Poetry

He was camped out on some no name creek
He knew his time had come
He was happy just to die out there
Neath the Wattle tree and Gum.

But we couldn't let him die that way
Even though I think we knew
That the doctors couldn't help him
And there was nothing they could do.

So, we brought him here where he could die
In this nice clean sterile room
But he couldn't smell the fragrance
Of the Wattle trees in bloom.

And as I passed his room this morning
With trembling voice he said to me
"Please take me back to the place I love
Where my spirit longs to be."

"You can have my gold chain and my watch
They're all I have to give.
Plus this little book, in which I've writ
All the things of worth I've did."

"Then take this worn old body
And let it die out there,
Where the Wattle trees are blooming
And their perfume fills the air.".....The Anointed

He was a travelling western preacher
A healer of renown
He would preach and heal the poor and sick
In every western town.

It was at a local council hall
In a town just north of Bourke
Where many came in search of help
They were broke and out of work.

There he preached his favourite sermons
Then he asked if any there
Were sick or otherwise infirmed
And had need of his healing prayer.

Then a lad walked to the pulpit
A young man of Aussie bearing
And he asked the priest if he could help
In someway, with his hearing.

"Step forward son," the preacher said,
And stuck a finger in his ear;
Then chanting his mighty healing prayer
He asked, "Now can you hear?"

"Oh! I can hear you mate," the young bloke said,
"I hear everything you speak,
But the Hearing where I needs your help
Is in the courtroom late next week."...... The Anointed

THE DEBDT COLLECTOR

His speech was slow and sometimes slurred
Weren’t real steady on his pins
And his hair once black had turned to silver gray
He loved to sit out on the verandah
Reminiscing to the kids
But by then his mind was fading fast away

He were’nt no mental genius
He couldn’t read or write
His parents never had no time for school
Yet he could talk on any subject
And with the best he’d hold his own
I tell you mate that man was no one’s fool

He was born down south in Maitland
Where he spent his younger years
‘Till he headed off to fight in world war one
With his best mate there beside him
They received their duffle bags
Plus their uniforms, their bayonets and their guns

They had both grown up together
Never spent a day apart
The people in that town had called them twins
And they gave the local cop some hell
But he toed them into line
Then he had to say goodbye to Bill and Jim

But Jim, he never came back home
Bill returned all by himself
Then he sired and raised a family of eight
And I’m sure that no one’s heard him
Ever speak about that war
Or mention what had happened to his mate

And yet I’ve got a vague idea
He said something ‘bout that war
Yet not to me, but to someone back in time
For he said, “I ain’t forgotten mate
They never paid their debt
Before that bloody armistice was signed

Then one day out on the veranda
When his mind had totally gone
I sat and gazed into the eyes of him
And I’m sure I saw them sparkle
As a smile spread o’er his face
He was somewhere in the past with his mate Jim

So if you make that final journey
And you travel back through time
To where, the world and everything began
And if you pass among the trench’s
In those killing fields of old
Would you search awhile for that silver headed man

For he’ll be there within those trench’s
Standing by his old mate Jim
Who lays there in the mud among the dead
And his three-o will be melting
As he collects the price for him
With his rifles smoking barrel, glowing red

And you aint ever going to stop him
Til that debt’s been paid in full
For he believes he has permission from above
But before you travel onward
In those gentle streams of time
Please whisper, that his grandson sends his love. ..... The Anointed

Queenie was a blonde and her age stood still.
And she danced twice a day in vaudeville.
Grey eyes.
Lips like coals aglow.
Her face was a tinted mask of snow.
What hips-
What shoulders-
What a back she had!
Her legs were built to drive men mad.
And she did.
She would skid.
But sooner or later they bored her:
Sixteen a year was her order.

