Long Outgrown Poems
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2 Terms Of Political Office
A political leader of a country successfully managed to extend his term of office...
Brings up the question of the wisdom of the previous curb imposed to 2 terms in office....
Bolehland has on record the incredible long tenure of 22 years by Premier Dr Mahathir...
And plans are afoot to restrict succeeding premiers to only 2 terms is service....
2 term may be too short for long term overall development.....
Besides the problem from the surplus of such pensioners ...
And atypical of Bolehland mentality, ad hoc programs will proliferate...
A merry go round of contractors, hangers on for part of the economic pie....
Hohoho...
Too frequent a changing of the guard....
Brings on too many a zealous new broom to sweep the room clean....
Hohoho....
On the other hand, a misguided head at the top....
Even a single term can have dire consequences....
Democratically there should be preventive measures...
To checkmate the slide into mediocrity...
Dr M helmed Bolehland for 22years....
Despite the many shortcomings, those were exemplary years....
Of prosperity, stability and high paced development....
Though with the benefit of hindsight...
Bolehland was tethering towards a gaping abyss...
Created by many policies and practices that have outgrown their noble objectives..
What was once a visionary and innovative initiative to correct a shortcoming....
Becomes a yoke of suffering and abuse once it's objectives are achieved....
Question of the day is when to review and to improve an initiative....
Before misrepresentations and abuses set in to abuse the system....
Then the need for change has to happen, a step back in order to move forwards 2 steps...
The Europeans were pioneers in coming up with parliamentary checks and balances...
But history too bears witness to the many atrocities and disasters they created...
The world wars, the religious crusades, the bullying politics of apartheid and slavery...
All faulted and wreaked by the overwhelming influence of supremacy of race and religion ...
What Bolehland is undergoing, it is nothing new nor revolutionary...
The only positive, we could be on the path to maturity...
All the existing abuses and clamour for better governance....
Could just be manifestations of growing pains of a young democracy...
Hers was a complete change of personality, moods, and friends
Her joyful happy self, turned rapidly sarcastic, mean, and secretive
Her eating habits changed; she did not need food any more.
Stopped eating with the family, painted her room black.
Threw her flute into the garbage. She had outgrown it.
Scoffed that she had ever been a cheerleader, calling them names.
Her friends stopped coming. She made new ones, they were in and out.
None stayed long. Just a few minutes.
Her family saw glimpses of her unhappiness as she ran in and out
Of her room, slamming doors, playing music, not doing her homework.
Her A’s and B’s nosedived into D’s and F’s, and she laughed about it.
Rapid distrust toward her siblings. Name-calling, which had never happened.
Stopped going to school until it was nigh onto impossible to keep up.
Sneaked out of the house at night; they never knew where she would be.
Left in cars with people she did not know. Parents blamed her friends.
It was their fault, not hers. She was their princess. She was perfect.
Secrecy became the norm. Her laughter became loud and ugly.
Her prettiness was gone; her hair was dingy. She stopped wearing deodorant.
Grandparents wondered where she was at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
They were given many lies from parents and her siblings. Everyone covering.
Not my child! They said when the possible truths were pointed out.
That does not happen in our neighborhood.
We are not that kind of parent.
Our child would never be an alcoholic or a drug addict.
The entire family circled the wagons,
refusing to join neighborhood barbeques.
The children were taught that the people at church
were do-gooders, and look-downers.
The children were taught that the neighbors
they once adored were now the enemy.
They were protecting the princess,
who seldom came home, sneaking in and out,
When they were asleep. Not in our family! They said. Not in our family!
The do-gooders and down-lookers were prominent at her funeral.
They had raised children also who had been lured into
the terrifying swallow-up world of drugs and alcohol.
They had so many stories; horrifying real life stories
they had never shared even though they had innumerable
opportunities at church functions and bar-b-ques.
