Best Sook Poems
Once upon an ancient time,
in long gone languid days,
when distant misted myths bechanced
in lovely rhym'ed ways,
when time was so much freer,
less allotted to the minute,
‘twas then the mighty Big Mac got the gherkin in it.
The night was one made fit for gods,
and stars made white the sky,
and drunk, dylsexic old McDonald
sang Oh Eee, Oh Eee, I.
His greatest yet creation
sat on his barbie plate,
it was the mighty Big Mac with no inkling of its fate.
McDonald thought the pattie lacked
a certain...
Il ne savait pas.
He decided what he'd give it was this green thing from a jar.
But Big Mac cried out, ‘Hang about!
I like the way I am!
And I think that what I need the least is a prostate gland exam.'
McDonald growled, ‘Don't be a sook!
It's not gonna hurt a bit.
Just close your eyes and grit your teeth and keep loose where you sit.'
Big Mac firmly grasped his bun
and held it really tight,
he had Phallicvegiephobia and would resist with all his might.
But McDonald was too smart by far,
Big Mac was not his match,
the old bloke snuck up from behind to by surprise him catch.
Beneath an unsuspecting arm
he gave a little tickle,
the burger gave a little laugh and got a little pickle...
So the Big Mac we all know today
was born of subterfuge.
And although the gherkin in it aint really all that huge,
remember that it's only there
by the skullest of skullduggery,
and that bit we discard's the fruit
of midnight burger buggery.
Going bush
So I suppose if the world explodes
With war and misery
I will go bush,
Atom bombs will push
Me away from the great city
Return to the fiftys lifestyle
Box of matches an a pocketknife
To live off the land
Be home again
Mongst Rabbit n Roo
without strife
Eat old sheep,
a feed for a week
Shrimp bucket will get me some….(pale prawns)
Drop a line in the creek
Yellow belly I seek
Or Codfish you’d only need one……like Groper
When Codfish does strike
He can snap your line tight
And jerk it out of your hand
Big buggers out there
A hundred pound, rare
Yet a hard battle to land
Dreaming of the old riverbank
With the Coolibahs overhead
Old snake stay away
I’m not here to play
Brown Froggy is mine to keep
He’ll catch me a Jew
a Yellow belly too
Codfish will snap all that creeps
So into the coals
near me billy of tea
goes the fish well covered to cook
eat him bit later with sweet potato
then into me swag I’m no sook (wuss)
Don Johnson
Retirement and the remote control,
This sounds like a whinge in an ode,
Retired men and remote controls,
Includes, "Who gave old men phones?"
Is this what 'golden years' meant?
Defensible violence to retired men?
You'll be getting good manners for tea,
And not much more from me!
Don't you turn T-Rex on me!
I want a turn on that remote control, please,
You've turned into a sook and a toad,
My 'golden years' whinge in an ode!
A dream broken open left to decay away
Another undoing left to go through the skewing and the scathing
Called raving mad, angry, and sad
As above so below
We are what we know
I won't go away so easily repeatedly
Told eyes of golden beauty to the monstrous reapers keeper
"You will never be anything of what you seek"
"What we have you never reach"
Sad and bitter truth in a world obsessed with outer appearances and disgusted by the thin shell of our bodies crust
What lies beneath should be sook but pray never is
First show us aesthetically appeal, kneel and, never speak against us
Our world is filled with many beautiful things pray we are complex and contradictory to those things but,
Give us wings and we can soar higher then the heavens past the moon
Past now past soon
Pray me an ugly thing who saw beauty in everything and now my scorched heart bleeds to a broken beat and i no longer see those things as I once did
I fled or they hid
Now I run with the sun and the monster they saw I became
Driven insane by the ravenous and perpetual stream of my minds eye
I have forgotten how to cry
Lost amongst the ashes in a time well remembered
A cold, dark, and bitter December but,
My hope though a dying ember still burns and it yearns to ignite
Here in the words I write
In the nights I lay awake and toss to turn my view of this dark abyss of broken dreams into my one wish
I used to wonder what crashing thunder could bring and i would sing so loud so proud of everything and everyone
I was shunned made a fool
I no longer hold out my hand in hopes of camaraderie
Beauty took the best of me it cannot have the rest of me
I keep myself well hidden from the world around me
A diamond unrefined still shines in the light but dims in the dark of night
I will glow when the day finds me and be sullen and cold when the night binds me
Forever golden, Forever frozen
A contradicting scheme of unfathomable torment
A wide river flowing endlessly with harsh turns, rigid rocks, and cold that shocks
At every turn another fall into a deep well an icy hell
This river that twists and turns you that scorns and burns you lasts for eternity
It rages on endlessly
This is my reality
A raging river searching for the sea
Staking Claims: For Yucatec Maya & Native Peoples
The stones of the desert cry with me
They are brothers and sisters, but no bloody kin
New hearts see just cold rocks … no warmth or charity …
Might you see how we worship gods in them?
