Grumpy old man stage
I young'ns more harshly judge
than I would have wanted
at that age.
But the values
of insidious older manipulators
blithely wrecking cultures
laying waste the world
do really frighten me.
Someone needs to tell them
- no, they know -
the planet is a not-for-profit concern
non-returnable, no exchange.
© Phil Mahnken 21 March 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Alas, no more!
Like a picture, the pink sunset reflections looked
in the waters of the stream
That painfully its way crawled under trees
Through tufts of grass
Under willows, through the water dragging their limbs
like the hands of a smiling maiden
at seeing her lover row to their destination.
Alas no more glow of this beautiful scene
as the water trickled into the mud
to stop its flow.
The sweet breeze kissed goodbye, the last
of the stream,
The gentle ripples wavered,
Then were no more.
© Joy Naomi Brooker
in the waters of the stream
That painfully its way crawled under trees
Through tufts of grass
Under willows, through the water dragging their limbs
like the hands of a smiling maiden
at seeing her lover row to their destination.
Alas no more glow of this beautiful scene
as the water trickled into the mud
to stop its flow.
The sweet breeze kissed goodbye, the last
of the stream,
The gentle ripples wavered,
Then were no more.
© Joy Naomi Brooker
Monday, March 17, 2008
The Dance of Uncertainty
What was that sound, should we take care,
Heads swiftly turning, eyes darting to and fro,
as if seeking out the enemy;
Feet stomping, rising and falling?
Bodies moving from side to side,
with movements seeming to embrace uncertainty.
Shoulders twitching, hands moving jerkily,
in an unusual, but acceptable movement of the dance.
The dancers mimic an animal as they move slowly
forward with the call of the music.
Massive clouds sit importantly ,
in the vast never ending sky,
like thoughts in the mind of a great leader.
The dancers stretch upwards taking in the beauty
of the clouds and their company.
Feel the vibrations of the Didgeridoo calling the music
to its self, listen to the music, reaching deeply into your soul
feel the earth, feel the colour, the water ,the wind ,
The Excitement Of The Dance Of Uncertainty.
© Joy Naomi Brooker 2008
Heads swiftly turning, eyes darting to and fro,
as if seeking out the enemy;
Feet stomping, rising and falling?
Bodies moving from side to side,
with movements seeming to embrace uncertainty.
Shoulders twitching, hands moving jerkily,
in an unusual, but acceptable movement of the dance.
The dancers mimic an animal as they move slowly
forward with the call of the music.
Massive clouds sit importantly ,
in the vast never ending sky,
like thoughts in the mind of a great leader.
The dancers stretch upwards taking in the beauty
of the clouds and their company.
Feel the vibrations of the Didgeridoo calling the music
to its self, listen to the music, reaching deeply into your soul
feel the earth, feel the colour, the water ,the wind ,
The Excitement Of The Dance Of Uncertainty.
© Joy Naomi Brooker 2008
Corners of my mind
Black thoughts in my mind
© Joy Naomi Brooker 2007
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
An Ode to Plastic
Bales of hay are a case in point
It was wire in grandad's day
piles of it in his fill-in dump
Then binder twine for decades
And now this raffia junk
Plastic toothbrushes, plastic chairs
I take my coffee in plastic cups
Scoop my yoghurt with plastic spoons
Plastic hose fittings, plastic rakes
Plastic cord to cut weeds and grass
Plastic nappies on baby's arse
My dad played with mechano sets
My kids pile up plastic leggo
The family fights over the plastic remote
for the plastic telly with its plastic people
Plastic radios and earphones on our heads
Plastic devices, plastic partners
to come with us to our beds
Or if flesh and blood,
probably plastically enhanced
The bread comes in plastic, string bags are gone
Gladwrapped lunches, shrink wrapped chops
Tupperware tubs and laminex benchtops
Sponges on a squeegie, no more mops
No more fine old fountain pens
Now it's plastic biros
Vinyl records, vinyl shirts
© Phillip Mahnken 2000
It was wire in grandad's day
piles of it in his fill-in dump
Then binder twine for decades
And now this raffia junk
Plastic toothbrushes, plastic chairs
I take my coffee in plastic cups
Scoop my yoghurt with plastic spoons
Plastic hose fittings, plastic rakes
Plastic cord to cut weeds and grass
Plastic nappies on baby's arse
My dad played with mechano sets
My kids pile up plastic leggo
The family fights over the plastic remote
for the plastic telly with its plastic people
Plastic radios and earphones on our heads
Plastic devices, plastic partners
to come with us to our beds
Or if flesh and blood,
probably plastically enhanced
The bread comes in plastic, string bags are gone
Gladwrapped lunches, shrink wrapped chops
Tupperware tubs and laminex benchtops
Sponges on a squeegie, no more mops
No more fine old fountain pens
Now it's plastic biros
Vinyl records, vinyl shirts
Plastic gumboots, plastic raincoats
And plastic money of course
Will they put our ashes in a plastic urn
or will our weeping kin
put us out one Wednesday night
in a plastic wheelie bin?
