the continuous harmonic drone,
Which no electronic substitute
Can possibly offer—
Not to the entire satisfaction of the audience,
As it would be lacking in timbre and temper.
Yet, comparatively speaking,
There may not be much money in it.
Percussion artistes, on the drums,
The Mrudangam or Tabala,
Are all worse off,
Though they often perform multiple tasks.
Now striking, for instance, a cymbal,
Now a triangle or a xylaphone.
Even the famous Sivamani has got to do it.
They all, however, go about their tasks on the stage
With as much zest as the lead performer—
Yet a Sivamani or a Zakir Hussein
Hitting the headlines, is very rare.
Their presence is hardly noticed,
Though their absence may surely be felt.
Their role is comparable
To that of the squirrel—in the Ramayana,
Which helped Rama,
In its own humble way,
To put up the bridge
(preparatory to his encounter with Ravana)
Across the Palk Strait to Sri Lanka,
And yet did its best.
Such artistes do exemplify team spirit.
They also serve who stand (or sit)
On the stage and do auxiliary work!
***
You live in your own inner city, which you bought in a
silent auction.
You were again unable to cancel your debts.
Under your blackening eyelids you try to feel certain
things.
Without noticing your withdrawal from self, you leave for
distant parts
by using your ropes of thought like a ski-lift.
Your shudders increase as you touch the numberless elements.
In your screams at the moment when you feel the jolts
from the echoes
of your words crossing the threshold of your thought,
you send birds fleeing before you. As you breathe, your
roses wither.
In your moments of madness, crystals fall from your roof.
As your field of thought shrinks, your city expands. You
exhaust yourself
from running down the streets and avenues.
As the lamps of your voltage machines alight upon your
nights,
your humans robotize themselves.
The toads in your dirty waters frighten even the crocodiles.
Your inner journey makes you grow older.
Your internal cries amplify themselves.
You manifest difficulties with forty paws.
The auxiliary cells of your laboratories do not give you
the opportunity to live any pleasurable moments.
While the fear indicator inside you slackens you through
and through, you
have not
even the possibility of speaking. With each movement of
the clock,
the seasons rip themselves out of your heart.
Your solitude traverses your spirit without cease.
by Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Mantes la Ville - 22.09.2002
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by F.J. Bergmann - 16.02.2003
In mind's castle many furnished rooms
In upper chamber, chaste virtue grooms
In lower chamber, strands of civility bloom
In antechamber, auxiliary dreams, visions illume
In the inner chamber, fears, insecurities subsume
In dim, adjoining corridors, venal guile do entomb
From bed chamber, hypothalamus, carnal libations spoon
In library, Prefrontal cortex, sentient patterns resume
In nursery, hippocampus, Id suckles the womb
In hearth's cozy fireplace, nurtured Ego swoons
From dusky, dank cellar, hidden desires fume
In dungeon's dark recesses resides a foreboding gloom
In courtyard, amygdala, aesthetic designs mushroom
pushing aside last night's clutter
from the late night burst of creative energy
open the blinds and let the warm light stream in
select the perfect playlist and crack your knuckles
time to go to work....
channeling your inner self, hoping that it is revealed through your work
orchestrating a solo tune that you and you alone know
a meditation on things past, on things to come
a way to unearth the substantial from the minimal
and breathe new life into old materials
wood set adrift, turned amber from the elements
metal oxidized a golden brown
and discarded plastic brought together in an unlikely unison
weaving together a tapestry of auxiliary parts
whether art for art's sake or treading the precarious waters of the political realm
art and its processes mean something
for earth without art is 'eh'
so continue on burning the candle at both ends creative types
throw caution to the wind and let your hair down
for the unmitigated impulse, when strong, is a difficult thing to silence
for every stop along the way brings new obstacles to overcome
new directions to tread
so be bold, be not shy in the quest for personal expression
unfurl your hopes and dreams, inject your very essence into your work
let it stand on solid ground, amongst the timid and the meek
let the firm foundation of your creation be a lightning rod for conversation
let it scream with intention and innuendo
do not sink into apathy but rise with the flare of the morning sun
let everything you touch be rejuvenated
do not waste a precious second on the ephemeral streams of the market
nor fickle collector
make art for all the RIGHT reasons
cast off and set sail for the remote local that is a true artist
this land of rarefied air where food is scarce and rent is a constant longing
do not be discouraged or disenchanted
but beware this is not for the faint of heart
blood will be spilt and tears will be shed
but it is not for nothing, do not be forlorn
for art is the prize
and that will be just fine
so push aside all of last night's clutter and get to work
Don't weary : be lively
Don't worry : be Momentary and Complementary
Don't hurry : be Anticipatory and Auxiliary
Live your life at ease, compromise is an unstable dry branch of failure.
