Long Mob Poems
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..She felt so damn nervous making that call,
and when he picked up she just gushed it all,
he listened quietly, then she asked to meet,
she quickly wrote down the place and the street.
She met him at one of his restaurants,
he looked different now, his eyes didn’t haunt,
he had no gun, just company t-shirt,
but something about him still spoke to her.
She asked him, “Why did you do what you did?
Why risk it all to go and save my kid?
We destroyed your business, threatened your life,
made it clear we hated anyone white.”
He gave a sad smile, and then explained,
“If that’s why you’re worried, I’ll make it plain,
how could I have just let your child burn?
The thought of it just makes my stomach churn.
“He’s a human being, in danger great,
what kind of man would leave him to his fate?
Whatever rage that the mob felt for me
had nothing to do with a child of three.”
Jacinta learned forwards. “You didn’t care
that my people didn’t much want you there?
After what happened, and what we destroyed,
you went to rescue a random black boy?”
“My ‘people’ call themselves American,
and I’m pretty sure that you’re one of them.
Even if you weren’t, I’d still have to go,”
he said,”Such horrors children should not know.”
She felt amazement, and shame more than a bit,
that it took all this to understand it,
she thought ‘color-blind’ had been some quaint phrase,
those were the words that her family would say.
But this man had felt that her son mattered,
even when he had been just a stranger,
and she realized that his life mattered too,
whether black, white, or brown, such people were few.
This one man refuted lies she’d been taught,
her brother’s nonsense had all been for naught,
she saw a good man, wanted to know more,
started talking with him about his stores.
He told how his father had opened the spot
that the mob had burned, she felt her soul drop
on hearing how he’d played in the kitchen,
and chatted when young with those who came in.
She told him of Keenan, where she now lived,
he offered a job, said, “It’s mine to give.”
Soon enough Keenan would play in the back,
and the man smiled, gave him lots of slack,
mostly because he was dating his mom,
Jacinta didn’t stay on welfare for long,
the other workers snickered, she let them,
where would she find such a lover again?
CONCLUDES IN PART V.
“And you call yourself a bloody cook”, this mongrel shearer said.
“I oughta ram this rubbish down yer’ throat, it’ll kill a bloke stone dead.”
He’s talking ‘bout the stew I burnt, which I hoped he couldn’t focus.
That he’d gulp it down with ‘red-eye’ wine, and he would fail to notice.
But no, my luck was out, he flew raging from his seat
“You’ve put a taste into my ‘gob’, now I need something sweet,
What’s in the fridge;” he yanked the door, took out a plate and bowl,
On one was chunky custard, and one a mouldy sausage roll.
“Look at this!” The shearer screamed, so all the mob could see.
First they eyed the sausage roll, and then looked back at their tea.
“Hang on” I said, “You ‘mangy’ lot, what you’re seeing here,
Is something I can’t be blamed for, they’re from the cook last year.”
“Git’ the boss!” I heard yelled out, and one went for the door.
I need this job and need it bad … to them I vowed and swore.
I’ll clean out the fridge and lift my act; then promised I would bake,
A treat for them on Wednesday ... my special chocolate cake.
My memory’s a little blank, for the ingredients I need,
I’ve got most in the cupboard, with no recipe to read,
Butters scarce but lard will do, and the milks a little sour.
None of them are ‘gunna’ notice, the weevils in the flour.
There’s salt and caster sugar, I need cocoa but there’s none,
There is a tin of milo though; its use by date is March of sixty-one,
That’s everything to make the cake; all I need’s an egg to bind,
Oh yes! There are two in the fridge; last years cook had left behind.
I got down the mixing bowl, and took some water from the tank,
Spooned out a couple of wrigglers … the dead ones to the bottom sank.
I’m not sure about the ounces or the tablespoons and such.
Cups of this with drops of that, but does that really matter much.
The only time I wasn’t sure, and felt maybe should I renege,
When I cracked the shell and found, a half grown chicken in the egg.
But they’re shearers here, big and strong, who’d never get to eat,
Let alone a chocolate cake, but one that’s made with meat.
The oven’s hot, the textures great, I greased the baking dish.
The cake was cooked and it smelt great … every shearers wish.
