Original poems 2016

[ladylinda]

Lies and truth:

1)

truth and lies

are frequently confused

2)

in the hands of those with power,

lies are often used

3)

in the eyes of the deceived

truth and lies too easily are fused

4)

tatchipen, chachimos,

wahrheit, verite

5)

words changed like cries

to show the proper way

6)

words blooming like a flower

on a summer day

7)

words deserving to be believed,

not carelessly cast away

8)

Inside the machine unexpected events have clogged the normally smooth running of the motor. Those for whom the universe exists simply to serve their whims are alarmed at the random irruption onto their formerly placid, predictable shores of a mega-tsunami that (in their eyes at least) threatens their mastery.

9)

Newbolt may have said

'We brook no doubt of our mastery:

We rule until we die.'

10)

but Newbolt is long dead,

and the formerly rich pastry

he championed has long vanished from the sky

11)

so it is in time

that folly passes away;

beyond the deceptive grime

lies a new dawning day

12)

'courage, mon ami; le diable est mort'

and with the sudden awareness of mulos and moarte

the fragile pretension of the candy store

as much in the past as the former misrule of Duarte

13)

truth and lies

are never the same

14)

let our new found cries

release us from our former shame

15)

we can see clearly now,

see all obstacles disappear;

unfurrow that brow,

choose hope instead of fear

[ladylinda]

To our masters:

yes, you are many,
but we are infinitely more,
both in numbers
and in quality

mostly we go along
with your pretence of knowing best,
but every now and then
we rise up and fight

we are both cannon fodder
and living cannons,
able if we choose
to destroy your fragile rule

now that a temporary misfortune
has come upon you, since we raised our voice
demanding freedom, anxiously you assail us,
fearing our many grudges against you

and so you tell us
we are stupid, ignorant, uneducated,
xenophobic, racist, hardly fit
even to perform the menial jobs you allow us

but we, asleep so long, have woken up,
and it is true we're still a little bewildered,
partly by our own audacity
in saying 'no' to your expressed intentions

so today we inhabit
a world without direction,
a world where even you
are lost, for all your certainties

but unlike you, we have nothing to lose;
your vaunted 'prosperity' has passed us by
as we struggle to survive
you remain trapped in your denial

whichever gsng of you
seeks to impose your will upon us -
well, we've grown indifferent now
to both your bribes and threats

now we have discovered
both the burden and the joy
of independence, well,
you know the saying about genies out of bottles

we are still the sand
over which your plush feet trample us,
but all your Gucci shoes will not prevail:
we, tiny grains, are innumerable,
invincible

[ladylinda]

The Eurocrats speak:

we thought we were gods,
marching invincibly towards
the irresistible domination of a continent
and perhaps in time the world

our flesh was money,
our brains were our laws,
with innumerable rules and regulations
we circumscribed the actions of the people,
and kept them in line by alternately
bribing them and cutting their money supply

now there's a Brexit:
we fear the contagion
of the disease called freedom
may infect other states;
if the shackles are loosened
how shall we stand?

we thought we were gods:
how is it we suddenly seem
so utterly, terrifyingly mortal?

[Deleted]

(A rare poem by me)

Lords of Misrule:

The ruling classes, believing themselves entitled
Devise laws and moral codes as living shackles
To bind us to their will; our freedom's whittled
Away, our purpose simply to make shekels
For them, who gaze on us with Saturnine
contempt, secure within their ivory tower,
knowing we are forever in their power,
imprisoned as the ocean's lunar demesne.

For disobedience they have a remedy:
Those who resist can rot in dismal prison
Until they're cured of the strange malady
Of daring to dissent; on the horizon
See freedom's mirage rapidly diminish,
As the hot air from every fifth-rate orator
Wafts it away. Now, though we curse the swinish
Louts who oppress us, nothing could be triter
Than the enforced oblivion in which we languish,
Too comatose even to feel anguish.

