This Gun

This small lump of cold carbonised iron,
And all it's alloys,
Is no ally
To girls
Or boys,

 

It is no friend,
It does not employ,
Social graces,
Nor a smile of joy,

 

It's small pursed mouth,
Remains unmoved,
Whatever comes,
Or passes through,

 

It is indifferent
And cold to you,
It does not care,
Who you are,
Or what you do,

 

It does not care,
About the colour of your skin,
An excess or lack,
Of melanin,

 

It asks no questions,
Of political belief,
No distinction between,
Saint and Thief,

 

It does not discriminate,
Between two religions,
Not a jot,
No, not a smidgeon,

It's features remain blank,
If you ask it what,
You do for a living,
Give it your best shot,

 

It is not swayed,
By the arguments,
Of controls or rights,
The squeals and grunts,

 

Protest is lost,
Get a grip on it,
A gun does not,
Give a shit,

 

A gun will come
Between me and you,
It does not care,
For the why or who?

 

It doesn't care,
Who pulls the trigger
Who is smaller,
Who is bigger,

 

It doesn't mind
On which side you end,
The trigger or,
The business end,

 

This Gun is none,
No respecter of persons
No expresser of preference,
It can't know for certain,

 

This gun does not have
A sense of fun,
It feels no exhilaration,
To see you run,

 

This piece, this strap,
This moulded steel,
It is not angry,
It does not feel,

It does not empower,
Or say what to do,
It leaves those things,
Entirely up to you,

 

It cares not that,
Hot bullets of lead,
Tear through flesh,
Kill children in bed,

 

Make widows, and orphans,
And murderers the same,
It feels not pity,
It knows no shame,

 

It is unresponsive,
When four shots are fired,
Though windows, to cars,
And the driver's expired,

 

It has not noted,
That this was a routine stop,
Nor the black driver,
Or the white cop.

 

His Girlfriend begs Jesus,
But this seems one resurrection,
Too far for,
The Good Lord's attention,

 

(There will be insurrection)

 

It does not weep,
Over pools of blood,
Of Snipers fruit,
Or the Crimson flood.

 

It does not mourn,
For the five police killed there,
It doesn't hear their cries,
And it still doesn't care,

 

No we cannot blame the Guns,
We can only blame Humans,

 

This Gun is mean,
This Gun is cold,
But no meaner or colder,
Than the one that holds,
This Gun is only doing,
What it's been told,

 

No we cannot blame the guns,
We can only blame humans.

 

 

(This is not a pro gun poem in any way. My feelings are quite the opposite. I just wanted to highlight that human nature is behind the problem with guns and that the darker elements of our nature  combined with such a killing machine produces incidents like the ones that inspired this poem)

Aaron's Rod

As the bovine Hercules,
(A beast the size of which you only read of in myth),
Charged down on us like some vengeful demi-god,
Tore up the field,
And kicked it away behind itself,
In it's thunderous run,

As the church-folk quivered,
And sought the safepoint of the style,
You stood,
Towering your five foot ten,
Like a monolith,
Made monstrous in my eye's mind,
A monster to make dwarfs of your foes,

You were like Moses,
Like a deliverer,
Furious with the golden Bull-calf,
Your staff in both hands,
Your feet, like your furrowed face,
 Set,

Mud-stuck,
And with a single thrust,
With rod aloft the air was struck,
I was agasp, struck dumb,
The dumb luck beast,
Faced down,
Your Thunder,
Your frown,

That old friend and confronter of mine,
Turned defender now,
Your rod and your staff,
They comfort me,
Chastiser,
Protector,
Hero with your hands out,

Aaron's rod
Held aloft,
You cried out,
Like a snarling cowboy,
Driving the whole heavy herd with his growl,

And like the Red Sea,
The field was split in two,

The fleeing flock on one side,
The Bull-calf on the other,

And you,
The dividing line between them,

Whilst across the boundary we put feet on the safety of the promised land,
You held the bull at bay, with outstretched hand,

You whispered soothingly,
And the bewildered beast was mesmerised,

And you had done this so oft' for me,
To stand in the gap, betwixt me and the sea,

Though I saw not the danger ahead,
Though I feared not for life,
Though I felt not the dread,
You stood in the gap for me,
So often barring doorways,
You stood,
At times on your knees,

And held the tides at bays,
As then you appeared to my boyhood gaze,
And as flawed as you are, through all my days,
You stood in the gap for me,
And held bulls at bay so I could go free,

And slowly you back down the field,
Your arms still stretched out,
You retreat but not yield,

I know the style is now closer to your heel,
And the final freedom you can almost feel,
But you are backing your way down there,
The bull through the years still feels yours stare,

And I watch you proudly from behind,
Bearing this in mind,
As my radiant face with pride did shine,
The father who saved us, is mine,

When (Questions)

When the how,
Has replaced the why,
And by who,
And what for,

 

That's when,
It's time to ask questions.

 

What have we become,
Where have we come to,
How can we get back,
And to who should we turn.

The Philosopher's Stoned

The Philosopher's Stoned

The Priest is not hearing confession,
The Philosopher is now stoned,
The Government Official is corrupted,
And Bono's no-where near a phone,

The Writer is now written off,
The Actor has been upstaged,
The prompter promptly fell asleep,
The Artists brush slipped from the page,
The Doctor has phoned in sick,
The ethics committee is out to a three course lunch,
The Stock broker has gone broke,
The Police are left without a hunch,
The Forensic experts are all advising on TV,
The Psychics have all lost their second sight,
The Military advisers have blown themselves up,
The Comedians are a joke tonight,
The Devil waits for Hell,
And, at times, I fear for me as well,
And "God is in his heaven",*
Like Heaven's some kind of cell,
So I now have one remaining hope,
And one more question too,
If the Philosopher is Stoned then,
Jesus Christ:
What's wrong with you?




