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Andrew Carnegie Poem
In my youth I recall
A song by Pink Floyd
Called 'The Wall'
It Discussed
Where Fear Resides
Deep Inside
Behind Tortured Eyes
I suppose I should have mentioned
A Berlin Wall
Of Cold War Tensions
It Arose To Demarcate
Philosophical Differences
Of Nations States
Killing People
It stood topped with razor wire
Machine gun towers
From which to fire
Cold Grey Concrete Slaps
Separating A German City
Owner Occupied via sights
It lacked anything to do with pity
But then after all
What are walls for
But to surround and enclose
So those who build them
Can wriggle their toes
Sleeping safe in summer nights
Ignorant of outside fights
Man has built walls
For generations
A Chinese One
A celebration
Hadrian
When all said and done
He built one and not for fun
So now today we hear the news
About how politicians
And the media
Wish to steer our views
An american
Working hard
Uses one as an election card
And what about Greece
Where Walls of Wire
Now are preventing release
Of a situation so dire
We changed its name
From part of humanity
To being a refugee insanity
For what we know
Because History
Tells us so
Is that Walls appear
When we live in fear
And are unable
To find an answer near
So what does that say
As we wend our way
In Wiltshire and Sunny Somerford
Do we raise a glass
Yell Kiss our 'hand'
Accepting no human brotherhood
Can fit in our Porsche
Is that the correct course
Is it at all feasible
That civil unrest
Will create a test
That overflows our peace
Bringing War Near
And Not just Greece
So I'd like you now
To take a hand
Of someone you love
And imagine
If you'd take a stand
Join the push and shove
To save them
For each wall now
Each brick
Is a mark of fear
As it rises tall
There are no surprises
For we hide with walls
Whats on the other side
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Copyright © Andrew Carnegie | Year Posted 2016
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Andrew Carnegie Poem
Recruit Division
I never applied to join the Army, a nice man phoned me,
He said I was the type they liked, with a steel certainty,
Plus he happened to mention the nurses on the way,
And the simple matter of doubling up my pay,
I signed.
So after having passed some sort of fitness tests,
I puffed quite a bit, but certainly tried my best,
I found myself, as many a medic knows,
To the town of Ash Vale, near a certain lady rose,
I’d signed.
Now as I walked, fashionable hair dishevelled,
There ahead of me, was a soldier whose back was upright and level,
So I called out, ‘Sorry to bother you mate, is the way for the Keogh camp gate’?
And the RSM made it very clear, that I would find it and him, certainly quite near,
Now I’d signed.
Within the breath of a watching gnats eye,
My hair was gone, no time to wonder why,
Everything seemed to happen with rapid and specific shouts,
Part of me was now wondering, a modicum of doubt,
Why I’d Signed?
Over the months to follow, each day a tired tomorrow,
I learnt about guns and bangs and running for fun,
Whilst far out on the expanse of the drill square,
A Russian yelled ‘Moy Et’ with a certain disposition,
Signing was my decision.
Now behind that drill square ran the main London line,
So we would be doing things, everything looking fine,
When the London train would pass, thundering on time,
And I tried not to grin at the phrase, ‘I left you in this position’,
Glad I signed.
I discovered a new world of dead fly biscuits,
Often so hungry the compo was worth risking it,
And how far a bed could fly, without seeming to try,
Or how proud I was as my bulled boots, not asking why,
I’d signed.
There was the nine second rule, certainly a gas,
Although they’d not mentioned they would take off the mask,
As each of us fit and healthy blokes,
Laid on the grass, throat burning chocked,
But I signed.
Finally a day arrived, escape from the camp,
Helping my granddad walk up the ramp,
Parents watched on as their son stood up,
Second best recruit, but no second cup,
Proud I’d signed.
Andrew Carnegie, Reminiscing Aldershot, 14th Jan 2017.