© Phillip Mahnken 2000
Friday, March 7, 2008
Of Stagnation and Progress
The essence of any true poet is not in the flesh
Though in his flesh are rhythm and rhyme fresh
Take him for a game, hunt him,
Shoot, skin and roast him
His star will shoot
To guide all those on foot
Projecting
The everlasting
Poets’ substance, the light
Poets would for all shine bright
Even in their bleak and somber moments
They delight at feast seeing all with refreshments
The knave of this happy end
Darkness would the poet bend
And would people see not where they step their foot
For the substance in darkness is all about food
The poet and his light on its way
Kills and stows its happiness far away
In the melody rhyming
And with rhythm overpowering.
Of progress born is the light
And of stagnation ignited is the fight
With darkness wishing the poet’s death
And the poet in its depth
Exposing the upheavals on the path
To progress and calling unto himself the wrath
Of angry darkness desiring the poet dead on the spot
For the world to see how he’s got his lesson hot;
Not knowing the poet fears not the burn of fire
Nor the stab of a dagger and much less shocks from electric wire
With all of this the poet is still and still wears his smile
And even knowing he is to live only a short, short while.
Still in adversity facing him
And singing when facing those looking up to him
In the fight
To get rid of the blight
Tying people on the spot
When they need to trot.
07/03/08
Though in his flesh are rhythm and rhyme fresh
Take him for a game, hunt him,
Shoot, skin and roast him
His star will shoot
To guide all those on foot
Projecting
The everlasting
Poets’ substance, the light
Poets would for all shine bright
Even in their bleak and somber moments
They delight at feast seeing all with refreshments
The knave of this happy end
Darkness would the poet bend
And would people see not where they step their foot
For the substance in darkness is all about food
The poet and his light on its way
Kills and stows its happiness far away
In the melody rhyming
And with rhythm overpowering.
Of progress born is the light
And of stagnation ignited is the fight
With darkness wishing the poet’s death
And the poet in its depth
Exposing the upheavals on the path
To progress and calling unto himself the wrath
Of angry darkness desiring the poet dead on the spot
For the world to see how he’s got his lesson hot;
Not knowing the poet fears not the burn of fire
Nor the stab of a dagger and much less shocks from electric wire
With all of this the poet is still and still wears his smile
And even knowing he is to live only a short, short while.
Still in adversity facing him
And singing when facing those looking up to him
In the fight
To get rid of the blight
Tying people on the spot
When they need to trot.
07/03/08
My Precious...
She sets my heart a-tripping
She takes away my breath
I think that I shall die for her
My precious … cigarette.
By Phillip Mahnken,
April 2007
She takes away my breath
I think that I shall die for her
My precious … cigarette.
By Phillip Mahnken,
April 2007
Gloating Time for the True Believers
Coalition defeated
Howard unseated
Newman the best they can do.
If I were a Lib
I'd put on a bib
And have an elitist spew.
By Phillip Mahnken,
November 2007
Howard unseated
Newman the best they can do.
If I were a Lib
I'd put on a bib
And have an elitist spew.
By Phillip Mahnken,
November 2007
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Our Case
Kill our earthly stars.
What will you do to the heavenly ones?
To protect yourself, grease the soldiers’ beard.
What shall you do when at your door death knocks?
Bring us the Opposition in a coffin.
But will you let us freely mourn?
You kill our poets.
Do you believe we will bury their writings?
Bury yourself amidst a zillion soldiers.
Haven’t you learned from Chinese History?
Like you, in China one did this.
Did he not rot underground?
You sum your world with Law and Order.
Why let lawlessness and disorderliness reign?
You are god to those who buy your favours.
Who or what are you to those you strip of basic rights?
Every night, you go to sleep on a king size bed.
Why not make your heart the size of your bed?
You ruin the nation to live in a mansion.
What space in it or our minds do you occupy?
You’ve dominated the nation tyrannically.
Shall you ever be the tyrant that kills death?
We thought to rule was to serve.
Why must a tyrant like you be served?
Now, to yourself, you’ve gathered the nation’s wealth?
Won’t you live us the right to determine the future of our misery?
You push your tyranny, your greed and grip on power to the last.
Won’t you still be proven wrong from beginning and end?
You may never stand in front of any court to plead guilty.
But which other criminal supersedes you?
You may never see this as a case.
But, here, are we not free to rest our case?
01/03/08
What will you do to the heavenly ones?
To protect yourself, grease the soldiers’ beard.
What shall you do when at your door death knocks?
Bring us the Opposition in a coffin.
But will you let us freely mourn?
You kill our poets.
Do you believe we will bury their writings?
Bury yourself amidst a zillion soldiers.
Haven’t you learned from Chinese History?
Like you, in China one did this.
Did he not rot underground?
You sum your world with Law and Order.
Why let lawlessness and disorderliness reign?
You are god to those who buy your favours.
Who or what are you to those you strip of basic rights?
Every night, you go to sleep on a king size bed.
Why not make your heart the size of your bed?
You ruin the nation to live in a mansion.
What space in it or our minds do you occupy?
You’ve dominated the nation tyrannically.
Shall you ever be the tyrant that kills death?
We thought to rule was to serve.
Why must a tyrant like you be served?
Now, to yourself, you’ve gathered the nation’s wealth?
Won’t you live us the right to determine the future of our misery?
You push your tyranny, your greed and grip on power to the last.
Won’t you still be proven wrong from beginning and end?
You may never stand in front of any court to plead guilty.
But which other criminal supersedes you?
You may never see this as a case.
But, here, are we not free to rest our case?
01/03/08
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