But a chicken’s foot stuck out the top; I cut out and ate that bit.
You know this chocolate cake of mine, tasted – more – like … ‘passionfruit’!
“All their comings and their goings were so closely scrutinised
as the prosecution’s trump card was the evidence they prized.
Though the wily prosecutor gathered facts to build his case,
some old bushmen too were scheming and a plan was put in place.
“They were crafty, artful dodgers, who’d been slipped a quid their way,
and could see to it the evidence might somehow go astray.
The bold band then took advantage of the absence of the guard
for some twenty or so minutes and then broke into the yard.
“In the small hours of that morning they absconded with the stock
and the speed of the audacious theft had left police in shock.
These bold bushmen used a vehicle which, much to their delight,
lured the cattle through the darkened streets and quickly out of sight.
“All available policemen joined the search to find their trail,
but their roadblocks and sheer numbers proved to be of no avail.
Then at sunrise the black constable, a tracker of renown,
traced the mob out to the stockyards on the outskirts of the town.
“All the cattle had been slaughtered and not one ear could be seen
and a piece of hide was missing, where the owner’s brand had been.
Still the heads and hides were proof enough … or so the lawyers thought,
but the judge dismissed the evidence and threw it out of court.
I just sat there flabbergasted as the old bloke rose to go,
‘cause the way he’d told the story he was really in the know.
But he sensed I sought the obvious and said “I need a drink.”
Then he hobbled down the street away … and turned and gave a wink.
In the book Champagne Country, which explores the history of Roma and district, there is
a chapter on Bushranging. In part it discusses how the notorious Harry Redford was tried
in Roma, though found not guilty and also there was another account of an incident which
took place in 1952. A number of head of cattle being held as evidence in a cattle
duffing offence disappeared from the Police yards about two a.m. in the morning while
supposedly being under constant guard. The culprits were never apprehended. Years
later my wife’s dad, who went droving at the age of ten and a well known identity around
Roma, shed a little light on the subject. The above tale tells what took place. Certain
facts have been hidden to protect the guilty.
I
A queue to a doorway
No-one knows what´s
On sale there
It could be washing powder
Almonds or diamonds
You think this was some
Yesterday
Look out your
Ghost smeared
Window
This is now
II
Throw stones at the
Motorcade
The pin pricked
Giant will barely
Pause
At banners & petitions
Faded pendants
Worthless paper
Riding out for a
Losing battle
Looking to a broken sky
For some Mon´s Angel
Less an army
More a mob
To the castle!
To the castle!
With flaming
Molotov
You awake in darkness
Hopeful
So many crusades
Begin in dreams
III
Tobolski late summer
With blankets for curtains
Tapestry dust
Stirred into
Koptyski forest soil
The former holy
The highest
Dragged
Splintered
Made human
Or less
IV
Each new dawning day
Spins us up to escape velocity
To be spat out to unthinking stars
Made passive by the weight of reason & history
We stare out into the rain
Believing wolves rule beyond the clearing
Elsewhere there is dancing
Cruise ships leave a wake of
Halved grapefruits
Shirts and skirts worn once
Gilded, seamless they glide
Oblivious to the hidden knife
The newspaper wrapped revolver
Passed under the café table
At the platform´s edge
All are equal to the justice
Of the approaching train
V
Red Emma
Red Emma
Won´t you send Berkman over
With a satchel full
Of dynamite
On a Chicago bound
Train
VI
Part six
In which
I dig a hole
To bury past dreams
And convictions
I brain-grew
At a factory lathe
Always knowing
There was escape
A high window climb
And as any fool knows
The fresh-turned soil
Of any deep hole
Can be easy seen
From the public road
VII
My advice to you
Young devil-cared rebel
Why don´t you climb on the roof
While your parents are sleeping
Try & flag down a passing
Black star liner
The busted sewer pipe
Has flooded the basement
Wet pages spin like lily pads
Stashed furniture corpse-bloats
Full boxes mush-mold
Time is tight
Young devil-cared pilgrim
Take with you only
What your pockets can hold
VIII
Among the defeated
Slack faces on rusted fairground rides
Among the defeated
Eating smoke rain mocked
Among the defeated
Careless cigarettes burn umbrella holes
Among the defeated
Landlocked padlocked frozen out
IX
Don´t
try a handstand
Your coins will
Fall out
X
Under the tar
The chariot ruts
A Golem
Is stirring.
