Long Overstayed Poems
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I don’t think I shall quite forget the name Camilla Martin.
She’s the teacher of me grandson at the local kindergarten.
No question she’s a lovely lady; dedicated through and through,
but the lesson that she learnt this day is one that I learnt too.
It just happened on the day I drove young ‘Gaz’ to kindergarten,
there’s a special birthday happening - it’s his teacher Mrs. Martin.
I wondered why young Gazza had this present all wrapped up,
so after telling me the reason, he whispered “It’s a cup.”
It was a special morning for all the Mums and Dads were there.
I was the only Grandpa but young Gazza didn’t seem to care.
There’s a birthday cake with candles, lollies, hats and lemonade,
and the kids all brought a present … and I’m glad I overstayed …
To see the look upon the faces of the kids who held their gift,
as Mrs. Martin stood up at the front to give these kids a lift,
by waiting to receive each offer as presented one by one,
and she really liked the cup handed to her by me grandson.
And the other little children were quite interesting as well,
as they stepped up to the podium with a similar tale to tell,
when Mrs. Martin made predications to what the wrapping held,
for she knew the parents business thinking that their gift has gelled.
She’s spot on with Jenny Damon whose family own a florist store.
Mrs. Martin beamed out “Flowers,” and Jenny smiled, “For sure.”
When the local milk bar’s Billy Cann stepped up beaming bright,
Mrs. Martin said “This must be chocolate,” and Billy nods “That’s right.”
Mrs. Martin waited patiently for ‘Ginger’ Roberts from the hotel,
who stepped forward with his gift that she thought that she could tell,
because it appeared somewhat a shoebox that did have an ominous sign;
it appeared a bottle’s leaking and she gathered it was wine.
Mrs. Martin put her finger in the liquid but the taste to her is strange,
and for a joke she said to ‘Ginge’, “Is this not Penfolds Grange?”
‘Ginge’ answered “No” so Mrs. Martin tried to guess again,
with one more taste upon her lips, she asked, “Is this champagne?”
‘Ginge’ shook his head when saying “No”, so Mrs. Martin gave a sigh,
“Well I give up,” she smiled at ‘Ginge’ “No, I’ll give it one more try.”
So on her lips goes one last taste to resolve this gift of grog
as Ginger interrupted - “Mrs. Martin … it’s a little puppy dog.”
PROLOGUE
Biographies are for men who have a need to cry
To spell out what we remember is to subtract all
We forget, for knowing then nothing knew, a lie
Conjured by history, there's no a priori here at all
If you will not abuse my love
I will dive for you deeper forgotten things, bring
Up from bottom hate to prove
To be a better god we gladly, boldly took the sting
And could not have merely comprehended joy until
Our serpent made the safe-God to repent of his will
Here is my life strands of sands upon your windy palm
I'm the syllables of every gospel, beginning at the Psalm
Proverbs skinned like rice from the shaft, seeking balm.
History immaculate pristine in no myth ever shall sleep
Introspection vigils struggle between words and memory
Philosophy is a dream, not I, who numbers days urgently,
The sleeping dog will sleep, but my promise let me keep.
i
IDENTITY
I do not even know how it began, night or day
Rain or shine - nor what season they had interplay
I only know that nine must have been too long since
I overstayed my time and made her grimaced, grunt
And groaned to push me out. So of course, I wince
Privy to so much uncertainty. I have a given month
A date, but what is time alone for anyone's beginning
I want to remember the pool I paddled in the flesh
The long rope that called my navel a primal mouth
The red tide of mud from her veins which so much clout
I was hooked on it, around the perimeter where I thresh
So much more can come from a real truth of beginning.
I mean, how comes we have no control over our beginning
And you expect me in the middle to give you meaning
I will not buy the lie, I choose allegiance but know not how
The end shall fufill its promises of me. The air burns still
Like an acrid vapor on the lungs, and not yet I shall spill
The anger from the fumes of air, nor low ever can I bow
Before the hand that slapped my butt and told me scream.
You say indecent, I say unjust, for he proved no love so
Soon nor knew of me any wrong. The conspirators team
Around a common cause: a man must cry so they know
He has life; my kicking legs were not enough. The water
Suddenly left me swaddled in air and just a little laughter.
I do not take kindly to being whipped, nor did I protest then
About my eviction, and the sudden weight of many things.
I awkwardly, ineptly, and submissively fumbled thru life...,
whereat purposefulness rarely gained traction
Fatherhood (half my life time ago)
bolstered reasonable rhyme
manifesting itself before
these myopic bespectacled eyes.