Naked trees whose dilapidated bodies have outgrown the test of time
shoot unseemly into the unaccommodating sky flustering as they walk by
Nude trees laden with deceptive shadows waiting for the morrow
Echoing a somber tune with superficial topsoil eroding from the mad earth
I sat on the top of the exalted mount watching brittle trees swaying doubtfully in the motionless wind and one force would have done them in
Fragile branches stick delicately form their wounded side reaching out
and cracking slowly with a forceful smile while angels lament by their sides
I recall the good old days when there was laughter everywhere
smoke rushing out the chimneys and grandpa with his wooden axe
piling up woods on the side of the stream and dragging them into the fireplace
Drunken men sitting on the side of the street infuriated with exuberant laughter knocking dominoes and shouting at terrified girls parading the streets in short mini skirts.
strong women in tall long skirts knocking their tambourines as the minstrel marched around in circles and unruly men with loud music sticking out their feet in fancy jeeps shouting
Dry grass lay flat on the reproachable ground howling as if winter is still around
As far as the naked eyes could behold green trees are floating in the horizon way beyond me
but close beside me green leaves are barely sprouting on the topless trees
The earth is still casting doubts as it sinks deeper into its devouring throat
drenched by its painful self-inflicted wound spreading misery throughout
I kept sobbing at nature's frequent disruptions and mankind useless inventions
cars sliding and young men gallivanting and swearing under the dark bridge
Shameful faces hang in despair holding onto to a cloud that is not there
And Noah whom they say was a religious freak took one hundred and twenty years to build a ship that spared daylight out of darkness and give rise to a new moon
And what of the black plague that torment millions of bones in their sorrowful graves
And the Spanish flu had its impact too who knows what really brought it about
Nature has sucked the life out of the earth waiting for a miraculous rebirth
while death pounds heavily on fragile doors.
As our family gathered for Easter…within a few minutes…in my brain…a memory was jarred…of our children and grandchildren searching for eggs the Easter Bunny had hidden in our yard.
I remember our children with their Easter baskets crammed with that fake grass…colored green…and filled with the eggs we dyed, a chocolate bunny and a rainbow of jelly beans.
But our children are much older now…our youngest grandchild is about to turn 16…and we no longer celebrate with the Easter bunny, baskets or jelly beans.
As I sat there I began to wonder in all the years watching our amazing family growing up…when exactly was it…the moment the Easter Bunny stopped showing up.
Childhood is believing the Easter Bunny will come in the night and hide eggs in the grass, the bushes and the ferns…childhood ends the moment we stop believing the Easter Bunny will return.
It is a subtle transformation one day there are no more eggs to find for we’ve discovered other things…as we leave our childhood behind.
Instead of talking about the Easter bunny…jelly beans…and candies filled with cream…
We talk about their lives…their hopes…their wishes…and their dreams…
This year the conversations had nothing to do with Easter baskets or the goodies they contain…it focused on more important subjects like how they’ll be no Easter in Ukraine.
The question is often asked…which some find odd…some unusual…and some funny…
Does the Easter Bunny outgrow us…or do we outgrow the bunny?
I don’t think it’s either…actually…I think the Easter Bunny’s mission is and always will be to leave behind…a little innocence, hope and wonder in the corners of our minds
And once the bunny realizes her mission is over…once in our minds these ideas have been implanted…she’s off to the next generation of children who need to be enchanted.
Which is why you’ll always see me smiling on Easter…knowing even when our children have all outgrown their teens…there remains within their hearts a place for chocolate bunnies, eggs and jelly beans
And why you’ll find even children my age…on Easter…once that memory has been jarred… searching for an egg or two…that might be hiding in our yard.
After years of growing native shrubs and putting them in pots,
my backyards full of hakea’s and gums, placed in separate lots,
but some wattles have outgrown their home and really don’t look flash;
I think I’ll have a stall down at the market and collect a bit of cash.
Our market’s just a little one, where they don’t ask for A-B-N,
So the money that is changing hands is tax exempt again.
I was doing pretty good you know with correas me biggest sale,
and as I’m raking in the dollars I heard this shocking wail!
I looked across and this young kid had turned a dreadful blue,
his Father’s steeped in panic ‘cause he don’t know what to do.
The only thing I could make out, and of course now it made sense,
he’d gave his boy some spending money and he swallowed twenty cents.
Now the poor young fellas choking and he can’t get his breath,
and a crowd began to hover ‘round, about to watch a death
until a woman in a business suit gently placed her coffee down,
and casually passed everyone, and knelt beside him on the ground.
While everyone’s in panic mode she lifted him up so they faced,
and put her arms around him, and first gently squeezed his waist,
then she squeezed him like a vice and her teeth began to gnash,
until the boy began convulsing, and then he coughed up the cash.
That coin shot out the young boy’s mouth but it never got to land.
Even with it flying like a bullet she still grabbed it with her hand.
She gave the coin back to his Father, leaving all of us to think,
and walked calmly to her coffee where she took a casual drink.
I could not believe that I just saw this most amazing rescue feat,
so I wandered over to the lass and sat beside her on the seat.