The wind that bends the sticks and stems
Sends a message that makes the lights grow dim
I don't know when, but I will transcend
This disaster and all its whims and trends
After fomenting rebellion I was soon rescued
And all I could think about was my niece and nephew
A modern Pygmalion sculpting flesh and sinew
waiting on life to be breathed into my statue
The narcissist's mirror has been shattered
And the barbarian's bravery has been battered
The scribe's scroll has been burnt and scattered
And the figurehead's ego has been flattered
Let's not forget, last but not least
We must remove the burden from the beast
Subsisting solely on scraps from the feast,
Prayers from parishioners and pedantic priests
That heavy yoke must be destroyed
And auxiliary forces must be deployed
That unfamiliar feeling of being overjoyed
Has been gone so long and left such a void
A Hillary Auxiliary
Then there are those that are a Trump turncoat
From Republican to Democrat decided to vote
Where they would feel more safe and sound
Knowing terrible Trump was no longer around.
Women voters had begun to spread a yarn
Not any male candidate was worth a darn
No woman would want to sell herself short
So Hillary they should start and support.
Sure was great that on you Hillary did grow
While they where keeping the men in tow.
Besides women were starting to sing a song
Saying men must have been morally wrong.
Found a female Democrat that they all adore
So why not for another Clinton should vote for
Thanks to the voting of each women's auxiliary
Now have new president whose name is Hillary.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran, Soothsayer and Poet
The Mystery of Hillary
The humility, oh Hillary…
What are thou good for?
As you rub shoulders with the rich, in victory,
And stomp your feet on the poor…
The conspiracy, oh Hillary…
You still want to be President!
The first lady in the White House Distillery,
Where all of our monies will be spent…
The witchery, oh Hillary…
You’ve lived all your life in politics,
Receiving many gifts from your auxiliary
And all you gave us was your bag of tricks…
The misery, oh Hillary…
The hidden world of you and Podesta,
With pizzas on special delivery,
And the authorities ready to arrest-ya…
The contradictory, oh Hillary…
What’s the deal with you and Trump?
Do you stand for all liberty?
Or do you stand up to grump?
This verse is intended for entertainment purposes ONLY! No politicians or children were harmed in the making of this poem…No names were changed to protect the guilty…If I disappear within the next two weeks…Well hopefully, you'll know who to contact...(All in good clean fun kids)
April.08.2019
A Realistic Hillary Clinton Poem
Sponsored by: Michael Wegman
Placed 5'th...Thank You
Moina Michael was a teacher,
Who vowed to wear a poppy,
Each year so as to remember,
The fallen, alone and the dead.
She wrote a poem in reply,
To McCrae’s In Flanders Fields,
Promised thenceforth to objectify,
By the poppy, red for blood liberty.
As a lecturer she taught,
Disabled servicemen broken,
Asked of them their enterprise,
At making silk poppies as a token.
These poppies became the symbol,
Of the American Legion Auxiliary,
In 1921 when at a loose end,
In contextualising that battery.
French national Anna Guerin,
Brought these poppies to Britain,
Where the Royal British Legion,
Bought nine million for certain.
We owe these two women,
The stability of our modernity,
Because they allowed us,
To reflect on horror positively.
Read Moina Michael's poem We Shall Keep Faith at:
http://www.greatwar.co.uk/poems/moina-michael-we-shall-keep-faith.htm
Fighting, facing from the world
Women are the slave of the world
They know the meaning of sacrifice
What haven't they sacrificed
Women are the need of the men
Then why they are being killed by the men?
Why don't a men understand,
How strong a women can stand?
Women fights for you till her end
Why men is the reason for her end?
Women is the one u need
Then why they are in deed?
Why they think a girl is a burden?
Is this the reason for her aversion
They are the gift of the god
Only a few of them have got
Women are auxiliary with men
They are superior then to the men
Respect women till your life end
Both sex will have happy end.