Poem Number 231 - Last Single Man - 23/11/1987

How I feel so, so warm to be the last single man,

It is so pleasant to not be so free and to so love.

Such a sight, such strength, such manly thinking to do from now,

It is the only chance to prove to myself that I can decide for two.

It is only days away before I agree to love,

Days on end to adore with graceful kisses.

A kind of day where two people of different sexes,

Decide to bond them to a knot of continual love.

A bond that never ever has any loose ends,

A bond of forever tightness towards: each other.

Yes! A bond of fruitful scenes forever told,

For a lifetimes memory of ever old.

The golden rings of two peoples love bind altogether,

The orchestration of friends and family that blend together,

The fruitfulness of both physical and mental, we both share,

The fruitfulness of love, that is unleashed from one’s heart.

Gone are the times where another does not affect the decision of one,

Past are the times when you have has fun by yourself,

Greed and jealousy will have to be forgone,

Like the echoes of a recently hit instrument: ‘The Gong”!

Poem Number 230 - Stock Market Crash - 11/11/1987

Investors who have spent more than half their wages in shares,

Have suddenly seen recently a downfall in such values.

This is a heartbreaking event for large investors,

But if they’re really so smart – they shouldn’t sell at all.

The stock market crash if so left alone,

Is just on paper until it reaches its high.

So don’t fret or worry that much now,

Cause when there is a downfall there is an upsurge!

Poem Number 229 - The Sun To Darkness - 10/11/1987

With the sun cooling the air, from the heat,

The wind blows right across my startled face,

To witness the turning on of the bright city lights,

To see such a magnificent red glow of the sun disappearing.

To watch the standing commuters await for their own bus to arrive,

Whilst no one says anything to anyone as no one knows him or her all.

Speechless looks of no interest are indivualy shared,

As I think of a way to approach anybody for any word of discussion.

Then, I talk like a dumbly, feeling stupid outside,

Whilst my happiness in emotions are being felt inside.

I wonder whether to make other people happy is to make me laugh first,

Or is it better to make the last laugh, before everybody else.

And here it is dark, not to be found a spark from the sun,

You can see the people rush to get their buses,

You can feel just a fresh very light wind, rush across the street,

While I’m left standing there in a stupor of amazement. 

Poem Number 228 - Soundless Rewards - 10/11/1987

As the clock of years strikes my seven years of working time,

The remembrance of jobs completed with high distinction is in my vision.

Whether it is seven years of good or bad luck,

This is something to me, which is not clear.

For it is for work we have to do, even if we don’t like it,

And just to perform to your standard of high quality,

To receive your just deserts, your thankful reward,

And these to spend to save on the cash you have on your hand.

But for seven years, for seven nice years,

I now feel as old as the furniture in the office.

At times I felt I do too much in a days work,

But this makes up, when little is done next day.

Not one word! Not a simple thank you is mentioned!

Anyone who is anyone that is decent, would have said,

But soundless rewards for years and years of service,

Not even a meaningful handshake to give myself importance of today.

Shame and disgust I can see in front of my eyes,

Hurtful feelings I have, mixed in my own heart.

That’s all right, maybe I expect too much from everyone,

Maybe I want more than I ask for, being greedy,

But not for the sake of being respected: for being myself

Poem Number 227 - Melbourne Cup Fever - 3/11/1987

Melbourne Cup Fever is not such an illness,

It is a historic and family approach to excitement and entertainment,

Continuously enjoying the markets of different horses weighs,

Taking off to the winners and losers of races gone past.

A new winner is won in every race that is held,

A new loser is lost in every race that is held,

And a mare or a stallion is born to be bred,

Bred amongst us all, to nothing other but win.

Is there a chance in life to succeed amongst the best,

Or are we taken upon the true reality of whose best.

Maybe as we race each other just amongst ourselves,

We race against justice, peace and the everlasting life of us.

So be it may, that we endeavour in so peacefulness,

So be it may, that we carry on the job of non-war,

But be it ever so truthful that to survive is to win,

To make us look happier than the bloke in the thin jockey suit.

Are we weight properly amongst ourselves, in true prosperity?

As the wealth and fortune stabilize the society we live in.

Glorious are the days hen victory is so present,

Glorious will the day be, when we all enter heaven.

Poem Number 226 - Life Goes On... - 2/11/1987

For us, we live our lives in unplanned succession,

We speak to others every while or so,

To give and take enjoyment of others,

While we recognize their existence, in our society.

Much of this daily, weekly, monthly or annual visitation,

Releases an atmospheric condition of comfort and total relaxation.

Yet, we cannot all speak to everyone in one instance,

We have to plan the amount of time and volume required,

As to what’s being said to put everyone at ease,

And to put ideas into today’s world of reality.

Death to us doesn’t mean much to us,

Unless we personally suffer directly from friends and or relatives!

And when it does, it happens in an instance of schock,

Yet after a few weeks of time passes by, life goes on...

Life goes on until the next news of tragedy comes about,

There is no first warning, just the last: which is death.

Death is of all kinds: massacres, killing, suicide,

Homicide, accidents and of course all of a sudden death.

Everyone treats death as unhappy part of life,

And so it is!

Everyone knows that they ‘themselves’ are the lucky ones still alive,

And so they are!

Life after death goes on…

Poem Number 225 - Sun Burnt Feeling - 2/11/1987

There are times I feel like (jokingly) killing myself,

There are times I feel like listening to my conscience,

And of course times I haven’t heard from anyone else,

Which leaves me to say, ‘What a fool I am, at times’.

Taking my girl to Bondi Beach just to sun bake and have a little dip,

Well, I could have stayed all day, just staring at bare boobs,

Of which, sometimes were planted in front of your face,

But of course, I enjoyed the warm soaking sun on my back.

After hours of no suntan lotion splashed on my body,

My pains of intensive heat started to cause that sun burnt feeling,

I arrived home, with no sweat to bear,

But plenty of moans and groans, as I lay bare.

Silly me, I’ve learnt my lesson,

Silly me, the results are being shown,

Silly me will never do that again,

For Christ’s sake, I don’t want pain!