I said, “You must be a doctor with that insight you displayed”.
And she replied “Oh fair go mate. I don’t even know first-aid!”
I shook me head and said, “Then if you’re not a doctor of some note,
how did you know just what to do when that coin stuck in his throat?”
She looked me squarely in the eye … with an angry stare and then,
she said “I work for the Tax Office - can I see your A-B-N?”
END TIMES : TWO
End time dramas continue
to unfold as foretold
tribes of Judah and
Gad united in ether
descending conspiring
to pull Matrix strings
across rooms boom
death Will hidden
documents forged
a trigger activates
illicit action
Centre remains perfection
resurrection
Claim no marriage for
money honeyed
both are paper thin
dust speckled dragonflies
glide into geraniums cry
Truth mourns
hen-chicken ferns
hush murky tears
car ignition fear
burns
Pain has nowhere to
pulse but deep within
stealth sidles sleep
jealousies bleep
forever laced in viral
lanced cellular haste
Antares and Arcturus
watch spiritual warriors
discuss hush actions
gush
Clothed in black head
to toe racing an Audi
making it glow, split
second disappearance
Light sees ass twitch
seeking protection from
words rained in past
reflections
Outgrown forms collapse
to usher in cycles of
initiatory synapse
What is this past anyway ?
Another man’s download
in a desert of dialectic
redemption fast
These end times hold
keys to Uruz strength
so wrenching deep
mouldy ceilings weep
glass teapot aches
growth changes rune
stone answers fake
Passages of Dark part
once again decay
death fertilization
gestation rebirth
this is progression
as mirth
Then Melchedzidek spoke
in cloak to Sham’s Forty
Rules of Love inked across
my marked forehead
mint plant pegged
ancient fern atop torn
garden statue stern
Who will take the
Leap of Faith leaving
to proclaim missions
without a fission
Spiritual warriors know
their inner laws when
writ in cursive upon
open doors
they care not when
orders to leave
fly thick and fast
not cheap
Miners died in vain cold
digging for gold sold to
adorn Draco throats torn
glistening gloat
forms dying disguised
as boss lost tossed
we know no collapse
will not be flossed
our timing spot
on glossed
We live life potent
respected radical
transition
seize a moment
seen the vision !
©GhairoDanielsPoetry
&Song2025
10/31/22
I've weathered rough storms
Always high and drunk or
Trying to have love form
I was once torn
All this B.S. occurs out my front door
You've woken up the beast, now you're done for
You've no idea what's in store
Just may be guts and gore
Time I smoke and drink some more
All these dumb whores
Meanwhile constantly with punks I war
You'll be unable to prevent it
Before there can be any friendship
It all ends quick
Meanwhile too much crap they remain obsessed with
Not all shall be nice
Something off I was able to see twice
Underneath streetlights
Over the span of three nights
By going to extreme heights
I learned valuable lessons for a cheap price
Nearly each time
Often turns to violence, rarely is there peace signs
Seen by my keen eyes
For the remainder, need to be wise
Against these guys
Since in the end eventually we die
Still she tries
But I'm going to make her take a deep dive
Since she is barking up the wrong tree line
Trying to mess with the whole beehive
No need to read in-between the lines
I've seen why, they do it no need to try
The same said falling for it and believing lies
Too late to worry about me, I'm eating fine
Nothing singled out
Or leading to bigger doubt
I've had opportunity to think about
While out in nature or a house by a sink and couch
Where I would smoke and drink large amounts
Now I know
It's not just how it goes
Much of it I've outgrown
And the rest of it, I've been the town joke
Behind clouds of smoke
Beyond a clown or folk
Always the one they doubt the most
Just like with everything there's a price to pay
She brought me warmth and lighted my day
Right away
It's nice to say
But then she left me in the dark
Like they all do before I can make a mark
By now we're worlds apart
Yet it still hurts my heart
Because I'm tossed away to collect dust before I could start
Oh well I continue and swim on
Regardless of if I live long
Rarely if ever I did wrong
Took endless work to become this strong
Written: June 25, 2023
______________________________________________________________
April noises and dawn heart roused me,
A symphony of awakening, yet I felt misery.
Confusion lingered such a cloud in my mind.
Yet I still desire morning comfort, which I find.
Spring sounds in the fall are a marvel to behold.
Life's wonders amaze me; my spirit is untold.
Youth, such as spring, filled with vibrant cheer,
But the forties, a season of alter, draw near.
