Long Naught Poems
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You are a wonderful human being and a man of many talents Jack Ellison for all your many achievements.
Age is only number - your charismatic persona and optimism shines through your poems.
I’m honored to be your friend. Thanks for your poem ‘An Aussie Sweetie’ and for the Laughs.
Weather forecast Sydney Bondi Beach tomorrow…
Hot, Sunny with a ‘slight swell’.
So still on in front of the Bondi Beach Pavilion tomorrow?
Oops! I hope I don’t get you into trouble with this one!
Enjoy our musical greeting from the late and great Aussie - Slim Dusty in true Oz style.
Such a wealth of talent this Cool guy Jack
Lives in freezing temperatures and that’s a fact
Dreams of a hot Aussie beach to re-enact
In the Land Down Under his ardour asunder
He pops a popper to celebrate the wonder
Of ‘Knockers’ galore and for sure naught a lack
Oh Glorious Days! His libido is back
A song by Slim Dusty ‘G'day G'day’ – inspired by the great ‘land down under’ - Australia
(This is the image of a semi urban city of India)
The glow of a late Autumn Sunset,
Gleams over the dense city streets.
Rushing wheels and honking horns,
Halt awhile for the traffic signs.
Through the rows of rushing motors,
Men on bikes plough their way.
They squish and squeeze through every gap,
Caring a naught for the traffic rules.
With jarring siren, the Ambulance van,
Speeds past for emergency aid.
The patient inside, in writhing pain,
Lies stressed on every hurdle raced.
Ladies holding children in hands,
And people bent with growing age,
Remain planted at the zebra cross,
Waiting to move to the opposite side.
As the tired people back from work,
Hurry away to reach their homes,
The jovial band in easeful mood,
Treads towards the city parks.
Fortune tellers with their Tarot cards,
Hold their clients in great suspense,
The street hawkers on tiled pavements,
Squat beside their cheap merchandise.
Scores of men who tread on foot,
Grow to Hundreds in a short awhile,
These are folks right from the show,
The Block buster has drawn hoards of men.
When young Dandies in tawdry dress,
Dally round with their ladies love,
Street urchins in tattered clothes,
Go searching in the garbage pile.
While decrepit old beggars lie drowsy,
On the cement benches in wayside shelters,
The affluent Sahibs in plush restaurants,
Feast on their cocktail dinners.
The city thus with its motley crowd,
Paints life in contrast shades,
For Fortune, with her alluring charms,
Favours a few and leaves the rest.
chaos, am i ... all that is not understood
poison, am i ... once on your lips, the taste of ruin
callow, am i ... a child's heart that beats erotic
obsessed, am i ... as the black coal scarecrow's eye
clement, am i ... friendship and love, embers of my soul
byzantine, am i ... tangle of wispy intentions, dreamed
singularity, am i ... Universe and atom - lepton and void
horror, am i ... warm darkness that whorls, obsidian fire
ocean, am i ... cold abyss - ebbing, flowing - pulled by the moon
heaven, am i ... of the dearest light ... the bloodiest weep
life, am i ... the lost ache for love ... the purpose, pure
death, am i ... but a tender ripple in the surface of eternity
timeless, am i ... naught but now, naught but never ...
naught but ... i.
Written and submitted on May 12, 2020
For the "I Am: A List Bio Challenge" Poetry Contest
Andrea Dietrich, Sponsor.
When Joseph had taken Jesus' body,
To his own new tomb where it was laid.
He sealed the door of the sepulchre,
By a great chiseled stone it was stayed.
Then there was Mary and the other,
Sitting over against the sepulchre door.
Not knowing of the events to happen,
Or what for them, God's plan, had in store.
To Pilate came Chief Priest's and Pharisees,
Following the preparation day.
Saying sir, the deceiver, while yet alive,
"After three days I will rise again" He did say.
Command therefore the tomb be sealed,
Lest by night, Disciples steal Him away.
Then Pilate said go, set ye there a watch,
It was Sabbaths end, and the weeks first day.
Then came the two Mary's the sepulchre to see,
And behold an earthquake came, full blown.
Descending from Heaven an Angel did appear,
Rolling from the sepulchre door the stone.
His look was as lightening, and raiment as snow,
With great fear the keepers were shaken.
To the Mary's was said, "this Jesus ye seek,
Has risen, His disciples have not taken".
The Angel said come, see the place He lay,
Finding naught, but His grave clothes.
He goeth into Galilee where you shall see,
Go tell His disciples that He arose.
Taken from Matthew 27/28
Many believe that a troubled soul
is the true muse of the true artist.
That misery and anger brings out
the words, brush strokes, of creation.
I don't know if that's right or not,
e'en though it affects me deep -
but I find it strange that most
don't ask why such may be.
The only answer I can conjure
is actually yet another question.
What do the happy have to create?
What need have they to make, to escape?
In part, I have trouble agreeing,
for I have written wonders
in times of relative ease;
or so I've been told.
I have walked gaily through spring,
and spoke of dewy fields of clover;
arbitrary, aimless, desultory subjects,
irregularly chosen by my mercurial muse.
And yet I can also see it, in part,
for my thieves of one's breath
were in times of onerous strife;
or so I've been told.
I have trudged below naught but clouds,
and spoke of grey days and black thoughts;
distressed, disheartened, dejected prose,
regularly presented to my downcast sight.
I believe emotion, good and ill,
can be victuals for the right muse.
But I concede the point that comparatively,
what have the joyous to escape, through art?
Aries must learn danger with their own toddler test.
Taurus grasp emotions from the feel in their chest.