Infancy, babyhood, and Childhood
evidenced, noticed, and witnessed
adequate basic provisions,
and no shortage of food
engendered dynamic cohesion
allowed, enabled, and provided
"mama's boy" imbued,
and attempted to compensate
being socially withdrawn
posting and answering
personal classified advertisements,
(while marital vows
long since pledged),
now in hindsight such risqué
communiqués juvenile and lewd
sense and sensibility
of healthy emotional, mental
and physical natural maturation
social withdrawal did occlude
invariably classmates found
lack of responsiveness rude.
Additionally, yours truly
never field tested
self reliance skill sets,
but rather overstayed his welcome
livingsocial with parents
at 324 Level Road,
whose patience he sorely tested
ofttimes giving rise
since hashtagged as
dad's infamous midnight lectures
heavily referencing expletives
which vituperative ultimatums
extemporaneously delivered courtesy
paternal linkedin progenitor of mine
when the doomsday clock struck twelve
allowing, enabling, providing
standing room only
promising colorful denunciatory epithets
assaulting, cannonading, firing...
exploding character assassination
verbal thermonuclear bombs squarely
lobbed at unemployed sole son,
his/him offspring afflicted then (three
plus decades ago and now)
with debilitating anxiety/
social panic, palmar hyperhidrosis,
body dysmorphia, and
irritable bowel for starters.
I (a rather meek individual)
stood still as a statue
silently weathering such
blistering, calumniating, excoriating,
fulminating, haranguing brickbats
upon a rather docile doodler with words,
who essentially internalized
torturous barrage vacuous warnings
to shape up or ship out,
which mother and father dearest
doled out their version
of abusive traumatic boot camp
survival mode qualified
as invisible contusions, fractures,
infarctions, lesions, obstructions
and ruinations upon psyche.
I am falling
I have fallen for you
Hear me calling
Every night and day
I try to forget about you
But unknowingly
I day dream
There you are
In front of me
Confessing your love for me
You call my name
And I remain silent, just smiling
“Desire”
“Im sorry”
“Is everything okay”
“Sorry”
I want you to know
Its all coded in my heart
That you are the new owner of my heart
You just need to sow
This seed of love in your heart
Or let me do that part
You hold the keys to my future
You don’t need to be brutal
Because this is what everything within me is saying
We are the future
Let it be fertile
Don’t make my actions futile
Because there is no need for us to be delaying
Take my heart
Hold it
Give me your heart
Pass it
I will keep it as safe
I will treat you like a queen
I remember the first time I saw you
You got my eyes glued on you
As if I had found some bioscope you
Since then I never let my mind off you
You are my money heist version
You have stolen my treasure for a known reason
It’s a match made by a goon
I will be blaspheming to say its from Heaven.
During the first days I thought it was something transient
Then I thought it was a guest who had just overstayed
Until I found out that it was not going anywhere
I had to live with it.
Your beauty defines a woman
Your voice defining a heavenly ordained choir
Your composure shows maturity
Your smile is a cure to my head
I wanna hug you now
And love you, NOW
I have decided that I am going to be with you, if you allow me
If you like everything on me, I will be glad we are made for each other
If there is something you don’t like on me, I will be glad to make ourselves for each other
I promise to give love tailor made for you
To show you real love still exists, even in this era yangozara mashurugwi emoyo’
Real men still exist
Im not here to please my insticts
Im here to please our future
To please you
To please us
To make us
To love
To be with you
Forever
I promise you will fall in love with us
You will be pleased by us
Embrace the US we are becoming
Girl, let me love you
Upon the day when I was new
You held me at your breast,
And from that day love did accrue
For both I do attest.
You brought me to a place unknown
With slates of painted wood,
Where cheerful circus themes were flown
Above my neighborhood.
We seemed to nest for hours
At night in satin blanket trim,
My curious nature flowered
While yours eyes grew tired and dim.
The bears and clowns did entertain
Those few and fleeting days,
Until my innocent domain
Had overstayed its phase.
For soon the crawling was replaced
With awkward stepping feet,
A challenge you had bravely faced
Without fear of defeat.
Sweet infancy was soon eclipsed
By toddler nonchalance,
For “I can’t like it” pursed my lips
With every smug response.
You bore the brunt of childish acts
With ever loving ease,
Till school time called for pink backpacks
And alphabet expertise.