The gods themselves are dead, buried in hopeless holes
They died when we could not stop the excesses of each Columbus
Who brought a brutal hunger for gold and souls
Then bone and marrow fell within Columbus’ compass
The trees and tree stumps of the Yucatan
Hold deep scars and memories in their bosoms
The limestone cries quietly for the sons of Chillam Balam
Their tears yielding tomorrow’s blossoms
For even grasses, herbs, insects … know
That they too will be sucked, one after another
Away from the withering, wrinkled body of our Mother
Through a gaping hole in the atmosphere
All earth cries with the sun and stone worshippers
The blackened peasant clasps his callused hands
With those last calories from a breakfast of peppers
Unaware that his gods died hopelessly condemned
The desert explodes into those oases
Where infatuated faith still yields cool, delicious flesh
And forgiving flowers among the spikes in the cactus:
The desert and stones are gentler than Columbus
©Dr. A. S. Deo, 500 Years after Columbus, circa 1996.
BACKGROUND NOTE OF HORRORS:
(Written in the 1990s. Blood and tears are part of the story, not only for Native Peoples like the Maya of the Yucatan, but for my wife and daughters, too. A Sri Lankan professor allied with my Promoter/Chairman of my doctoral committee, objected to my politics outside of the classroom. They used the clout of the legal department at my campus, The Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, to shut me up and deny my degree. They failed, thanks to my “cold stone gods” and Jesus. I defended my thesis, successfully, on 1 May 1995 and was back working in my native South Africa in June 1995! Soon I was hired by the Department of Foreign Affairs in Pretoria, when Nelson Mandela was President. He retired in 1998. Sadly, little changed in the then DFA at the Union Buildings, and poor of South Africa … and across the globe, continue to get false hope & promises from Liberals, Conservatives, Blacks & Whites. Jesus alone will speak truth to you, about EVERYTHING. Check a Bible near you, start with John's Book)
REFLECTION
I have often found respite on woodland walks. I listen, look, take every image as a point of view. On reflection, I think you do too. Often smells tell tales of what has been, flowers beckon, smell me, please. A rustle in the undergrowth, I've found a blackbird scratting, a grey squirrel nutting. The cooing of a turtle dove, wooing its partner, is it in love? Then there is a tapping, a greater spotted, then a green starts laughing, woodpeckers both. Woodland happiness, its verdant growth. Like you, of nature, I make the most!
a woodland glade
warm the morning... long shadows...
last night it rained
Your tanka read, inspirational, in as much it nudged me to write this haibun prose of my morning walk. Of a woodland, my second home, but natures always been my neighbour. Quite often, like today, I sook respite, nature takes me by the hand, I ponder. What was it that closed your ears to the woodland sounds? Your footsteps, to drown out the songs of nature, your loss must be something you held dear. Forgive me, Heidi, I will intrude no further, remiss and rude, I beg again your forgiveness.
the light of day fades
clouds deny the sun freedom
a warm zephyr squalls
Heidi Sands with her tanka gave me a nudge to rewrite my today's (06/17/18), haibun, of which I dedicate to her. Thank you, Heidi, Mick
There is no pain!just numb remains.
living inside and seeing clearly out!
Fear of the one who thinks you dumb!
blame?insane?have no doubts!
I never kissed the blarney stone.
I swallowed it in one sook!
never missed a beat!or owed a loan!
the dancing champion had this sudden stroke of luck!?
With mordant comments
he tries to geld a standpat
in a feminists' meet
and turns a sook
at tea break
--R.K.Singh
It never quite occurred to me, this silence in our house,
but now for more than two weeks, she’s been quieter than a mouse.
And in our fifteen years of marriage there has never been this bliss,
I thought we must be getting on - but there’s points I seem to miss.
It was at the dinner table when the nightly news was on,
her silence it was broken, she asked, ‘where our love had gone?’
I nearly choked upon me beer; has our love diminished?
I said “oh fair go Love, let’s wait until the news is finished”.
What did I say wrong? What sent her storming from the room?
Ah, she’ll get over it, once she gets back off her ‘broom’.
But here I am with collar on and hauled in with a lead,
to face a marriage councillor with a non-existent need.
The wife and I sat side by side to face this fellow in his chair,
and I was still confused about the reason why we’re there.
I copped the leading question; he asked me why we’d come along?
I shrugged me shoulders, shook me head, and said that nothings’ wrong.
But when he turned and faced my wife she had too much to say,
for she brought up every problem that we’d had along the way.
Our fifteen years of history was tormenting to a large degree,
she poured out a painful tirade with finger pointing all at me.
