Shot dead by war criminals
No summertime siesta…
‘I realised’
The very next day
‘I had been murdered… They looked…
But they did not find me… No’
‘Verde, que te quiero verde’
Acknowledgements:
Inspired by the death of Federico Garcia Lorca
At Fuente Grande – Fountain of Tears
‘I realised I had been murdered… They looked…
But they did not find me… No’
Extracts from Jan Morris, describing how
Federico Garcia Lorca foretold his own fate
*Wikipedia
‘Verde, que te quiero verde’
Green, how I love you green
From Ballad of the sleepwalker
32. Plans For The Evening
Don’t forget, we’re having Gran here for dinner
She likes flowers on her dining table
And she’ll be expecting you home… for dessert
She’s so sick now, she’s hard to recognize
So don’t ask her about those new dentures of hers
Or she’s likely to swallow you whole
You know how snappy she can get
And I’m so hungry; I could wolf down a pig
Though the thought of it makes me huff and puff
Because pork is so overrated
And besides, those little chicks are easier
They tend not to disagree with me
But perhaps we’ll sit down to a fat old bird
Which reminds me – I’m spitting feathers
And my stomach hangs heavy as a stone
Is she listening? Where has she gone now?
I hope she’s hunting for the Evian
No…? Oh well, at a push I could get my own…
33. The Climb
Upward
aPproach
I Hurt…
achIng
muscLes…
how cLose
are we ?
anywaY
it’s Another
sloW climb
anoTher
tougH
challEnge
I shaLl
not Let
it Anger me
my Will
remaIns
undauNted
and unDefeated
no roaD
can hArm us
as lOng as
we Respect it
we Test
our Honour
to thE limit
the Summit
oncE reached
prOlongs our
aDventure
34. Investigation
During the course of my investigation
I didn’t leave a single book unread
I left nothing to the imagination
I gave the subject my full concentration
Took in every word my tutors said
During the course of my investigation
I took to the task with full concentration
Knowing I’d have to go from A to Z
I left nothing to the imagination
It may seem a complete exaggeration
But I never let it go to my head
During the course of my investigation
Some chose theory for examination
I opted for the practical instead
I left nothing to the imagination
She didn’t want to discuss medication
Just took her clothes off, and lay on the bed
During the course of my investigation
I left nothing to the imagination
35. Noi’s Ninth In f-Major
Sparrow song greets Monday morn
The little bird gives the boy
an anniversary tip
“A bud flowers on this day
Whiter than white innocence
abandons its girdle grip”
Hallway promise awaiting
removes peach stone from dry throat
brings joy to the heart; a glow
Maiden voyager’s frisson
Fingers wobble nervously
Logs on… Lap-top trickle… slow
Rude twaddle, f-words ensue
… The kid is known for his lip
Slowly the tulle-like haze lifts
Net confusion just a blip
Feeling light as a feather
Happy to know he knows he
Rose above anxiety
Burn to compact, smooth as silk
High time – High tea, teatime high
*
*
*
Do we know the reason why…?
*
*
*
Nine years old on August nine
Complete with home computer
Happy birthday to Changnoi
It couldn’t be more simple
Now a disc-burning demon
Downloading first for the boy
Note; Changnoi doesn’t swear… in English…
36. Digital Display
At first clumsy, hesitant
Words wouldn’t come easily
Until a single-digit surge
Under pressure, from the Right
Delivered the message LOUD – unclear
Syllables s-s-stuttered across the screen
Middle finger soon joined index
And later thumb....... for spacebar
Later still, five fingers were tapping
Was it the sound of one hand clapping?
Or was it just a classic case
Of the left hand never really knowing
What it was the right hand was doing?
