ASF Poetry Thread

2020hindsight said:

MEMORIES FROM WHEN I WAS KNEE-HIGH TO MY GRANDPA

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(continued)

See my dad keeps saying what not to do
but my grandpa says that’s just “old”,
cos my grandpa he shows me what knot to do
and he doesn’t know how to scold;
There are marvellous things that you’ve got to do
before you’re called “grandpa” it seems,
it’s more about positives – what to do
how to pamper a young child’s dreams.

Absolutely Doubtful.

There's a word I used to like but now detest it I confess,
it's the use of "absolutely!" meaning "yes, emphatic yes!"
It's because I heard a policeman bear false witness 'bout my friend
and he used the word in court in ways one really can't defend.
...
but the judge was absolutely right when he said that "I contend
that despite the 'absolutelys', he was lying in the end."

TRADING IN THE TRADE WINDS, or
DANCING IN A ROOM WHERE THE CLOCKS HAVE NO HANDS

Trade winds stable? set your sails,
go to sleep and nothing fails -
trade winds flukey? stay alert,
gybes and booms can really hurt.

“Plan the trade, and trade the plan”,
hell, its all so easy man,
Tried and true? – or stay alert?
halts and hits can really hurt.

“Sell in May, and walk away”,
wow, it’s like a child at play,
but who knows when mountain ranges
peak or trough – or trade wind changes?

Methinks Buffet said it best
dancing as a ballroom guest,
“Gowns turns rags at midnight friends
but the clocks have lost their hands”.

STATUS AT THE EXPENSE OF THE PEASANT’S CHILDREN

Hold the line against enlightenment
defend the status quo,
the bodies in the paddy fields
pretend that we don’t know,
the Burmese generals generate
the lowest form of praise,
with a status built on bodies
and their genocidal ways.

Hold the borders ‘gainst World Vision
and the vision of the world,
hold the mortars in the mountains
where a million bombs are hurled,
when its wet its all so useless
cos the damned things won’t explode,
and we need pretense of voters
we’re in referendum mode.

Quickly gather up the bodies
and/or push them out to sea,
where the Irrawaddy takes them
they at least at last are free,
hey who cares about the delta
we have delta bombers here,
and as long as they are safe and well
us generals need not fear.

The bodies in the paddy fields
pretend that we don’t know,
they’re just the peasant’s children
and they’ll go where peasants go,
but the referendum locks us in
we’ll always be in power,
so let’s toast ourselves and status
with another whisky sour.

Hold the line against enlightenment
defend the status quo,
with our status built on bodies
watch our quid pro quota grow.
So we’re hated by the people
who we therefore disempower,
and our status will live on and on
let's toast this glorius hour.



https://www.aussiestockforums.com/forums/showthread.php?p=207464&highlight=burma#post207464
AUNG SAN SUU KYI

THE ONE-CHILD CHINESE SCHOOLKIDS KILLED IN THE EARTHQUAKES.

There are children in the rubble and you wonder why we cry,
there’s an extra sad dimension , if you wish I’ll tell you why,
all those children have no siblings, just us parents here to mope,
they’re our one link to the future, and they’re gone, and so is hope.

There’s a generation stolen by the vengeance of some God
there’s a school that’s lost its children, like a devil’s lightning rod
there’s a village, where tomorrow, sombre people wander by
shell-shocked - unexplained exparents - and exponents of a sigh.

shell-shocked - unexplained exparents - and one sadness in their eye.

LIES OF COMMISSION AND OMISSION
THE BIG LIE, THE BIG STARE, AND THE BIG STAIRWAY.

There’s lies committed along the way – they’re lies of cold commission
where black is white and night is day, - dishonourable decision
there’s also lies (they’re used by spies) – the lies of bold omission
like “gee boss, I feel crook today” ( but I’m really going fishin’)

Intentional deception (staying silent) is a con
but you listen to a polly , they’re the rules they bank upon
like a blind date who just happens to forget to tell the tale
how he’s not just Bob the banker’s son – he’s also just out of jail.

The Nazis stared you in the face and told you “Poland’s mine!”
whilst pollies are the master race are leaving out a line
of fine print or of detail – that’s omission at its best
it’s spin it’s propaganda – and it’s truth that’s (half) caressed.