From zero to fresh focus:
No fads or "hocas-pocas,"
Occult tricks, nor superstitions,
Just go to Boot-Camp not institutions.
It's not about me.
It's to take a stand, you see,
A life if convictions;
Real-life risks, no fictions,
In live with Father-God and Jesus,
His Only Son that can free us,
Unaffected by criticisms, just in Love
With other and their dialogues; all the above
Seeing hearts heal brokenness and change
With no pretense, our focus rearrange,
Processing seriously but not redundant
With you in joy abundant!
Unseen injuries make it hard work
The fears lurk!
What is expected or appreciated,
Not just reactions with heart emaciated?
Bring closure and see a prologue
To nearing the goal, remove the "log,"
Rebound in faith, never be a snob,
Nor sarcastic or the Mob.
So keep your focus and the Power
Of the resurrected Christ in your tower.
Self-control is gain
Like waiting, it's a pain!
But keep your focus clear.
Hear God's music in your inner-ear.
Yes, we are all a-work-in-progress.
It's safe and fine to regress.
To vulnerability and keep involved.
Healing doesn't need all problems solved.
There's no natural-born leader.
In time we can also be a feeder.
So conquest the temporal and material.
Move in rebuilding the empire
Let Jesus' Way be your pick.
Don't be a lonely cynic
Give others the benefit of the doubt
Wear a smile, not a pout.
Banish the evil of a derailed life
The enemy tries to bring in strife
Like the striking snake it'll be too slow
For you fly high; it's too low!
So prepare for success.
Diligently sort the mess
All the way to the end.
Sign the Pledge not to bend;
To act, rebound, giving credit and devotion.
Like a sweet perfume or lovely lotion.
In prayer and fasting let negatives go
Study the Bible's fine print and know
That the challenge and the focus brings
Support, Light and salt-quality that sings!
Can you say what you feel?
In sincerity will your friendships seal?
We will find the common ground.
Honor and respect will be found.
If there's no logic nor gentle calm,
Will we feel the Spirit's balm?
Even pillow-fights will irritate,
The time move on with fate.
Surprises will loose their fun
With that Special Someone!
So, brace yourself, focus and move.
Soon your success you will prove
With All glory given to the Lord,
Never more to be bored.
DONJOURN WORLD
Help me for i want to know
Although to know for me is to be free
But not by all men, but by my freedom
I have been lying in this gutter world
Wondering why i cannot get up
Perhaps fight my way to the freedom land
Where i see all men work and walk in pleasure
Yet the more i see all men walk pleasurably on the land
I hate the morning that raise me down through the donjourn land
Early that morning i found out
That inside this donjourn is where most people in our world belongs
Funny enough is it in cry
As i found out that we have the same believe, share faith, one same blame
It is their fault; they are responsible for the big world in the gutter
I know that during the beginning there was no gutter
Infact, the world indeed was built without shallow pit
And ground of merciless abode as ours
Yet for men to be happy and share wickedness
They built this absurd kingdom
Every time i see one in the land kingdom and beg for their help
They have a recitation that made me believe
That their world is a world of same slogan, one belief
How did you manage to end up here
Find your way up, i have a lot on my hand
Yet the hand seems free, less occupy i swear
Although, it is a question and a little confusing answer
But sure painful, also a heart sincere message
A rather two edge sword
Our kingdom always dash the pains away
With the normal consolation word
I know they will all deny the charge
That we happen to exist here does not mean that we will end up here
One day i know by our complain and the God that put us here
By our side, we will at the end of the day join the land mob
But the space of time and what they are doing
And the endurance of the complain in them
Made me hate them by their will
In them i see much difference from me
Their will and my will, their see and my see
Have a lot of gap than our appearance
In theirs’, there is no way
In mine, there are ways
But i only want to find out the time
And if possible know how to break quick
To become the lord and king in the land kingdom
Early word by the land kingdom friend
Made me know that i hold my freedom
I was once like you but i never believe what you people says
And that is what led me to the land kingdom
I always think more than the land kingdom
One more mystery that no one knows
I think like the God that created all kingdom
(Part One) The first few hours.