Soon Girl Scouts meetings filled your time
And clarinet your ears,
For you would plunk down every dime
To see me enjoy those years.
But then the teenage years ensued
When self-esteem is low,
You lifted me from anxious moods
When I had reached plateau.
Our arguments were common then
I thought myself all knowing,
While you’d repeat to me often
That I still had some growing.
We made it through till high school’s end
When college had arrived,
You made sure that I would attend
And my obstacles survived.
Through crying phone calls in the night
And stressful social scenes,
You’d hug me with unyielding might;
Upon you I could lean.
When graduation finally came
You looked so proud and calm,
“I made it through!” I did proclaim,
You knew it all along.
I am grown and on my own,
With life ahead of me,
But through this piece I hope I’ve shown
Just what you mean to me.
For all the memories in the past
My best friend you remain,
And all the troubles we’ve surpassed
Have not all been in vain.
For through these times I have found
An idol strong and true,
And may I say, loud and profound,
My idol, Mom, is you.
Children of Xenophobia
Children eating bullets and firecrackers
Beggars of smile and laughter
Silent corpses sleeping away fertile dreams
Povo* chanting new nude wretched slogans
Overstayed exiles eating beetroot and African potato
Abortions and condoms batteries charging the lives of nannies and maids
Children of barefoot afternoons and uncondomized nights
Sweat chiselling the rock of your endurance
The heart of Soweto, Harare, Darfur, Bamako still beating like drums
Violence fumigating peace from this earth.
Kinder der Xenophobie
Kinder, die Kugeln und Feuerwerkskörper essen
Bettler von Lächeln und Lachen
Stille Körper die fruchtbare Träume wegschlafen
Povo* die neue nackte elende Slogans singen
Zu lang wegbleibende Exilierte die Rote Beete essen und Afrikanische Kartoffeln
Abtreibungen & Kondome Batterien die die Leben von Kinder- und Dienstmädchen aufladen
Kinder barfüßiger Nachmittage und kondomloser Nächte
Schweiß der den Fels deiner Ausdauer meißelt
Das Herz von Soweto, Harare, Darfur, Bamako schlägt noch wie Trommeln
Gewalt die Frieden wegräuchert von dieser Erde.
Translator's note:
* “the povo (the 'people' - referring to the low-income majority)” – This definition was offered in 1994. Cf. “[...] it has been frequently asserted that the access of the povo (the 'people'. - referring to the low-income majority) to the University of Zimbabwe has improved .” (Paul Bennell and Mkhululi Ncube, “A University for the Povo? The Socio-Economic Background of African University Students in Zimbabwe Since Independence”, in: Journal of Southern African Studies, Vol. 20, No. 4, Dec. 1994, pp. 587-601. – A skeptical asssessment of povo is offered by an apologist of the West who asserts that “the Povo masses are not attuned to the western format of democracy.” (Charles W. Duke, Zimbabwe: The Land That Weeps. Yeadon, Leeds, West Yorkshire : Best Books Online/ Mediaworld PR Ltd., 2003, p.83.)
After the War
There was nothing remotely familiar,
I could see no one and everyone all at once.
These people were lost, they were all dead.
Salem grew dark-blushing from a freshly spent temptation.
A seduction created from the ideas of rash men,
that was then danced into destiny's details by the devil.
It continued breeding shadow as every flame,
owned by the light was savagely snuffed-out.
Murder was now on a most elegant hunt.
Each diminishing spark documented each kill,
becoming a darker list of victims.
Meanwhile the thick lingering Blackness,
kept an informal score as the shadow continued to grow in strength.
Secretly,
far off in the distance,
a melody of sweetly soft smothered shrieks
signaled and started a symphony of serenely sombering sobs.
Sobs that began shaping and shifting into inarticulated sighs and cries that never faltered.
But still,
was met with one lone menacing Nightmare: “a overstayed it's welcome Terror.”
It circled any remaining flame of light like a bottom feeding vulture.
Pushing it's poor neglected lies unto any and all close by ears.
It could be heard loudly whispering to your hopes and dreams-
"Fret not" it almost always began,
"For though you have truly lost it all-your lives included-there is a promise to clothe you."
There was no hiding the disdain from it's voice or face at the last two words.
But as quickly as the emotion appeared,
it was replaced with a plastic sneer as it finished with:
"All things look good, even better, dressed in our monograms."
I found it's night terror of tall tale amusing,
meeting this Nightmare face to face as my insistent smirk escaped my control.
Unnoticed by all-including me.