When Clinton swears in court “I didn’t have sex with that woman”
but “hey I’m only flesh and bone”, (and my bone is only human)
Some shorthand and we smoked cigars, it was all so calm and couth
“and hey it’s just lip service” – (he’s full- f**king with the truth)

They say it in the military that loose lips can sink ships
so I told her “Monica , mums the word” - caw, you’ve got such cunning lips.
you’re probably not that interested in quotes they say in the Navy
what’s that on your dress, a what the heck - let’s make up some more of that gravy.

When Mugabe says he loves his clan but the English give him colics
does he mean the English language praps ? cos what he says is bollocks
cruel lips that form his words are all distorted like a crim
and the English comes out quite absurd when it emanates from him.

When the pollies say they’ll give us heaps in tax reform and all
and meanwhile (minutes later) they rob Peter to pay Paul
and that’s not all they’re good at – when you pay the petrol meter
you’ll also find they’ll rob you blind – robbing Peter to pay Peter.

And so their world keeps spinning through its arc of space and time
their spin and propaganda and their hunt for power and dime
an angle here, a twisted quote, their statements and their stare…and
their words so carefully crafted that the truth’s no longer there.

They make and leave out bits of fact, and stare you in the face,
THEY even start believing that they have a valid case !
but with each step, and with each stare, they do or do not tell
they build themselves a stare-way – (it’s a stairway down to Hell).

People lay the blame at their door
and yes, right, but there is more,
There is more? Yes, others doors,
quite right, death and quite poor.

Do we blame those who do gain?
Gain! Would you prop up the Junta
and more, their pain. And they are?
China and India, continuing the pain.

Pain by Junta - by noirua

SHAKING HANDS WITH DOGS

I like to grab at every chance to shake my dog’s front leg,
it goes back to a prior dog who liked to smile and beg,
not beg for bones or food or things, just beg for interaction,
to shake my hand, to bark, to sing, to beg for my reaction.

I loved that dog , his funny ways, and so did wife and kids,
and then that day of saddest days, we were told he was on the skids,
“six months the best you can hope for”, well it ended up just two,
and we called the vet to come around and “do what he must do”.

I carried him onto the living room floor, he had only just turned five
too young to miss the morrow’s glory, not to be alive,
part Great Dane and part mongrel – (he ain’t heavy, he’s my mate)
his eyes in pain - an inch from mine - as we lay on that li-lo to wait.

The vet explained injections are just “deeper forms of sleep”
I searched for absent courage, and I fought the will to weep,
We held his hand, wife, kids and all, I could have sworn he smiled
he offered us his second paw…. - then he slumbered reconciled.

............

So now I make great routine and tradition in this cause
of holding hands with the beautiful dog, who stands where stood his paws,
when she dies - or when I die - I would like to hold her arm,
then one of us ( me? / she?) moves on, with that hint of tactile charm.

When she dies or when I die, I would like to hold her arm,
there in bushland or wherever - ( ain’t life just the greatest Psalm? )
then move on to the next life, one will wimper, one will die,
and then move on to the next dog, and/or master in the sky.

The missus went out to hang some clothes on the line the other morning
and was confronted with this ...

needless to say she has little sympathy with the sentiments of a poem I wrote a year and a half (or so) ago about spiders, and their webs etc

https://www.aussiestockforums.com/forums/showthread.php?p=90707&highlight=spider#post90707

IF HENRY LAWSON POSTED POEMS ON THE INTERNET

I’m not into big noting this poetic passing phase,
words I've stuck into a stanza in a pisspoor passing phrase,
if you score these poems as parity with ones that make half sense,
then just flick a buck to charity – I’ll score when they dispense

(The following already posted, but worthy of the repost imho)

A PROUDER MAN THAN YOU, by Henry Lawson

If you fancy that your people came of better stock than mine,
If you hint of higher breeding by a word or by a sign,
If you're proud because of fortune or the clever things you do --
Then I'll play no second fiddle: I'm a prouder man than you!