THE LIE

Defiantly
He stood his ground
Surprisingly
He made no sound
His feet were free
His hands still bound
This now would be
The finale round
Standing there
With death so near
Amazingly
He showed no fear
He turned his head
As if to hear
The barking dogs
Still at his rear
Before him shone
The searchers lights
Torches flashing
Oh so bright
Exhausted
He had run all night
Now came the time
To stand and fight
Prepared for death
He heaved a sigh
Why had they all
Believed the lie
For mercy
He would never cry
His former friends
Must watch him die
That stranger
Smooth as he could be
Convinced the crowd
That it was he
The child lay there
For all to see
As they bound him
‘neath the hanging tree
Warmed by the sun’s
First morning ray
Why did he have
To die this way
His friends
Like hungry lions at play
Would tear him
Limb from limb this day
He wonders
What they’ll tell his son
When they realize
What they have done
For D.N.A
Will prove them wrong
But by then the stranger
Will be gone...........The Anointed.

THE WISDOM OF THE AGES.

There's a place down deep inside me
Where I mingles with me past,
Where the spirits of me Father's share their light.
And I often drowns me mind there,
And if you do it friend..... you'll find there
All the wisdom of your Fathers and their wonderful insight.
It's like, when a drop of water falls in a vat of wine,
It take the colour and the essence of that drink.
And lately, and this is not some yarn,
But me descendants who are yet unborn
Have been coming down to me to make me think.
They want to suck me brain for knowledge
Or some wisdom what I've gained
But it's got me how they know just where to look
I mean, I'm a bloody no one, just a shadow in their past
Unless of course, me words get in a book.... The Anointed.

Come travel with me on a journey through time
Not in some capsule, but in our minds
To the Inner Most Sanctuary will we descend
To that single cell from which your body began
In the Holy of Holies where all is one
Where all of space and time is joined
We’ll mingle there with other minds
From other lands, in other times
Minds of the past, who seem dead and gone
And minds of the future who are yet unborn
For they in their time, whether here on this world
Or some distant planet to which they’ve been lured
Will enter their inner most sanctuary too
And there perhaps they’ll merge with you
Ah! To travel through space In the wink of an eye
One with your child on some world way on high
And if this is but madness, then madness it be
But come my mad brothers, come fly with me..... The Anointed

THE INNER SANCTUARY

Drinking from God's pool of wisdom
That vast and endless sea
I felt a strange sensation
As someone else there, drank of me......The Anointed

Ah, the stories that they told me while in my youthful prime
Of the mansion on the mountain and how it all was mine
So magnificent and stately, no other could compare
To the house of my inheritance, and my heart longed to be there
Determined I should claim it, from the valley far below
I started on my journey, which was difficult and slow

The jagged cliffs above me were daunting to be sure
While the comfort and the good times that I left---were such a lure
I had to grit my teeth and close my eyes —refuse to look behind
As onward, ever onward, up that mountain face I climbed
But on reaching each new summit I was crushed, when there I’d find
Another cliff before, another daunting climb

How many times I stumbled, to rise and fall again?
The blood was freely flowing, and the pain? O God the pain
With hands—minced meat and feet cut deep, cut to the very bone
Sometimes I felt like giving up and heading back for home
And while clinging to that mountain face like an ant upon a wall
Disillusioned, tired, and hungry, I thought I heard a call

A voice from somewhere up above, from my mansion so I thought
And it thrilled and filled me to the core and gave the strength to me I sought
So I pressed my bleeding fingers to the stone that scraped my skin,
And whispered prayers to winds and stars to draw the strength within.
The voice became a beacon, like a fire behind the veil,
It sang of love and legacy, of triumph through travail.

And though the path grew steeper still, with shadows thick as night,
I felt a hand unseen but sure, that guided me with light.
The mansion, once a distant dream, now shimmered in my sight,
Its towers crowned with morning gold, its windows bathed in light.
And standing at its threshold, worn and weathered from the climb,
I saw the marks upon the gate—my name, etched deep in time.