(In 1964, Paul McCartney was staying at
57, Wimpole Street, the home of Jane Asher.
McCartney was allowed to use the basement
for writing (Margaret Asher, mother of Jane,
was a professor of music, and the room was
set up for rehearsal). He announced his
engagement to Jane on Christmas Day 1967,
but by then he had already been seeing Linda
Eastman for nine months. When Jane left for a
vacation in the summer of 1968, Paul invited
yet another woman to move into his home.
When Asher returned unexpectedly and found
McCartney and the woman in bed, the relationship
came to an abrupt end. Perhaps McCartney did it
to extricate himself from the Asher engagement.)
Yesterday
When I was younger,
so much younger than today,
I once had a girl
(it was the year before Shea).
She showed me her room:
“Isn’t it good?
Norwegian wood.”
She asked me to stay
and said I could sit anywhere,
so I went to the basement –
the piano was down there.
“I’ll tell you something
I think you’ll understand,”
said my best friend John:
“You’re gonna lose that girl.
It won’t be long.”
I’ve lost her now for sure.
I won’t see her no more.
But I couldn’t use a Sloane,
so why on earth should I moan?
I crawled off to sleep in the bath.
I went into a dream
of people and things
that went before …
I think I overstayed,
but that was yesterday.
I’ll buy you a diamond ring, my friend,
If it makes you feel alright
But I can’t help but think, my friend,
it’s been a hard day’s night.
The girl that’s driving me mad
is going away:
I’ll get my claws on Clancy
without the least delay.
You call it treason
when you come poking about,
but I’ve got a good reason
for taking the easy way out.
Immeasurable maturation profoundly
transformed thy Shana Punim
within whose corporeal femininity
gravitas resonates and doth hum
whose unbelievable transition, now
follows the beat of her own drum
approximately four years ago,
thee second and youngest born
daughter didst squawk and crow
aforementioned fledging eagerly,
instinctively, and naturally clamoring ergo
summoning unbendable biological
propensity to grow
which, she recognized
to this papa, a regular Joe
who realized, he did not know,
the painful necessity Brexiting
"FAKE" moors whar
family cows did low
aforementioned hyperbolic fabrication,
albeit this poe
whit did cavalierly usurp license to show,
(within the third eye blind mind's)
pace of autonomy a father cannot slow
as call of the wild for kinder
(progeny) chomps at figurative bit lest...
regret (like this papa), she will
like an albatross around her neck,
thus our twittering youngest
offspring experienced beck,
and call (declaration) of independence
from being shielded
(more so sunken) within dreck,
an abysmal living situation
(with me and the missus),
whose own respective impetus
to get away from hen peck
king parents, which crimped,
cost, and castrated, or effect
similar stunted growth on mine
body, mind and spirit thereof
until ultimatums got hurled at me
extremely unpleasant twee
mend us vitriolic bile lashed out hee
ping loathsome spittle at this free
damned sole Harris son, who overstayed,
and wore out welcome Matt, now re
vile ling forsaken opportunities
forever leaving my mental, psychological
social, et cetera state to atrophy!
Unrequited
The things i think about,
never settle below
they float instead
and fester inside
as I pluck your name in the air
a sacred memory folds over
foaming layers, floating vapors
Creating a chill and then a stupor
the last draw of my breath
I slipped again, I stripped
you tripped in the end
Even if you stay in your lane
But you’re driving insane
so much distance between two cars
its impossible to hear
Muffled by the wind, carried away the fear
I tried to speak, but the sound
Never carried over
It rises an ache in my throat
nerves are calmed, noise is stifled
legs are stiffened, feet planted
hands firmly gripped
elbows abutted
in a world prone to forget
my memory stays etched
in your fractured mind
my taste stayed on the lips
of the one I've left behind
a fleeting moment
Betrayed by lust unveiled the trust
between the blinks of my eye
You remain a distant memory
The pain has abated
the speed is indeed fleeting
Forgotten with the past
in the throes between two fires
the faded lines, the dying embers
Looms over like the sun
So I say, you cannot stay
Isn’t that off-putting?
A broken soul
With a spirit so agile
My body so fragile,
with just one touch,
you peel my layers
like the sprouting weeds
between the pavement
the truth wants to be known
My touch so brief,
and yet it lingered
Overstayed its welcome
And in the horizon
It stretched, it lagged on
And with your imagination
My skin rubbed raw,
My voice cracked, I cringed
I become unhinged
My heart will always be disquieted
Your love forever unrequited