She went on and on about neglect, emptiness and un-met needs,
loneliness and so unloved, plus a host of selfish deeds.
She whined about my hurtful comments that are derogatory,
of socialising with me mates when I know that she needs me.
Talk about embarrassment! I didn’t know quite where to look,
the therapist would see my wife as nothing but a sook,
but he got up and walked around, and stood there face to face,
with my wife and in his arms - he gave her a tight embrace.
Then he kissed her with a passion and I’m sure I heard her moan.
Thank God I never left the pair of them in this room here alone,
because on the face of my dear wife, there’s this erotic daze,
at least she bloody shut up when she would have whined for days.
The therapist then turned to me and with a strong voice chose to speak,
“This is what your dear wife needs, at least three times a week”.
I mulled the situation over, then compromised the fellows wishing,
“Mondays and Wednesdays I’ll drop her off, but Fridays I go fishing”.
Laying in the bed beside you, early morning light,
cascades into the window banishing all signs of
night,
your sleeping frame presents to me an appetizing
sight, I'll wake you up as only I can do, with sheer
delight.
You're underneath the comforter because of
morning chill, I gently ease it off prepared to give you
more than thrills,
your sexy thighs define mine eyes they're slightly
parted still, I drape your legs across my shoulders,
zero movement; nill.
My face descends your waist I breathe in deep your
sweet'ning air, the peaches that I plan to eat secrete
a sweet'ning flair,
that trickles just a little we can race, I'll meet you
there, my tongue becomes The One like Neo
leaping through the air.
The 1st lick stirs your body lightly, is this just a
dream? Your womanhood's dessert I'm talkin
peaches AND the cream,
which seemingly's inviting me to your forbidden
seams, you moan and then it's quiet, I call THAT a
silent scream.
The shock is wearing off and now the sound starts
coming out, your legs are softly tremb'ling as my
tongue moves all about,
like surgery most certainly but this aint nip and tuck, I
introduce my special skill, I call it 'lick and suck'.
This means that simultan'eously my tongue as well
as lips, are working hard in tandem to dismantle
your defense,
just like a potent passing game I'm rackin up the
yards, I throw to 2 receivers that'll make you scream
for God.
See now that's what you're doing as we're entering
that stretch, the sun is shining bright outside and yet
you're soaking wet,
sook sookie not a rooke status labels me a vet, I
spell the alphabet which makes you gush all on my
neck.
I latch on like a newborn baby latches on to feed,
you're sudd'nly strong as 20 men, I guess that's it
indeed,
you look at me astoundingly not knowing what to do,
I wink an eye and wipe my mouth, good morning to
you too.
Pickles Graham heard the woosh,
Amber liquid showered his moosch (face)
Startled by the sudden shower,
Aromatic pizzle power,
An Mooga Wilson going crook,
"What are you doing there Pickles,
At this time and hour?"
Empty piddle pot empowered,
Stop moaning theres no grounds ,
for a sook,
And now you've had your early shower,
A bath is all you took,
A sweeter smelling little flower,
So bugger off ole chook...
Don johnson
SEEMS Pickles was on dawn patrol in Dirranbandi
early in 1942, the Japanese were coming???
This you shall call into mind.
You are loved beyond doubt.
You are love by a love
That was tried and tested at Calvary,
A love too strong to be a fantasy.
You are loved to bloodshed,
You are loved to tribulation and trials.
You are loved by a just and loyal love,
A jealous yet Fair love.
You are loved by a compelling love,
Persuading you that
Neither death nor life,
Nor angels nor principalities,
Nor powers,
Nor things in the present,
Nor things to come,
Nor height nor depth,
Nor any other creature
Shall be able to separate you from that love.
A love so constant
A love that brings not to shame.
A love that sook you when you were lost
A love forgiving.
A love that bears all things
A love that endures.
This you shall call into mind,
You are loved beyond reasonable doubt
Yes, you are so good looking,
What's this plan you've got cooking?
You have lost your homework book?
Who'd believe this little sook?
My Aunty Stacey,
She's not very lacey,
She doesn't wear dresses,
Or have curly tresses,
She is never a sook,
But a really good cook,
Tough as nails,
Never fails,
I think you will find,
That she is very kind,
She had a ferret for a pet,
And three dogs are set,
Very happy in her house,
But sadly, no mouse,
She likes to walk the dogs,
Even in the fogs,
Her husband Rio is full of muscle,
And with us he likes to tussle,
Her friend Alisha is amazing,
We play until where hot and blazing,
Aunty Stacey there is nothing you lack,
I love you to the moon and back.
I'm selfish when I
Don't do what you want,
I'm a sook if I'm
Disliking what you do,
Pathetic when I
Say the way you are,
And a liar when I
Say these things are true.
~Written in 2003 (Monday, 10th, March) when I was fourteen.