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Andrew Carnegie Poem
Hebrews 7:1-7
Melchizedek was the king of Salem and a priest for God the Most High. He met Abraham when Abraham was coming back after defeating the kings. That day Melchizedek blessed him. Then Abraham gave him a tenth of everything he had. The name Melchizedek, king of Salem, has two meanings. First, Melchizedek means “king of justice.” And “king of Salem” means “king of peace.” No one knows who his father or mother was or where he came from. And no one knows when he was born or when he died. Melchizedek is like the Son of God in that he will always be a priest. You can see that Melchizedek was very great. Abraham, our great ancestor, gave him a tenth of everything he won in battle. Now the law says that those from the tribe of Levi who become priests must get a tenth from their own people, even though they and their people are both from the family of Abraham. Melchizedek was not even from the tribe of Levi, but Abraham gave him a tenth of what he had. And Melchizedek blessed Abraham—the one who had God’s promises. And everyone knows that the more important person always blesses the less important person.
Revelation 3:12 Those who win the victory will be pillars in the temple of my God. I will make that happen for them. They will never again have to leave God’s temple. I will write on them the name of my God and the name of the city of my God. That city is the new Jerusalem. It is coming down out of heaven from my God. I will also write my new name on them.
The King of Salem
The king of Salem, there's a thing,
A brief mention of Genesis, synthesis,
The King of Justice and Peace, yet also a priest,
And my mind asks, did God come once before?
Abraham knelt in his presence, tithing his respect,
Yet the name 'Melchizedek, is one many today forget,
Yet the second time around, the priest and king are found,
It's history altering, really quite profound!
That name history releases, the divine name, the name 'Jesus',
Joshua Ben Joseph, yet not, a wealthy man who gave up all he got,
Turning away from an earthly inheritance, to create one for others,
His story amazing, earth shaking, rattling at our tethers!
So then there's talk of a return, a new name to once again learn,
A name to fly high above all of earthly mothers,
The name upon the lips of babes, sisters and brothers,
Come now to claim a birth right forgotten and unbegotten,
Hail Melchizedek, king of Salem!
@Andrew Carnegie, Theological Wiltshire, Saturday 14th Jan, 2017.
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Andrew Carnegie Poem
Around 29AD, a saviour claimed eternity as a light of future hope,
Recorded or foretold, accepted or rejected, he left a message that stretched,
Across the pages of all mankind, throughout all time, resurrected but neglected,
Simple message of loving each other, each human brother of different mothers,
His birth celebrated as the Christmas story, fading modern memory of God's glory,
Followed here today, by man's invented mystery that holds sway, Boxing day.
England, this Christmas, the country seeks to sever European bonds, held so long,
Whilst in America, a ranting man boxing clever, twitters about his endeavours,
Raising prospects of egotistical vanity, leading more global warming and calamity,
So men can profit from tides of oil, toiling out of national soils,
Whilst what was former seen as wrong, becomes a celebration of nuclear guns,
The six sided scissor of international escalation, celebrating Boxing day.
The United Nations finally gains a hairy chest, beating, in protest,
At Israels long term creeping infiltration of the Palestinian 'situation',
Something happening for so long, that they struggle to see the wrong,
Whilst Indian 'Agni' flies into the sky, creating international surprise,
Nuclear proliferation, whose celebration pressures China's order,
Boxing day fissions claiming protection of national borders.
The dragons tail thats been shaken hard by the Trump card,
Sends Liaoning carrying bristles close to Taiwans missiles,
Tensions increase in that vicinity, a Sushi of Japanese intrigue,
Cupped upon Korea's compass of doubts, both North and South,
Such that as before, we have ingredients of Castro and Kennedy,
Bringing us boxing clever towards the edge of ultimate war.
Underpinning divestment of all vestments of peace,
Social movements, 'ism' of fascism and rascal hatred,
A racoon of burglarised surprise, its clear demarkation, greyed doubt,
Chanting hatred, ranting hatred, all bought broth bubbling up,
The gloop of human kindness, now dunked into the bread of misery,
Upon our streets, Boxing day feet, urinated upon as sub human.
Will we now move onwards, sideways, lie ways, hate ways,
Bywords for the absurd consumer driven derision that hosts moguls,
Upon hard petards of media flagged standards, we back as we lack,
Entering a dark period, all nights see Northern lights of mans making,
With earth shattering shaking, despoiling our soils, claiming ownership,
Of this rented Boxing day, saying we won the sixth of Revelation?