If you think that your profession has the more gentility,
And that you are condescending to be seen along with me;
If you notice that I'm shabby while your clothes are spruce and new --
You have only got to hint it: I'm a prouder man than you!

If you have a swell companion when you see me on the street,
And you think that I'm too common for your toney friend to meet,
So that I, in passing closely, fail to come within your view --
Then be blind to me for ever: I'm a prouder man than you!

If your character be blameless, if your outward past be clean,
While 'tis known my antecedents are not what they should have been,
Do not risk contamination, save your name whate'er you do --
`Birds o' feather fly together': I'm a prouder bird than you!

Keep your patronage for others! Gold and station cannot hide
Friendship that can laugh at fortune, friendship that can conquer pride!
Offer this as to an equal -- let me see that you are true,
And my wall of pride is shattered: I am not so proud as you!

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I sitteth here and standeth there
and findeth, I do stand and stare,
but where'th I go and do my bit
to stop me sitting, wanting to spit.

Somewhere in my life I'll find a way
to make myself popular and to sway,
about to lead and show my face
and stamp my authority in the race.

Once more I think about it long
and end up singing just a song,
Yes, a National Anthem, I do stare
Only in my bath, ruling, Australia fair.

Can't get off my backside - by noirua

MUSINGS OF AN UNAMUSED GOD

I am the God Almighty and I watch as you evolve,
evolve into a problem that’s beyond my skills to solve ,
the misery of havenots and the miserly of haves,
of all the selfish planets, none come near to you by half.
A child born in the desert has a skindeep life - and bone-
by day to search for crumb-lets, and a sandstorm for a home,
by night a dream of paradise, and one day to be free,
and I join them in their prayers (to the greedy where they plea)
…….. but I’m babbling, and this isn’t about me.

It looks like it’s a cop-out saying “warming isn’t real”
“just theories there to scoff at” with a double charge of zeal
the Earth has got a fever and ignoring it won’t heal
so I’d like to get inside your heads and make this little deal
I give you sun and earth and moon, and stars to stretch your mind
you do your best to find a tune neither heat nor hate inclined
your Heaven is that planet that you’re cooking with such glee
there ain’t no life hereafter - onward booking – place to flee
…. Just a tip there , but this isn’t about me.

Whatever was I thinking when I planted Adam and Eve
they leave this Eden “buggared up and finish” – when they leave
they seem to think I gave them Earth so things could be abused
well, musing here, I’d like to say, I’m really not amused.
We need a generation who will fight the oil-fired lies
who’ll try to climb the knowledge tree , before it falls and dies
we need a generation where their grandkids would agree
“they were wiser than my great granddad – and/or God who made man free” –
…….. now I’m crying, but this isn’t about me.

GOOD LUCK PHOENIX ON THE RED PLANET

Earth to Phoenix:
Phoenix wanders, out there yonder, long since lost to human view,
buglike pecks and legs and flexing, sifting through the Martian stew,
read your data, pings prorata, till your little batteries dead,
Mars the mystery’s now old history, now the Red planet is read.

Phoenix to Earth:-
Hey this Mars has brilliant bars, not just rocks I’m rock and rolling
just like Flintstone doesn’t dintstone, bludy great for ten pin bowling
hell it sure beats earthly heat, and/or locked up in some shed
found a Martian-ess - got married - wish me luck, I'm a newly wed!!.

(ps groan - there I said it for you)

WHAT IS AN AIRTANK/HULL/WING

What is an airtank? adventure to share
in a world where king Neptune is god?
gravity absent where bubbles of air
reflect in the eyeballs of cod?
what are the depths of a coral reef
but a floating journey through time?
curves of the vivid and vibrant relief
in a living mass of lime?

What is a hull but a hole in the water
that’s lovingly lined with planks?
a sail filling full in the windward quarter
twin bow-waves that boil at your flanks?
what is the wind but the call of the ocean
where the sailor can kneel with thanks?
what is the sea but the lover’s potion
where the best of your drugs are like blanks?

What is a wing but a curved gift of foil
that is wrapped in some loving equation?
airstreams that sing without turmoil or toil
for a heightened and lifting sensation?
gifts super-light and a fantasy flight
through the towering cascades of cloud?
gifts from the god of adrenalin’s might
and a blurring of jumpsuit and shroud?