Geminis wish for words hearers clearly digest.
Cancers thrive in a neat, loving family nest.
Leos strive to lead infused with praise about their best.
Virgos shelve their dreams for duties that sternly pest.
Libras view couple love as perfect life's peak crest.
Scorpios forget naught, hiding all in mind's vest.
Sag needs outdoor adventure per their soul’s request.
Capricorns need for perfection is not a jest.
Aquarians hear their own drum and march with zest.
Pisces bear any news without shock or unrest.
Failed infrastructure cannot be redeemed
In water bills
Also reserves and containers as volume
May not market dialogue as planning.
The slope in volume measures naught as letters.
Only as swan songs for election planning.
Root dissection as investigation of character
Thousand Oaks California
System engineer elected representative of assembly.
Does not delegate nor return delegations powers in the law writings to the poor.
Thus separation of vote is held across silence
Inside of this vote
A district does not benefit for life preserved
Only life spent as is, in complaint as used in
Contempt of Congressional directed spending
Trades of Conviction Bail
As sustainable measure of federal reserve
function post fraud is fraud
Failure to resign vote is testimony
and article before congress
Copyright © kevin mathenia | Year Posted 2025
Unincorporated districts measure of need methods and means to obtain premise of signatures
Homekey Fraud thousand oaks California
Private property assembly
Ok journal
Objective pro
Con
Resent all bills?
Write article of congress rebuttal against politician
Maintain reader on ship with sails?
Free speech is discussed newspaper not campaign rhetoric of welfare fraud lobby children corruption of municipal bonds and municipal works building keys they inherited
These people are journalists!
Oh my Grace, where art Thou now, my inspiration and power?
Why hast Thou turned Thy face, against my brow?
Art Thou now gone, or dost Thou bow down before dumb idols for naught?
Could it be my unanswered, under achieved, wasted life, sought for but not caught?
May I find my course’s reason,
But for mankind’s very own treason?
Could the way before, though it be not mine,
Be for consumption of both heart and mind?
For heaven’s sake, please feed me a supper’s plate,
Which won’t leave me filled with hate,
But instead, bring me love and retreat,
Which just might, through might, I might eat.
For I am empty, eaten, through starvation’s words,
Strategically placed near the slaughter’s cross, cursed.
I await my eternal turn, to follow mine, a martyr’s tale,
To defy all the rest of my life, remaining true, yet to unveil.
Grace is a gift of the strength of the power of God,
Bestowed upon all those who look upon,
The Lord lifted up, who grants redemption,
Given through faith, unto our salvation.
Jesus took the fault, eternal punishment, pain, and fall,
Bearing with it, all the trials, turmoil, and withdrawals,
Accumulated and manifest, from all our falls.
The Perfect Lamb, slaughtered in shame, pain, and blame for all.
My Lord, Your Grace, be engraven upon my hands, knees and face.
I do not dwell upon Thy grief, but to find relief, in Thine sanctified, hallowed grace.
My heart shines now, I do adore and bow, causing my woolen robes to be exquisite white.
Thy life in mine, I humbly vow, My Grace, Thou art my true delight!
Nothing so excruciating could ever be done,
For souls whose fatal corruption in enmity, could ever be won,
But by the saving, sacrificing, righteous love of the Holy Son.
Do not ever mock what God has wrought in crushing agony, for fun.
Tho' bore your fate 'tis artless place you lone
Your girth--your hold freedoms--your claims be more
Restrained your gambled trade choice place bemoan
Shewn thee frankly tho' toughened be your core
Afoot they'd maketh treads besought a door
Shameless their upbringing, relieves doubts--be
Natheless, some uncharted may answer for
Behold yond harbored shoreline midst the sea
Feign thunders crash a cloudless sky--unknown
Truth betold entrenched sanctioned civil war
Upheaval constants the shouldering groan
Once the tameless harmonized--nevermore
Proneness to bonds, centuries tie threescore
Their massiveness afeared--times they're dicey
Questions tumble, fumble forevermore
Behold yond harbored shoreline midst the sea
In distant sights, day or night ... the homegrown
Moonlight silhouette, an uncarved Rushmore
Picture cards, photographs of the well-known
Up, down, right, and left, all around they pour
Kids climb like Zacchaeus, the Sycamore
Still, they'll be a'wondering, what's the key
See how the waves comply, a tidal bore
Behold yond harbored shoreline midst the sea
Matthew eleven, twenty-eighth ... implore
Labored, Heavy Laden, Give Rest ... the key
Waiting ... it madeth here but naught much more
Behold yond harbored shoreline midst the sea
Love was in the wrong places
Out of luck, there'd none at all
Veered cross his eyes on faces
Ebbed men and numbers to call
Twilight drops an altered star
A Shephard field of lept sheep
Knight, armor, pixie friends bar
Ensues shambles wakes asleep
Time's that love takes a ferry
Id's was naught the main issue
Might next time there's no hurry?
'Ewes then fairies they'd won't do.
Thistles caught tweed bows untied
He'd seen somebody, seemed sold
Anyone, mind-freeze, shame; pride
Night shows, fine cuisine, digs gold.
Cautious, his are bottomless
And hers, plainly cupboard bare
Snaps, lest he'd be penniless
He'd share the ring. Ring bearer
'Tis times like this, hopeless
Help's on course, though bit too late
Entertain the senselessness
Need your eyes fixed seize your fate
Cruise control seems storm ahead
All deckhands, drop anchor --goal
Raised sails, prep boarding, unwed
Divorce, tagged chief walls, single