At every opportunity then
I practiced my new-found skill
The only thing I could ever do
With one hand tied behind my back
Day after day
Night after night
Time after time
Time and again
Again and again
Repetition, refrain
Repetition defined
Definition refined
Never relaxing
Often head scratching
Sometimes nail biting
Always typewriting
Left hand going through the motions
Playing an occasional cameo role
But even two decades down the track
The left hand still doesn’t really know
What its partner, the right hand is doing
37. Unwanted Gifts
The vastness of space
Is not nearly enough
To contain all those gifts
Unwanted
Ignored
Or returned unopened
Consideration
Love
Peace
Compassion
Faith
Hope
Charity
To name but a few
In favour of thought
Ignorance is bliss
Apathy prevails
Hatred
Hostility
Cynical attitudes
Suspicion
Despair
And self-serving greed
Only if we take
Possession
Ownership
Of what’s rightfully ours
But wrongfully spurned
Then
And only then
Can we realise
Our full potential
Certain in the knowledge
All things are possible
38. Where There’s Life, There’s Hope
Hopes seemed dashed at breakfast time
What to do? Four souls to feed
Fridge is empty, shelves are bare
No frozen, processed, powdered
Conveniently pre-packed
Early signs suggest a need
For vital kitchen upgrade
Improvement for little room
A
fresh approach is required
Open window raises hopes
Outdoor edible menu
Organic, free-range produce
Vegetables, spices, herbs
Bounty hunter's net result
But what’s on today’s menu?
Fresh fruit salad for starters
Main course cock-a-doodle doo
Sticky staple; just dessert
Bill of fare, no price to pay
Bob’s your uncle; problem solved
39. Recession Persists
State of the art premises
Cutting edge machinery
Microchip technology
Computer Aided Design
A world class management team
And a highly skilled workforce
A winning combination
A recipe for success
One ingredient missing
… The Mother of Invention
40. Untouchable
Morning, bathed in rays of golden sun
Met her for a sink or swim showdown
Hoping we could pool our resources
Shall we synchronise watches? I try
Should have gone to greater lengths than that
Am I in her thoughts…? Won’t hold my breath
Learn to crawl before you walk; she laughs
That would take a stroke of luck; I think
One of us may have to take a dive
Which will send me right back to square one
Passing on the water; ships – that’s us
In her presence, I’m out of my depth
She’s aloof; Madame’s a butterfly
Floating freestyle through a crowded room
Clutching secrets to her heaving breast
41. Workaholics?
Only just awake if truth be known
Still hung-over from last night’s session
Pen in hand, and a freshly inked nib
I check-in my pal, another lush
so the boss won’t know he’s passed out, drunk
We blame the clunk and thud of presses
(and the Coalition Government)
for a condition that resurfaced
when we thought it was under control
We’ve both spent time at de-tox session
Been named, shamed and dragged over the coals
Forklifted from the ash-pit, hand washed
and hung over the boiler, to dry
Still we don’t seem to understand why
the consumption of alcoholic
beverages is prohibited
while operating machinery
42. Thanksgiving
Although not American
On this day, especially
I have reason to recall
And reasons to be grateful
Funny how you remember…
(Some things, you just don’t forget)
Must be fifteen years ago
… Seems like only yesterday
You didn’t ask me for it
But I knew you wanted it
You didn’t even say it
But it was clear you meant it
Just an item of clothing
But you folded it, neatly
Tucked it into bed with you
Probably dreamt about it
It was such a privilege
I’m eternally grateful
For having witnessed such an
Expression of gratitude
43. Number’s Up
Wake up O-seven O-O
Bathroom, for a number one
Or maybe a number two
Then four minutes in the shower
At forty five Centigrade
Breakfast – bet you can’t eat three
Cup of coffee, zero milk
One sugar… stirred to the left
Twelve paces to the front door
Into my four door saloon
A sixteen hundred cc
Five forward gears, one reverse
Some take the ninety nine bus
Arrive at work eight thirty
Day starts at nine on the dot
Ends at five, or thereabouts
Then back home, to Number Nine
Takeaway dinner tonight
Chinese, number forty two
Pork in green pepper, black beans
Two or three glasses of wine
Then up thirteen stairs, to bed
And I don’t mean forty winks
Morning, back to the grindstone
Five days a week, forty hours
Fifty two weeks every year
Until I reach sixty five…
Then, one day… my number’s up…
44. Starter’s Orders
You'll always be at least one step behind
Don't ever let it out of your sight
You'll never get ahead of it
So aim to catch up with it
And if, and when, you do
Grab it with both hands.