@Andrew Carnegie
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Andrew Carnegie Poem
Distressed, I attest,
Like not blessed,
A voice in my head,
Said out of bed,
So I was led to
A quiet church,
As owls sang out,
Midnight gone tombs,
And my tears appeared,
Death beckoned long
finger nails of distraction,
And so I gazed upon an open Abbey, with folk awake that caused a shake, God botherers with likely guitars, a melange of niceness where only grief was sat. So I drifted in, hiding behind tissues
of my own life lies, and sat prepared to run, quite prepared and scared, from that worse than death, the well meaning Christian. Then as I sank into the pews, staring up from rotten shoes, my woes, my blues, I saw floating in midair, a man, with dark blooded hair, and I knew then I was crazy within my distress, not blessed. But as that thought, which came to nought, crossed my elitist demeanour, I shared everything he felt, and at that moment, beyond compare, exquisite agony my problems became less than my being, now seeing Christ. Never one to take miraculous moments without scepticism, I stood disbelieving, a rescued Thomas who had seen, unseeing, still unbelieving.
So I walked with much chagrin
towards the font my eyes had
seen, to find rational reasons,
A reflection, some explanation,
for why of all people this soul
of mine, might be saved by
one whose face I had denied
for so long, that no song could
ever write my wrongs, and there
in a Pentecostal moment, I
gained insight into the wind
that came at night, where no
delight was held for me,
an agnostic changed now for
all eternity. A man unworthy
of that name, came to faith,
kicking, screaming at how
unfair, it was to find that God
was really there, and worse,
so much worse, he knew my
name, and despite my attempts,
cared enough to save my day.
@Andrew Carnegie, Bessay Lighthouse, 28th December 2016. A true story.
If you would like to know a bit about me and my poetry please click this link below:
https://youtu.be/Ic_V7aX4xbk
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Andrew Carnegie Poem
When I was a kid, I know, long ago,
We scrumped apples from neighbours orchards,
Climbed trees, scared bees, skinned our knees,
And once, quite daft, built a raft on the river exe,
Which upended before I knew about vanishing stability,
Or indeed, even my own ability, to do important stuff, like swim,
And my parents felt in charge, unaware of that near insanity,
Life was adventurous, often dangerous, pleasant calamity.
After all, boys will be boys!
Now today, I hear folk rein their children in,
Its considered a sin to even think of doing wrong,
Like pre-pubescent fun fair balloons,
Modern minor loons are floated on virtual strings,
That report everything, each step, each minor misdirect,
Social media monitored, mobile device ahead of vices,
No chances to learn how to exist around even minor risk,
As parenthood clashes charged glasses, after classes,
Why boys cannot be boys.
We learnt to stand firm in a boxing ring, ears ringing,
Whilst on the rugby field we were stamped into shape,
Little gingerbread dough boys, crusted up into teenage loaves,
That may not have been to everyones politically correct taste,
But no matter the blame, we learned to stand, just the same,
And despite accusations today we were neglected,
I grew up in a World where our parents were respected,
For we leant quickly the need to hear them often say,
But officer, boys will be boys.
@Andrew Carnegie, Wiltshire, January 2017.