I was just a ordinary man
caught up in the unruly throng,
The mob jeering and ranting
insults on the road along,
I pushed and shoved my way
through all the furore
to see what all the fuss and melee
was all about at the fore.
My heart shrunk as I eyed
in total dismay that ghastly sight,
From what befell my eyes, that Friday morn
befouling that dawning day with blight,
Was a Man sparsely clad, and bloodied soiled,
And about fifteen and a half hands tall,
His nut brown shoulder length hair
now caked and matted in disarray.
The way His hair and beard
was parted in the middle down
i knew that Man then
was belonging to the Nazarene Sect,
And brutally entwined upon His head
was a brambled thorny crown,
What more torturous and bestial
torment can a naked body be subject,
His body oozed and dripped sweat
all mixed with blood and grime,
And even more the gruesome
was the criss-cross lashes mark,
So visible, as He staggered along
on that arduous path that morning time,
Dragging a fifteen cubit long sycamore
torture-stake on His shoulder, bared stark.
His back bent and racked in obvious pain
bearing that one and a half hand in diameter log,
Then when, He stumbled in His stride
and before the Roman Centurion Him wanted to flog,
For that Man's wretched agony
and pain, I no longer could bear to stand,
Then in haste that Man to help
I shed my outer garments and tossed it to another man,
I stayed the Centurion's hand
and hoisted that stake upon my own broad back,
For I was Simon an Grecian man from Cyrene
and favoured arduous labourous toil,
When that frail worn-out Man turned
with blue-grey eyes and looked at me,
I saw in that look, relief and gratitude
then I knew, I did just right,
He sadly smiled as He said these words to me,
"Do you too now drink from this bitter cup?",
And added, "You shall indeed sip
its rim with Me to the end of time",
I knew Him then no ordinary, man could be
His voice so gentle and mild,
And I truly then wandered who this Man could be?
to suffer so cruelly, in the hands of man,
When He lightly placed His hand
upon my shoulder, I felt the load lightened,
as if I walked with a feather
on my back, and not His gruesome burden no more,
As we together trudged, on that path
that road, to Calvaria, that place of death,
I then knew that Man at my side
Was a Holy-man by His touch alone.
And ignoble prize trumpeting hubris awarded to...
Bourgeoisie donning ersatz
overstuffed ego freezer bewigged pate
"FAKE" grotesque humanitarian
bribed corrupt judges will vindicate
jimmied cracked corn
land of "milk and honey"
red hot button he spoils to activate
countdown to Armageddon
leaving nation prostrate,
all the more reason to axe electoral college,
now holds electorate
hostage to bully tactics grate
for dead souls – zombie thriller, viz
Putin on the ritz,
whereby Pavlov's dog will salivate
on cue and pony show will titillate,
and worse case scenario, a far more terrible fate
than death by a thousand cuts
equals his refusal not to abdicate
presidency, should voters
get smart to administrate
White House with progressive commander
in chief he/she will adjudicate
decency, honesty, integrity... and acclimate
government toward amity, comity, equality...
oh,... and most importantly advocate
salutary measures affecting biosphere,
where industrialization didst devastate
contaminate by bajillion beings birthrate,
every square inch of Earth
*****sapiens succeeded to abominate...,
prima facie global warming doth correlate,
hence primary requisite mandate
to reorient modus operandi no time to wait,
where carbon footprint negligible
still preserving technological paradigm
fixing low cussed electricity to generate
courtesy renewable resources
else man/womankind will become footnote
atrophied trappings agglomerate
twenty first century civilization
damned, inundated, ossified bridgegate
checkmated, choked, chucked... wag gone wheels
das spare - tread fully tires fuming primate
jammed fruits of loins going bananas
infuriating, exhausting accelerating
no exit (sorry Sartre) to circumnavigate
hardy lee any recourse to extricate
oneself from madding crowd
self resignation minimally doth alleviate,
whereby impatient broods frustrate
inaccessible jackknifed mobility,
thence spark ignites spontaneous eruption
impossible mission to plug
crowdsource mob frenzy translate
pent up fury once loosed doth degenerate
into atavistic pandemonium cutthroat rage
snarling human logjam foaming at mouth
poised to strike ready to decapitate
any remaining shred of salvation barren feeble
slow vac hoovering, milking, and sucking
every last vestige of bondage peoples extirpate.