Not earned by ease or favor, nor by fortune’s fickle hand,
But by the will to rise again, and by the strength to stand.
So now I dwell within its halls, not as a guest or heir,
But as the one who dared to climb and found his refuge there.
For every fall and cry and cut was part of heaven’s plan,
To shape the soul that claimed the house and prove the heart of man. …..The ANOINTED.

The Scotchish Highlanders in their brown kilts and bonnets bobbing as they advanced toward the battle
behind the Screeching, wailing scotch pipes, were given by the Germans the nickname,
“The Ladies from Hell.” By R. Douglas Pinkerton

The battle sways backward and forward
In wedges and hollows and curves,
A hard-pressed battalion is yielding,
A leader has called for reserves.
Hark ! Drone of the pipes in the distance
That grows to a soul-stirring swell !
Brown-skirted, with bonnets a-bobbing,
Come up the gay Ladies from Hell !

O brightly the sunlight is gleaming
On the blades that the rifles reveal.
The Ladies are wearing their jewels;
Hurrah ! for the glint of the steel !
O fiercely they swing to the music.
Their faces alight with its spell ;
Brave-hearted, bare-kneed and triumphant.
The lean- featured Ladies from Hell !

Our foes have made war upon women
By dastardly choice of their own.
The daughters of Belgium are weeping.
The mothers of Flanders make moan.
Ho! Slayers of maids and of mothers.
Do your bayonets serve you as well
When you're called up to stand in the open
And face the grim Ladies from Hell? ..... Being of Scottish descent, I love it.

I would rather you stick your vile ideology where the Sun don't shine.

You have turned a religion of peace into one of vile bigotry.

You support genocide and use your repulsive religion to justify it.

It is disgusting and an affront to Jesus Christ.

You wouldn't know the truth if it bit you on the arse.

One doesn't have to be an Atheist to know you're full of ****, one only needs to be a human being.

Please forgive the lateness in my reply.

I've been away for a few days.

That's not a good line to begin a poem with old mate, but then I think poetic writing is beyond a brain as sick as yours. Let me give you a lesson in the art of writing poetry.

I didn’t see no yellow tins, light beer, aint on their page
They seemed to like high octane and Green Tins are all the rage
I saw the old man lying there, Green Tins all scattered round
With a young bloke there beside him, just squatting on the ground
Did the old man take a fall I asked? Should we help him to his feet?
Or should we call an ambulance? But the young bloke didn’t speak
So I knelt beside the old man with his hair of silver grey
And was just about to help him up, when I heard the young man say

He’s only Green Tin dreaming mate, in the morning he’ll be right
It’s just that Green Tin Dreaming helps him make it through the night
He don’t like it on the mission, but his family all live there
Where his pension every fortnight buys his tucker, smokes and beer
Ah, them Yellow Tins they might be right when you’re at the Rodeo
When you’re laughing and you’re joking with them folk that you don’t know
But when the darkness of the night descends, and you needs to numb your brain
It’s time to buy another box of them Green Tins once again.

Yea! He’s only Green Tin Dreaming mate in the morning he’ll be right
It’s just that Green Tin Dreaming helps him make it through the night
They tried to change his way of life, but they filled his mind with doubt
And I guess he’s just forgotten what his life was all about
So I’m sitting here beside me mate in the shade of this old tree
In the sandy bed of the River Todd, where he sleeps so peacefully
But if we don’t change the system, the years will roll on by
And he’ll keep on Green Tin Dreaming until the day he dies

I couldn’t sleep at all last night, as in my swag I lay
Those words--- they kept on haunting me as I heard that young man say,
“He’s only Green Tin dreaming mate, in the morning he’ll be right
It’s just that Green Tin Dreaming helps him make it through the night
He don’t like it on the mission, but his family all live there
Where the only things he has in life, is his tucker, smokes and beer
And if we don’t change the system, the years will roll on by
And he’ll keep on Green Tin Dreaming until the day he dies.”