The wind blows a flower without paean or reason.
Summer's honey-laden fruit recalls life's cannily reunion.
Such as poet's song, I crave secrecy and the unknown.
To accept the necessity, my impatience has outgrown
Today, I seek patience—the art of waiting.
In this need, bending of cosmos is dimly creating.
With spry passion, your eyes perceive stillness.
As mind unravels a mystery, an avowal to life's richness.
Beauty defined my universe, and ugliness was despised.
But mild years have lifted the veil and opened my eyes.
What I deemed nasty and odious, a blinder on my sight,
Wool in my ears, blocking out the unfamiliar light.
As a child, I loved flowers; their innocence was so pure.
But now I view their thorns, guarding their allure.
Without protection, they would wither and die.
A reminder that innocence needs to be fortified.
"Winter is a thief," I declared as a child.
robbed the earth of her sun-woven garment, leaving her wild.
Now that I grasp the sense of rebirth and rejuvenation,
The wind ripped away the aged, giving a fresh creation.
"How elfin am I?" I pondered in my youth's naive bliss.
Grasping the sun and stars is within reach—a divine kiss.
Age has brought my youth closer, bridging the gap.
The size of aloneness weighs little—just a faint tap.
In my youth, the moon and tides held sway.
Controlling my every move, guiding the way.
But now that I stand firm on this strand of life,
Roots seek the earth's heart, reaching for rife.
When a fetus or baby, I then could have been:
Born to mother who died, or with father unknown
Into poverty born in a nation not free
With impairments or problems I've never outgrown
Or by parents aborted if she, not a he.
I was lucky
When a child and teenager, I could have been:
A delinquent or orphan or war refugee
Or abandoned or crippled, for child labor used
Without friends, joy, or future or dead from OD
Or unschooled or deprived or unloved or abused.
I was lucky
When full-grown in my prime, I could also have been:
An inebriate, parasite, vagrant, or jailed
Or been killed in a war or had not met my wife
Unemployed or an entrepreneur who had failed
Or severely depressed or had taken my life.
I was lucky
And I could in the decades that followed have been:
Unexpectedly fired, into bankruptcy forced
By an accident maimed, watching children go bad
Or a victim of crime or been sued or divorced
Or betrayed by a friend, or gone stark, raving mad.
I was lucky
With retirement approaching, I then could have been:
From my children estranged, mourning death of my wife
Or investing unwisely or homeless or broke
Having manic disorders or bored with my life
Or in hospital bed with a cancer or stroke.
I was lucky
Over eighty, like many my age I could be:
With no pension or savings or family left
Or dependent on charity, begging, or theft
In a nursing home languishing, sad and confined
All alone and an invalid, witless, or blind.
I am lucky (or blessed)
My whole life I felt alone,
A stranger, in even my own skin,
But my soul, eventually outgrown,
I rip, to try to dig deep within,
I cut, for a slice of peace inside,
A dart sent to pierce my heart,
I missed, can’t lie or hide,
I started at the wrist, slit apart,
My sight was clouded, covered by blood,
My attempt to peal back the layers,
so I flay,
My eyes were shrouded, he wore a hood,
My contempt would reveal that I may had gone astray,
Afraid to walk in any given direction,
Knowing either way would lead to my downfall,
Dismayed to go on living, my only ejection,
Was to go to the roof and proceed to fall down,
So free from fear, I completely forgot,
To relax prevents muscles tensing and breaking the bones,
Death was near, I could smell it’s rot,
Through the grass, the scent, the cold, not shaking nor aching, still alone,
I clambered to my feet, without a limp I took off,
If only in testament to my unrelenting dedication,
Yano my hand writes only what’s real, and still never enough,
Even when it went and fed me so many different medications,
Drowning, into the abyss, a snap shot, my thoughts became familiar to me,
Though it seemed for certain they would never be able to find me,
They found me, I was never forgot,
caught, brought up by my family,
I may of walked through the shadow of death, but I have beams of light around and behind me .
Not just in life but all those who have never left.
You know, when I slit my wrists,
I cut them true,
But something lead me from the veins that would take it all,
And when I did sit up on the roof,
It wasn’t me that took me past the walls,
And when I took enough drink and drugs to kill a hundred,
It wasn’t me that kept me awake in my head,
gave me the ability, no strength at all,
to lay my palms out on the floor, and push up,
no weight, no anything,
just lift,
So from the darkness I could crawl.