599.
Learn History of Independence Days!
Learn Independence Days History
Of each & every country
From Afghanistan to Timor Leste
Togo to Zimbabwe
From January to October
November to December
Every month there is a celebration
Of the independence of a certain nation.
-12/18/2017
(Dumarao)
*WHN Poems
The death of tomorrow
rebirthed in stone
Its sculptor blinded
by fear unknown
The future vacant
the past denied
Where carved in darkness
—an image cries
(The New Room: June, 2023)
Borrow us a pilgrimage back to a time,
When the barn was our home...
Then; Adunni's beauty wasn't her doom
Today, Responsibilities hound me away from promises...the treaties I made
That I won't ever leave your shadows, how much more you.
Let us run through circus, for cosmic molecules we are,
Shattering imaginations and love, and then lies too
Now on that pendulum, I watch my tomorrow,
Wide mouth agape, for fear of troubles and:
considerably more penury!!!
Timor Mortis conturbate me, my maker; and
Like Catherine in Heathcliff's eyes,
Everywhere I turn, I see their ghosts, with justifications why they shouldn't have ended up with me...
We aren't losers, but strugglers of time and uncertainty; I hope you hear me, lad!!!!
And;
Now I understand what responsibilities mean...
Itunumi-Solace
For love and lies.
Fear exposes the underside
of courage
The weakest point of strength
—a darker shade of truth
(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)
When the time comes
And I pass
From this chapter
Don’t wall me up
In a mausoleum
Or bury me
Within the realm of
Sod and worms
Just place me
In the Daly river
Let the fish
And croc’s
Have their turn
Let them
Take me away
Into the clear blue
Timor waters
Past banks
Of nesting birds
And the calls of
Kite’s in flight
Past ribbon stones
That loiter
Where my love and I
Once walked
Under tropical clouds
That hang
Stationary
And sweat did trickle down
Just the sight
Of those crystal waters
Was enough
To cool you down
To hear the beautiful
Incoming tide
Rush under the old concrete ford
Watched by vigilant Egrets
And a nonchalant Jabiru
Waiting for morsel or meal
So, place me in this paradise
Away from a Covid world
Away from those
Mournful places
Let me swim
The outgoing tide
Into a Daly world
RESISTANCE (EAST TIMOR)
A young man
A young man lying
Sightlessly staring beyond the sky.
Resistance…
A fierce wind blowing…
Bitterness trapped in his quietened heart.
His forehead.
a round mark, tiny.
precisely.
A tilak? Futility.
Scorching sun
Clambering, burning,
Sweltering,
One more sacrifice.
A mere boy
Who will own him now?
Festering,
Ants consuming his brow.
A woman
Pauses at the place,
Whimpering.
Stoops to cool his face.
Eyelids first.
Closing them one last time.
Lovingly.
She is a mother.
Familiar?
Does she start to weep?
No.
She has seen all this before.
Often.
High in the mountains of Timor
On a hill in a cradling valley
Swathed with cloud
Warmed by sunlight.
The Portuguese loved this place.
They built a pousada
On the hill
and planted roses.
It has stood for a hundred years.
They are rebuilding it.
Visitors come
Absorb the peace.
Wander through the garden
Look under shrubs and flowers
Find a stone
Amongst the flowers.
Set near a rusty swing.
Itself once used, now not.
Mind the rust.
All must decay.
Under frangipani
Is a memorial.
Read what it says.
Robin Finlay Taudevin 14/3/1977 to 14/6/2006.
My son.
Memorial
Under a tree
Slowly growing.
A distorted bonsai?
The frangipani belongs
To coastal climes far warmer
Then here in a cool but beautiful
Valley high in the mountains of Timor
Which is where he wanted to be.
Amidst a place he loved and
A place that loved him
Amidst beauty and
Many memories.
Memorial.
Tanka
Roses like soft rain
Deluge kills them brutally
Fallen pale petals
Drowning in a pool of regrets
As rain makes furrows in soil
Senryu
Floor cleaners are
Floor managers, wear logos
But pay is lousy.
Senryu
A man from Timor
Selling flowers to lovers
Lives on rejections
The draw of the tide...
tugs away inside...
remembered rekindled emotion...
lived on the water ...
remember i ought...
Portugese, on the ocean..
cabin boy ..
on a 3 masted schooner...
we lived on salted pork...
the maggots they walked...
red meat went rotten the sooner..
In Timor it's said ..
we'd get fresh bread...
more chillies, beer by the jug..
first mate was casting the lead..
fathoms testing...
as into the harbour we lugged...
sailing round the Cape Horn ..
suicide borne..
over the side water torn..
ironic the twist
sinking forlorn....
no one there to mourn
drowning there did I exist... :)
where i went onetime....Don Johnson 17-may-11
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