Poem Number 48 - The Top Of The Tree - 21/2/1984

When I look at my life: I imagine my life as a tree.

I begin at birth, as a seed,

And then the roots, spring from beneath me,

These roots represent my family.

I begin to grow like a stem,

All because of them.

One of those roots, is broken in the latter,

I think thinks reflects my real father.

Only a short while later, a new root grows,

And attached to my stem, the branches they grow.

Halfway is my life, there’s a branch that grows short,

And on the other side, a branch is still growing.

This particular branch, never stops growing,

But has small bends and curves, in the beginning.

My stem is not at all so straight, nor upright,

And there is a branch above this branch, which also growing.         

This particular branch has got numerous of small branches,

All reaching out in one direction,

With leaves as green as pastures,

Which I know is God’s recreation.

Beneath all branches I have mentioned,

One other branch is growing, directly towards the sun.

It doesn’t reach the top, but it is three-quarters of the way there.

As the rest of the tree is slightly bare.

Till I reach the top of the tree,

All of this is my present life and I!

As I cannot tell, what is ahead,

The very top, is my death.

Poem Number 47 - A Big Fright! - 20/2/1984

Shedding tears, is not my great delight,

I have given Michelle, such a big fright.

My mind is remembering, just the other night,

When I had had enough, yet I still don’t know, if what I did is right?

I want to live alone for a short while,

Maybe changing a great deal of my lifestyle.

I know one that is, I feel lost without Michelle,

But I cannot and will not live and share my lifestyle with anyone else.

People around us, did not help me as much,

Like our friends who were living with us.       

When you trust someone with confidence,

You expect the strictest secret, kept between them.

This happened to me, after I gave the O.k.,

For living in a new house with new friends.

When I confided with this person, by myself,

It really gets me, when she lets the other one know, by herself.

They are trying to work out, why I pick on her?

But I tried not to do, except for self-respect.

Telling me to do small things, for her every day,

She doesn’t like washing up (as she knows I would do it, anyway).

This “Debbie”, is the one reason why I left,

She made me feel so upset

My poems I have shared with Michelle.

Some of these may be nice or not very nice.

They wanted me to destroy my first poem of the eighteenth,

But as you can see, I’ve kept it in good order.

What I write is how I feel,

Or how I have felt, as well.

Poem Number 46 - Living Our Lives By Ourselves - 18/2/1984

This is not the season for breaking the ice,

This is not the separation I need to have.

My heart is not wondering, who I like,

Nor is it telling me, to go on a hike.

In my life, I am told I have been trouble,

Confusion I have caused for sure, tonight.

But, from somewhere high, as lit as light,

I was sensing that the best for me, to leave right away.

I tried leaving, without Michelle knowing (Who has been my other half).

Is that what I would like to do, is hurt. No!

I am definitely sure that I have done the right thing,

But I left because of all sorts of known different reasons.

My girl's mum was a heart of gold,

Yet, I did cause some conflict and hardship within her family.

I have been told numerously by all, how silly I am,

And how psychiatric treatment is required by me.

I come back to my own mum and dad’s to work things out for myself.

I will not stay long.

As I have to find a place I need to grow, to be a man,

As I know, I surely can!

My hearts throbbing as if I want to hold Michelle, tightly,

Mum and Dad’s car has been packed already.

Debbie’s throwing items, directly at my body,

The sadness of my departure was plain stakingly showing on both of our faces.

My poor girl, whom I left in tears,

Wondering why I’m doing this to her.

So far, our relationship had been great for us,

As we needed to be living, our lives by ourselves.

Poem Number 45 - Telephone Call For Someone Else - 18/2/1984

I take two mattresses out of the spare room,

To the room, “Debbie” was going to clean: The lounge room.

Then I’m accused of making a mess, all over the place,

And make some space, while with other guys Michelle screws around.

I tidied up, this room to the best I could,

Then “Debbie” goes to her room to catch up on her sleep.

I am doing my own housework, as I have the time,

I then watch the TV and have a little rest.

Suddenly, there is a telephone call for someone else!

I’m told to do or not to do, by a nineteen year old,

As she has the high to say, “ That she doesn’t like to be told!”

Immature as she shows her temper, throughout the rest of the day,

She told me off, for not waking her when the phone rang.

Speaking to her friend “Dot” over the phone,

I know I did something that was completely wrong.

I interrupted her conversation…

As I couldn’t stand what Debbie had to say about me.

As Debbie was not just criticizing, myself and my girl,

But the whole house as well.

My girl was coming home, from an extended time,

I could feel there was something unusual and tense.

As I did not lose my cool,

And had in tact, my sense,

Is it right for us to boil,

Over something that is beneath the soil?

I have given up on being called a liar, from everyone,

As my years are young and I am really having fun

If my poems are so called, “Rubbish?”

Then why is told to me, at the end?

Poem Number 44 - Valentines - 2/2/1984

To share a moonlight cruise,

With my beau girl,

And to enjoy a magnificent feast,

Prepared by and for only the two of us.

That is my valentine.

Poem Number 43 - Morning Of Fury - 1/2/1984

Why is it thought to be a liar?

Is it that, she wants to cause a riot?

I’ll take the blame to ease the peace and quiet,

For I am not a person, to get upset over small things.

Small lies, I am told I make.

God, please give me a bloody drink!

For I cannot believe that I’m a liar,

I am an honest man, with no lies up my sleeves.

Take it out on me, as you usually do,

Why not pick on me and let’s have a blue?

As strong as you think you are,

I have found out, of your weak points.

You can pick on me, forever and ever,

Until you find out, that you are wrong

Poem Number 42 - Is not? Is! - 1/2/1984

The smell of oxygen is not in the air,

The looks of garbage, is not a good thing to stare.

I’ll take blame to ease the peace and the quiet,

The taste of food is nothing to steal.

Poem Number 41 - Anytime To Waste - 1/2/1984

The glasses are filled, as the words are spoken,

The smoke rising faster than the sun, arising,

Confidence is built between these two,

As the friendship of both of us, is never due.

Only one speaks of his problems all round,

As his friend is only making, just a little sound.

He brings out the best and he brings out the worst,

Happier are the moments, when all things come first.

He bellows out the joy of these alcoholic drinks,

As he’s starting to wonder, if he will sink,

The move is made with every little haste,

There doesn’t seem to be, any time to waste.