With all your heart
Cherish it...
Own it...
On your marks...
Get set...
Go...!
45. Twennyten
Readers, watchers, avid fans
Of Space Age books and movies
Brought up on Science Fiction
Stories that got ‘Lost In Space’
Stories that informed us
The Future would arrive
In time for Century Twenty One
Year Two Thousand; Y2K
Extra-Terrestrial beings
Of Superior Intellect
Provide the opportunity
To take the initiative
Miracle cures for all ailments
Telepathic transportation
Sophisticated computers
That speak and think like us
Robot/Android workforce
Paper a thing of the past
War consigned to History
Famine and Poverty too
A decade of ‘Future’ later
Ten years passed are now past tense
Sick commuters with sick computers
Millions starve; Wars rage on
Anti-climax despite ‘Giant Leaps’
That sadly fell short of the mark
Newspaper headline this New Year
‘It Isn’t The Future Yet!’
46. Unworthy
As I consider
the wisdom you have accrued
I weaken, trembling
Your selfless aura
shooting shivers down my spine
awakens my awe
Burden of duty
to transmit your innate gifts
causes me to quake
47. Grow Old Along With Me, The Best Is Yet To Be
After the accident;
that was when I started
to hold your hand
for the first time.
I stuck to you like glue,
in case I lost my way
…as well a my
mental bearings.
We’d walk around Chiangmai
behaving like tourists;
temple visits;
days at the zoo.
Summiting Doi Suthep,
Scaling Doi Inthanon,
…and those boat trips
on Mae Nam Ping…
I know you remember,
just as you know I don’t.
We won’t forget
I can’t recall.
Back at home, you would talk;
tell me all about it,
…so I would know
what I’d just done.
I only remember
forgetting all these things
because of you
…holding my hand
48. Do This Zombie A Favour
One over the eight last night
One guaranteed consequence
Sunday morning hangover
Grating Turbo ‘new-toy’ growl
Wi
th deafening ‘Dixieland’
Klaxon blast, wakes the un-dead
I turn over in my grave
Like a bear with a sore head
I grrrind my teeth; grrrunt and grrroan
Blinding curtain-crack half-light
Exposes clouds, sets the mood
Scowling sky; wild, wet week end
Unfriendly neighbourhood noise
Suburban sound bite samples
Barking dogs; boys banging doors
Next door’s new disc, noisy din
TV tuned in, turned up (((LOUD)))
Jackpot wind-up, ‘Win, Win, Win!!!’
Last night’s Numbers Game result
No Lottery joy for me
Chaos builds up in layers
Spreads thick icing on the cake
…And for the Cherry On Top
…I was due in work today…!
49. Fiction; Foul Play?
FUNNY, as in ‘serious’
How Official Documents
Such as Death Certificates
Hold FICTION, stranger than FACT
Take the case of Mrs. ‘F’
Never a day of illness
No need to see a doctor
Not for the money they charge
Poor as a hungry church-mouse
Happy as the day was long
FIT as a FIDDLE one day
Looked like death warmed up the next
FIRST to go was her eyesight
Weeks later, she lost her mind
‘FRIENDS’ didn’t seem to notice
Her whole life was in FREE-FALL
She died one FRIDAY morning
Cremated that afternoon
Records stated ‘Cause of Death
FATAL FLAWS of advanced age’
No-one knows who’s signature
Adorns the unwitnessed FORM
Mrs. ‘F’ an OAP?
She was FORTY nine years old!
50. This Day
The day before tomorrow
The day he’ll meet his maker
Reflections of a sinner
Reflections of remorse