I.
In the year sixteen hundred and thirty-five
I was a fool young man known as Ludwig,
back from the wars and flush with new money,
spent it on fine whores and copious drink.
One pale lady led me out into the street
where her pimp stood in shinning moonlight,
he smiled at her, said,”How nice of you,
I was thinking of feasting tonight.”
Before I could even start to react
his fangs had sank deep into my neck,
she joined in too, this woman I had held,
I black out and don’t recall what came next.
When I came too I was in a dark cave
and cried out, thankful that I was alive,
yet when I tried to walk t in the sun
it seared and sizzled my ghost-pale hide.
I’d never believed the legends were true,
but I now had no breath or heart-beat,
and when the sun set, I went out for food,
no meal would satisfy my deep cravings.
I made it six days, or should I say nights,
before the hunger overcame my will,
stalked a poor post-rider in the countyside,
recall the screams that came from my first kill.
I felt something within crumble that day,
a hollow emptiness grew deep inside,
knowing that with every kill that I made
meant another piece of my soul had died.
Before long I fled my Bavaria,
the peoples were getting restless and mean,
traveled across Europe, moving often,
forced to ‘live’ by acts heinous and obscene.
It was in Scotland three long years later,
hiding in the highlands from an angry mob,
unable to come out for days on end,
the growing hunger, it painfully throbbed.
When turned a vampire loses their blood
which causes their bodies to shut down,
I was so hungry I was driven mad,
in my mania I drained dry a cow!
Then to my surprise I felt the hunger
fade away and leave me feeling all-right,
it was any blood that would slake my thirst,
I didn’t have to take any more lives!
You think this would improve my situation,
but in truth it hurt me all the more,
couldn’t help but ask why had I never
bothered to ask this question before?
All the lives I had brought to an end,
all the families I had let bereft,
gad I the wits to ask these questions then
not a one would’ve had to face death.
The truth of these failings hounded my heels,
there was to be no peace within me,
until one night in France I came upon
ancient stone walls of a monastery…
CONTINUES IN PART II
“Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
I will fear no evil, for you are with me;
your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”
Psalm 23:4
Teach me, my Lord, how to live according
words of the Spirit and daily the Bible trust,
neither resentment, nor anger, or rancour hoarding,
for to be merciful and forgiving I must.
I’m in the realm of shadows, where hearts are harder
and where Satan is ruling, our common foe.
Help me to love you, Lord, with a greater ardour,
if in the darkest valley I have to go.
How to live in this world, where darkness abounds?
things are absurd, and sins are becoming laws,
where demonic force more and more surrounds,
quietly at my heart anxiety gnaws.
Something’s disturbing me, I can’t tell, it’s blurry,
but in the world of fraud, deceit, and intrigue,
possibly it’s for my children some deepest worry
or maybe I am struck by regrets or fatigue.
The callous world is deaf to God’s revelations
and to suppress the truth it frantically tries,
a shroud of falsehood envelops entire nations,
minds of people are trapped in the devil’s lies.
I am, it seems, in this world no longer needed,
and sleepless nights, perhaps, my hopes erode.
Yet, in my deepest core I cannot be defeated,
faith in You, Lord Jesus, cannot corrode.
Should I dare to grumble, if even You,
God in the flesh, walked on earth on the dusty roads,
tiredness and fatigue so well You knew,
overwhelmed with people's complaints loads.
Should I bemoan my losses, when even You,
being abandoned by friends at the biased trial,
with the exception of very few,
and you experienced then your disciple’s denial.
Should I groan from hurt, when the King of kings,
You by the Roman guards were hit on the face,
You, the Creator, from whom any life springs,
with Your forgiveness repentant sinners embrace.
Being betrayed, and spat at, and crucified,
with mocking crowds of mob laughing at You,
You for their sins on the cross had died,
staying to God alone faithful and true.
Risen from death to life, You are giving hope,
when in this darkened world any hope dies.
Setting my heart on You, I can now cope,
and from my grief and pain my soul can rise.
26.01.2022
This is an English version of my poem
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