18.11.08 *Quote from "The Warm and the Cold" by Ted Hughes

I Am Taking Pictures (Gallery of Memories)

I am taking pictures,
Taking pictures with my eyes,
Lids for shutters,
From waking till twilight,
To sun-down from sun-rise,

I am catching memories,
Trapping them behind the nets of my lashes,
Squinting shut the trap doors,
While the rest of the world,
Disappears in flashes,

And there, within my dark room,
I am not merely fast asleep,
I am developing negatives into dreams,
Moments I cannot hold onto,
Into dreams that I can keep,


I am making little wooden frames,
Making frames in my head,
Curling browning corners held down,
Behind the glass lid of my eyes,
Keeping precious buried moments from ever being dead.

Love Fool

I'd be a fool for the mating call of May,
But for some reason May is kept at bay,
I'd be up for a foolish roll in the hay,
But May comes to see me, for hay, too soon to say,
If you see May, say for me, 'we must delay',
But tell May,
I am on my way,
Tell her I miss her flirty ways,
And I will see her in thirty days,


I'd be a fool for June,
But June can not come too soon,
Summer evening walks beneath the moon,
I'd sing to her as the fledgling June birds croon,
And maybe in her arms, we'd spoon,
I would dance my dance of love like a loon,
Amidst the hot flushes of June in bloom,
I'd be such a fool for June,
But like the seasons do, I'd change my tune,

I'd be a fool for August,
Enslaved by latent, ripened lust,
Kissing fervent in the dust,
Whoever's watching, because I simply must,
Cramming in as much romance as possible before Autumn's gust,
With passions high, it's love or bust,
Whatever it takes to keep her trust,
I'd be a love fool for August,
But that could be the heat talking, If you get the thrust,

I'd be a frozen fool for Jan,
Tell Jan, I will be her man,
I'd warm her frost bitten hand,
With hot breath and kisses, because I can,
I'd slip and slide on her icy love like the fool I am,
I would spice up the leftover Christmas ham,
I'd whisk her away to warmer climes, in a far off land,
I'd be such a fool for Jan,
I'd break her resolutions, I'd tear up My plan,
But Jan has gone, and I am not sure I can,

But for all the others, I am such an April Fool,
A shower, an idiot, a sap; a tool,
For April I will not care about looking cool,
I will lose the plot, I will break the rules,
For April I will Pine and drool,
Reclining in swim wear by the pool,
Although it's still cold and wet, well, that's just fuel,
April you make of me an imbecile and a crazy fool
Oh wont you send me back to Love school,

Bestowed

“He was led like a lamb to the slaughter,

Although he was innocent of crime,

He was cut off from the land of the living,

He paid for the guilt that was mine”*

 

They say this Jesus, Who see's us,
Who Calls us in our weakness,
Humbles us with meekness,
Rescues us from bleakness,

They say He is a Good man,
But I say he is a God man,
He came to heal the sick,
To lift up the down-trod, man,

Thirty three years,
And he did nothing wrong,
Not a sin found on or in him,
In thrity three years long,

This good man was a God man,
He did the Father's will,
The way he stood up to temptation,
Still gives me a thrill,
But he wound up bleeding,
On a tree, upon a hill,
They were baying for his blood, man,
They were spoiling for a kill,

But he had done nothing wrong, man,
He was innocent of crime,
He hung there bleeding,
For the sin that was yours and mine,

God sent him into the world, man,
Not to judge the world through him,
But to save the world,
The word became human,

If we believe in him,
We can be made right,
God wont see our darkness,
He will see his son's light,

This is the message of the cross,
This holy interchange,
We are seen as good
Through this divine exchange,

But not Jesus,
Not him,

At the cross,

Every angry thought

Every lustful deed,

Every heart distraught,

Every instance of envy and greed,

 

Every love locked out,

Every help refused,

Every child that screams in silence,

Every trust abused,

 

Every hope extinguished,

Every fragile life snuffed out,

Every voice raised in fear and hatred,

Every slander thrown about,

 

Every single deception,

Every lie that's told,

Every look the other way,

Every secret sold,

 

Every promise broken,

Every answer deflected,

Every partner waiting home,

Every heart neglected,

 

Every unforgiveness,

Every conscience hardened,

Every bitter thought,

Till the last day, from the garden
 

Every time we helped ourselves,

Every time we couldn't wait,

Every time we didn't listen,

Every time we turned too late,

 

Every time that we knew better,

Every time we took the praise,

Every time we stole his credit,

Every time we hid from his face,

 

Every sin of disobedience,

Every effort for selfish gain,

Every wound that's treated lightly,

Every glory in our shame,

 

Every hardened heart,

Every walk on by,

Every purse or wallet closed,

Every crossing to the other side,

Every addiction chased
Every substance abused,
Every wound we buried deep,
Every scar and hidden bruise,

Every gun that's toted,
Every child forced into war
Every bomb blast ripping through communities
Every one who knows (and doesn't)
why?
And what for,

Every false ideology,
Every arm that's traded,
Every fat cat sitting back on profits,
Whilst their bloodied war is waged,

Every grieving soul,
Every torture victim,
Every rape that happened,
Every thing afflicting,

Every thing and so much more,
Every evil, Every sin,
Every malevolence there was and would be,
Every justice there wasn't, but should have been,

Here, at the cross,

All of this,
Bestowed
On him.
All it's crushing weight,
Closing in on him,

And the Lord has laid on him.
The sin of us all.





*Maggi Dawn