If you would like to know a bit about me and my poetry please click this link below:
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Andrew Carnegie Poem
The Search to Find the Edge of the Ice
They say moss doesn't gather on a stone rolling, in motion,
And even wise algae gets left in the wake,
Of a proud ship, foresail dipped, rising upon an ocean,
Yet what of the movement of cold, blued, polar ice,
Where humanity has no known device,
That can truly assess each crevasse like a human eye,
Not wafting past, digitising from way up high,
But the eye picking out subtle changes,
The sense of touch, of feeling crumbling, matters much,
And no satellite can be quite right as the human nose,
Smelling fauna, or the stench of rotting, dead plants or fish,
For ice recedes its movement gathers stones,
But it reveals things, that satellites alone,
Can never bring to assess, without assumption in that process,
And so a legend of arctic exploration abandons long treks,
Or climbing mountains, and not due to getting older,
Indeed using boats for a landlubber is getting bolder,
Taking stock of the after shock,
The Northwest passage laid out, like a virgin on a wedding night,
Internally sobbing for the state our world is in,
For there was no ice, not even enough for a consoling gin,
The long march of humanity's future discontent,
Requires assessment, a global response to a new war cry,
Come Europe, Come China, Come India, Come America,
Come hear the cry of the Canadian northwest,
Of the fears of Greenland becoming a new forest,
Come Australasia, Russia too, come all countries, much to do,
For we must rise to assess the circumstance of the ice regress,
To prevent surprise, loss of our world's bequest,
And pushing forward the advance guard of this new challenge,
Is Sir David's team, the polar ocean phalanx,
Not sat around at home in comfy armchairs,
But doing something, going somewhere, to show we care,
Seeking to find and monitor and report back,
Crucial knowledge that currently we lack,
For how can we plan to avoid our worlds future sorrows,
If we do not make an effort to find out for our tomorrow,
Where exactly is the edge of the ice, which today no device,
Can show in a way that all of human kind can know,
Does the ice recede or simply ebb and flow,
Stand up, man up, pay up, support them,
Lets see them depart and sail,
To find this century’s holy grail,
The search to find ‘The Edge of the Ice’.
@Andrew Carnegie, Challenged in Wiltshire, Jan 12th 2017.
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Andrew Carnegie Poem
Prayer
We forgot to pray today,
Our mutual supplication,
Benefaction via genuflection,
The midweek start to day,
And we forgot to pray.
We forgot that perfection,
Become a broken situation,
That our human condition,
Was of our own volition,
And we forgot to pray.
We forgot that God’s promise,
Was not to be controlling,
But in a relationship evolving,
That God needs constant permission,
But we forgot to pray.
We forgot to see the simple things,
The rise of sun and dimple things,
Birdsong on a frosty mourn,
The breath of life that does adorn,
And we forgot to pray.
So as we forgot to pray,
Dear God thank you for this day,
Thank you for all that we survey,
That we are fearfully but wondrously made,
And sorry we forgot to pray.
@Andrew Carnegie, Apologetic in Wiltshire, January 5th 2017.
If you would like to know a bit about me and my poetry please click this link below:
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Andrew Carnegie Poem
Sexist Selective's
I’m getting old, easily confused,
So things take time to sink in,
Especially, from around our World,
Issues to behold, such daily news.
Now for some todays big thing to spoil it,
Is not famine or drought,
Nor is it the prospect of an impending war,
It seems Texas creates a controversial toilet.
In fact it has not actually created anything,
Merely stated that men born men are men,
And legislated that ladies, once again,
Are also ladies, which creates a sting.
You see the joy of the image of humanity,
Is our constant striving to adapt and change,
In this case gender is on the page,
Creating this particular new insanity.
For quite understandably, those we have changed,
Wish to be seen in the image of their new rights,
Men are now men, once again based on latest measure,
Ladies also, now could have been born a different range.
Now it strikes me, its really not that hard,
That the real issue here is the segregation of toilets,
Its the toilets that are the sexist selective’s,
Why not change their design, its not that hard.
Today, given the blessing of a flushing loo,
Which is denied to nearly half our World,
Surely we just have loo’s, no more hullabaloo,
All toilets unisex, the kindest and easiest thing we can do!
@Andrew Carnegie, flushing environmentally, Wiltshire Jan 6th 2017.
If you would like to know a bit about me and my poetry please click this link below:
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Andrew Carnegie Poem
Weekend Commute
I dissolved into grey crowds
Flooding Londons underground,
Loosing my identity in the flow,
Swimming with currents,
Counter cultural, guttural,
Warmed by the sight,
Of many travellers,
Taking their luggage,
For constitutional walks.
@Andrew Carnegie, Post Paddington, 7th Jan 2017
If you would like to know a bit about me and my poetry please click this link below:
https://youtu.be/Ic_V7aX4xbk
Copyright © Andrew Carnegie | Year Posted 2017
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