WHAT IS AN AIRTANK/HULL/WING

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.....

PETROL GAUGES SPIN LIKE TOPS

watch the average petrol meter
volume, dollars, price per litre
suddenly the penny drops
all three gauges spin like tops

maybe there’s another penny
has to drop in minds of many
maybe fuel’s a spent resource
maybe spending makes it worse

maybe earth has warming cancer
maybe there’s another answer
crazy cars - these ten years bigger
when we should have fought with vigour.

fossils flora oily goo
fifteen dinosaurs for you
twenty dinosaurs for me mate
cause I like to drive a v8

back in 1978
cars went smaller, that was great
oh what idiots we are
let the genie out the jar
.......
oh what idiots we are
searching for egos with our car.

THE DEMOCRATIC PROBLEM

the Democrat’s projectiles
lie a mess across the floor
the talons still erectile
and they’re full of skin and gore
they’ll now attempt smooth talking
(like the middle east has tried)
no swearing or “tongue forking”
and pretend they enjoy the ride

the ladies like the lady
and the husbands like the man
can anybody sort this out !!?
maybe marriage guidance can ?
they'll smoke the peace pipe solemnly
cross legged on a hide
till one says “hey you follow me”
and one “I’ll step aside”

the Clintophiles are rusted on
they fight like Spartan warriors
their politics has mustard on
you never have to say sorrys
but there’s a problem stalking
(this one cannot be denied)
objective? (think fire walking)
....
Clintophiles to be Obamafied.


PS
let's hope when they are talking
come November if they're fried
that with all this tight rope walking
that the whole thing Barackfired.

2020hindsight said:

let's hope ... that the whole thing Barackfired.

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PS (not)
PS teach me to write poems on the run.

THE CASE FOR CIRCULAR BEDS – LIKE DOGS.

Out of bed – which side again?
Holy Smoke life’s great!
fetch your lead my four-leg friend,
meet me at the gate,
feel the sun upon our backs,
run to the point of resistance,
just another set of tracks
that add up to existence.

Next day? porridge, dog’s excited!
mouse behind the fridge!!
move the fridge out! – backpain! fight it!
(praps she’s ritchy ditch)?
spill the milk and crush the bread!
kitchen’s like a bombsite,
day’s like this go back to bed,
you must have risen “wrong side”.

Two sides to an argument
but three sides to a bed.
third way? darkness! Heaven sent!
that day you wake up dead!
guess I’ll search for the sunny side
of the kitchen and the mess,
death's darkness lacks a funny side
and the forecast’s a three-way test.

Little dog, don’t look so sad,
we’ve been challenged and been bested,
there’ll be many of plan of dog/mouse/man
long after we are “rested”,
I know how to make your wagging tail smile
and how your “happy” is freed,
whether grey day, Mayday!, sunny or vile
it’s the words “go fetch your lead”

There’s three ways my friend to get out of bed
though you only seem to know one,
you never have selfish thoughts in your head,
you pray that I’ll smile with the sun,
a true friend indeed at my beck and call,
like you, praps I’ll make my bed round
then I’ll get up to face a circular wall
on the right side (till I’m underground).

That pleading,wagging tail of yours
it never seems to tire,
I swear it’s exceeded fatigue-ing laws
that would break were it made out of wire,
your tail keeps wagging – it will break and fall!!
let's avoid that unhappy sound!!
let’s just rise for a run at the Kooka’s call
on the high side, till we’re underground.

I'll throw this one in for a challenge...
Maybe if we set a "theme", (or two), and invite poems on that topic / those topics.

eg this week's topic(s) could (theoretically) be....
say ..
School Reunions ?
Yoga?
Weight lifting?
Hats?
Reincarnation ?
etc

almost anything I guess.

Incidentally, that's what some poetry clubs do.

PS I went to a poet's club meeting in Sydney once..
sheesh
deep deep deep stuff.

A lady had a poem that went on for 15 minutes or so - about a recent orgasm she'd had.! Poets can be pretty intents! - but I can't remember if that organism happened in a tent or not.