A Land Truly Girt

living, loving, photography, rhymes and rhythm

 

I met this white man once in Europe, and have since kept him recessed online

to remind me why I think the way I think,

and respect those who I respect,

and revile those

whose words, spat with poison and written in blood

inject hatred, aggression and ignorance into Life.

It detracts from the discourse, the joy of the commune, so it’s time for simple poetry to address the malignancy of fear.

 

 

A Land Truly Girt

 

Shall I remind thee, human

Of our tiny tormented Blue Dot?

Should I iterate that irritations in noses get covered in snot?

Bear with me child;

Collective consciousness is just an airway

and racist dust does not last long; empty cells at the top of a stairway.

 

In this way you create your own prison

And scream at others to join you inside

Well, I’d much rather breathe in my Freedom

Having power with love in my stride.

 

See the movement of minds that are more than just matter

Overshadow the shallow dark waters you taint

and they’re cast from a mould that is forged in a mettle

where the torch is so strong that your image is faint

Overcast by the beings who soar high above you

you’re alone with your hatred in shadow on earth

For great heat dissipation takes place when damnation

grows a xenophobe mind in a being since birth.

 

Malignancy in tongue is more than cancerous to mind

You cannot sit with poison and expect all else to hurt

You’re blessed with eyes and ears and voice but use them all to bind

what could have been a resource in a land that’s truly Girt.

 

Til you find me one more planet to inhabit as a human

We are all a refugee and cling to life on the crumbling crust.

And these solid plates of agar, floating colonies on liquid

have been moving since Gondwanaland divided up in trust.

This behaviour’s kin to yelling at tectonics down beneath you;

“Get THE FUCK BACK ALL TOGETHER OR I’LL SHOOT YA IN THE CORE!”

No matter how you stamp your foot demanding all this movement,

Friend, you’re just a ball of atoms floating too on an infinite shore.

 

The robustness of your case to send back queue jumpers to sea

To keep your Straya drunk with fighting whites that’s right for you

Will be vilified, exemplar of the Racist Uptight Knights

and reminds me of a 3 year old I nannied- oh, wait, he was two.

 

You’re systematic in attacking what you fear will threaten your skin

Oblivious it cheapens all infinity to nought.

If aliens come to harvest some poor human for their sin

You’ll be the first to go my friend, and you can take your Thoughts.

 

 

peace

and solidarity

 

 

 

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Twenty First Year Manifesto

living, loving, photography, rhymes and rhythm

Twenty First Year Manifesto

 

Twenty one has been kind to me, here on the earth
And I’ve nurtured a humour with ongoing mirth
There’s been gifting of friendship and travel and love
Such elation at hoop-dance that fits like a glove

But with all of this growth I still need to confess
That my room is a shithole – an artist’s own mess
Here beneath all the piles of papers and pants
Are a few little things that still hold some romance;

Small drawings of anarchic doodles in pen;
A postcard that tells me I need to be zen;
The pink tube of bubbles I stuck in my bra
and promptly forgot about at Mardi Gras

A blue book that tells of the wisdom in words
And man’s greatest treasure in being absurd
I’ve learnt more than ever be honest, be true
But those with closed minds are a task to eschew

To cultivate love in its highest of forms
Needs movement, and stillness, defying thy norms
And pushing the boundaries that bound many years
You defy forceful factors that fracture small fears

For they’d splintered like wood into stagnant sharp states
Where they grew with conditions; for conditions are baits
But, empowered by those who live love with their being
Who resolve, knownst or not, there’s a gift in their seeing

In the thousands they meet and see right to the bone
To the human inside; to the voice, not the phone
Which then begs the question, how know you these friends?
Helen grins and leans back now to tie poem’s ends

With a homage to life, and a thank you to kin
My next of which lie in a heart that’s within
But let’s now make light of my Twenty Two year,
Whilst I love all these wishes; go buy me a beer

 

(jokes)

XXX

 

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Make light of it

 

 

 

 

Let’s Hear a Story

living, loving, noteworthy, photography, travel

 

 

 

As promised, I went to the arid and dry.

Only, something had changed in the landscape of late.

Great plains, always salty, cracked and creeping on for miles sat below a liquid surface.

Here upon the plains a quiet; something stirred in ghostly waters.

Badger Bates, respected elder, told of slaughter on the flood plains; how the killing of native people echoed on and on for years.

It was then we heard the students who’d been present here before us often came to tears; unsettled in this place of darkened desert.

It was not until the elder smoked the students through a fire, and he spoke to spirits settled in this place of violent past. And what followed was a calm; a lifting light, a subtle sigh. The feeling of the landscape changed, no more they felt the morbid weight and felt no need to break the camp.

For my part, there I stood and felt with heart the toiling on the soil. My science told me “silly!” but my instinct knew much more. Who am I to judge from outside that the spirits were not haunting? There indeed existed much more than my sweeping visit told.

 

peace x

 

 

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Be Present.

living, loving, noteworthy, photography

One thing I’ve noticed of late is that we love to hate ourselves.

Every worry, every plaguing demon presents itself as a self-fulfilling truth, and a penetrative one at that. It strikes like a sharp fork from the aether – those gnawing, indescribable feelings of ineptness, insufficiency, and oncoming failure that are unwelcome, rampant, and perhaps ever-present to the emotionally intelligent thinker – but they are not inevitable. Perhaps just as relevantly, they present themselves through myriad of behaviour – chewing fingers, over-cleaning, under-eating; or maybe general deflated apathy. A sneaking detriment, identifiable only to seeing eyes. At least to some extent, the scrutinisation of important aspects of life considered unachieved or lacking pervades the endeavour of all other human experience. Many people mourn the course of their life to where it has led them now – a loathing for decisions that chartered them through learning, growing, and tests, without the reward of financial luminance. I say hurrah! sirs. Celebrate the present and allow yourself the space. To inhabit in the present is to understand your peace – not for prize or place or money but for loving what is here. For all choices that you’ve made, you seem to be alive here still, reading words that can disperse a theorem eating at your truth; that damn old grass just could be greener if you’d just turned left not right.

We could talk much more on this subject but no more shall be written tonight.

Peace x

See the colour