[ladylinda]

Winter gems:

ice embroiders

the earth, sewing together

its delicate filigree

on trees, over grass,

quilting us when we step outside

with jewellery of cold on face and nose

[ladylinda]

Regret:

When I was a windy girl and a bit
And the black sheep of my family tree
(Loved as I was in spite of it)
I rambled loudmouthed, gobby and fierce,
Blasting and swearing at all around,
Free with my fists even against the boys,
Fearing nothing, tall and confident,
Flailing my knife like a talisman,
My eyes glaring with passion and pride,
Daring the gorger world to do me wrong
As I flounced in my fury through an alien world

When I became a tough kid down my end,
Smashing my way through the hostile streets,
(For all my folly, my heart soft underneath)
And I found myself one crazy night
With a crew of them wanting sex with me
And I, still virgin, but full of arrogance,
My spirit full of stupid bravado,
Whatever the female equivalent of 'cocky' is
I was that, and paid the price for my bluster
As on the ground I lay, a gang-banger gang-banged
And then my tears as realisation dawned
And my virginity fled into the dark night

When I was a girl going on a woman
And still the black sheep of my family tree
(Still loved in spite of the shame and dishonour I brought)
And out on the streets, mugging, drug-dealing,
Hoisting, knife-wielding, beating up people,
Tough in my head, marshmallow in my heart,
I bragged all day about my stunts,
I laughed at the mayhem I brought about,
People shrank away from me in fear
And whenever they saw my brown-skinned face
Cowered into the shadows

When I was a woman in my prime
I finally saw sense at last
Found a good man who loves me dearly
In spite of my shameful past

I am nothing without him;
The wild child I once was
Has fled into the thickets of my memory


(Obviously inspired by Dylan Thomas' poem 'Lament' but very different especially in its content!

[Scottish Lassie]

Aug 7, 2016 16:47:47 GMT -5 ladylinda said:

Regret:

When I was a windy girl and a bit
And the black sheep of my family tree
(Loved as I was in spite of it)
I rambled loudmouthed, gobby and fierce,
Blasting and swearing at all around,
Free with my fists even against the boys,
Fearing nothing, tall and confident,
Flailing my knife like a talisman,
My eyes glaring with passion and pride,
Daring the gorger world to do me wrong
As I flounced in my fury through an alien world

When I became a tough kid down my end,
Smashing my way through the hostile streets,
(For all my folly, my heart soft underneath)
And I found myself one crazy night
With a crew of them wanting sex with me
And I, still virgin, but full of arrogance,
My spirit full of stupid bravado,
Whatever the female equivalent of
'cocky' is
I was that, and paid the price for my bluster
As on the ground I lay, a gang-banger gang-banged
And then my tears as realisation dawned
And my virginity fled into the dark night

When I was a girl going on a woman
And still the black sheep of my family tree
(Still loved in spite of the shame and dishonour I brought)
And out on the streets, mugging, drug-dealing,
Hoisting, knife-wielding, beating up people,
Tough in my head, marshmallow in my heart,
I bragged all day about my stunts,
I laughed at the mayhem I brought about,
People shrank away from me in fear
And whenever they saw my brown-skinned face
Cowered into the shadows

When I was a woman in my prime
I finally saw sense at last
Found a good man who loves me dearly
In spite of my shameful past

I am nothing without him;
The wild child I once was
Has fled into the thickets of my memory


(Obviously inspired by Dylan Thomas' poem 'Lament' but very different especially in its content!

It certainly says it all your life in condensed form. Excellent as usual.

[Scottish Lassie]

Hi Mike Marshall, I enjoyed reading your poem although I don't necessarily agree with all you have said. This world is a schoolroom especially created for the benefit of Soul. That is everyone and everything that dwells on this physical plane.

We are in charge of our lives though you may not think so, we are the ones that since creation, have called the shots in every decision that we have made and put into action. These actions add Karma, considered good or bad to our lives which acculates in the human body.

Soul reincarnates as a newborn containing the Karma that will play out as the child evolves, this part in your poem is correct, but we are still given the freedom of choice, which can modify what will be played out as experieces. There are really no mistakes. We all reap the consequences of what we sow.

[ladylinda]

Romany music:

our gift to the world
is music;
whether it's chalga, manele,
brass, techno, turbo-folk,
bhangra, flamenco,
brigaki djilia, cante jondo

no one
sings and plays
the blues of the world
like us

lyrical,
staccato - ripped out of our hearts

always interrupted
by our enemies

it's a single voice
crying out in pain
against the many

[ladylinda]

Culture:

prunes soaked in vinegar,
a limited selection on the menu
and even though not necessarily allergic
to the strange fruit on offer, would prefer
a more balanced menu

how it is, it seems,
is every dish is stuck into separate boxes
and nothing seems to be shared together;
it's as if signs warn you off:
no women - only women,
no blacks - only blacks,
and so it goes on and on

at times the occasional puyurija gauje
will condescend to patronise you a little,
romanticising you into a myth,
and praise the way you play a bosh
or sing brigaki djilia

mostly though
we're still firmly outside the door
of culture, waiting

Author notes

About the exclusion of our culture from the mainstream. Romanies are only allowed a place in 'culture' as a kind of exotic oddity.

[ladylinda]

Kindness:



you can't decide to be kind;
kindness either flows out from you
unbidden, uncontrolled as the tide
lapping its kisses on the sandy shore

or, like crushed flowers,
broken glass, a vacuum tube
it doesn't appear at all

[ladylinda]

Emptiness:



all colour drained away, all things discarded,

only the aching hurt when once there dwelt

a love that covered me in its warm quilt,

always enough for me to feel rewarded



now of course even your breath has faded:

I'll never touch you, kiss your soft warm lips;

your dying made our once twinned hearts divided,

and with your passing you took all my hopes



how shrivellled, numb and cold, the world is now

without your guidance; can I, like a snake,

somehow find out a way through which to slough

my skin, turn back time's clock, plug the burst dyke?



now I lie stranded on a distant shore,

exiled from all but memory. I flounder,

praying in vain for time to heal the scar

that's etched upon me as if burnt by tinder



all that remains for me is dissolution

into this waste of utter desolation

[ladylinda]

There are several reasons why I haven't been active on message boards lately (even my own).

But one of the main ones is the death of a friend two months ago at the age of 42 which has depressed me a lot.

This is a poem I wrote in memory of her.

For a Dead Friend

in spite of the apples blooming on my tree,
burgeoning with the rich red lustre
of their delivered fruit, my eyes still weep
for the unseasonal winter chill that stripped away
the fresh green life of you to emptiness

where you once were is now a silent void,
my inner landscape dead as winter trees,
the snow still numbs my heart, and the wind's breath
keens its lament for your too early passing

there is no meaning, purpose, in your death,
only the evaporated vapour of lost smoke
that once popped out of your warm mouth like a fire
welcoming friends. Now, nothing is shared;
you have floated away into the atmosphere,
no longer a living presence, an enjoyed voice,
but a memory, held in the mind's eye
like a family photograph of great-grandparents

how can we laugh or sing
when you are fled to the margins of infinite space,
never again to comfort or be comforted?

[beth]

What a very nice tribute, Lin. I'd been using Recent Posts and almost missed this.

Losing people who have been important in our lives is always hard. There are all kinds of platitudes but they don't help in the same way something like this does - giving expression to your deepest thoughts.

Thank you for sharing.

[Jessiealan]

I understand how it feels to lose good friends, Linda.

I sometimes reflect on the exchange between Daniel Moynihan and Mary McGrory after the death of President Kennedy. Mary said, "We'll never laugh again." Moynihan said, "Mary, we'll laugh again, but we'll never be young again".

That thought became reality for me when I lost my dear brother years ago. I am sure you can relate to it, now.

It is a part of life we must come to terms with and endure and press on.

May you find peace.