FROM THE POET

This is a series of poems written by John Svododa over a number of years. There are times of peak-where numerous poems were written & there are also times of lows where there are long periods between each poem. As the author is trying to reach a goal of 1001 (and then retire!!) it was never envisaged that this would be done over a short period of time. Poems can be humorous, ridiculing someone or something, show a meaning of hurt or love or even project feelings that not necessarily be directed to the same person/thing, can be a reflection of life or to be life. Most poems are trying to send a message to the reader be it not understandable or nonsense.

The idea of this poet is not to have any ill feelings against anyone but to be read by young whom can learn about life – and by the elderly look back at what could have been. Some are very personal- but who cares when you are currently living in a life that has total enjoyment. Suggestion is not to criticize but to take in the enjoyment of creative poetry make it meaningful and thus may be you can be an author.

SO NOW:

Please Read On!

Showing posts with label Control. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Control. Show all posts

Tuesday, 10 November 1987

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

Tuesday, 10 March 1987

Poem Number 207 - The Art Of Selection - 10/3/1987

The art of selection from other selections, is progress,
The more you can select from, the more there is quality.
It is a an art that takes time to adapt, to it,
It is a result of a person with self-satisfaction.

In our every day lives, we choose and select different items,
We choose the food we eat, the habits we do, the work desired to do, and so on…
Simple selections are east to overcome,
It is the difficult ones that make you use your head.

The time you choose one item from the other,
Possibly may bring a better quality of the selection you choose.
Your perfection of selection will be entirely decided by yourselves,
No one can set the standard of your selection, except you!

The most important selection in a single person’s life,
Is the special selection of choosing your partner for marriage.
This type of selection will determine the future of your life,
It will and should bring a decision of excitement and satisfaction.

So you can see that everyone is involved or affected by every day selection,
No one can say that they don’t select anything everyday.
This poem is one of the selected poems; you have decided to read,
That is a fine selection! 

Sunday, 14 September 1986

Poem Number 170 - The Pleasure And Leisure - 14/9/1986

Money means nothing too important,
To be ensuring people, are content,
Ending with a good night out,
Having fun and entertainment, all night.

My competiveness is extremely important.
My mind is not out of control,
My true colours of seniority will show,
And the result will be benefiting to all.

May mountains of the bush be flooded by the sea,
Whilst the richness of friendship, outspreads.
The ultimate soul of life’s expectancies bring forward,
The pleasure and leisure of extensive times.

Wednesday, 30 July 1986

Poem Number 147 - Supporting My Appeal - 30/7/1986

How I hate to be stirred at work,
By the little juveniles at our work.
Constant arrogance by the young juniors,
Who will never stop at play, while working?

Yes, it does get to me!
Yes, it does annoy me!
All I can do is let the others above,
Take my complaints and serve the necessary discipline.

Yet I can only take as much as a small joke,
That’ll keep me going, and in a small way retaliate.
But being punched by one,
For a little reason taken big.

Well aggression, he may learn,
But aggression, he will keep.
At least, the employees at work, who witnessed it,
Can see my side and would support me, in any appeal.

Tuesday, 29 July 1986

Poem Number 144 - Will Be Your First - 29/7/1986

As we walk with each other, feet by feet,
As we look at each other, face to face,
As we touch each other, hand with hand,
We experience the personal friendship of which is explored.

Adults of humans, we are all to be,
Adults of self-discipline mixed with tender loving care.
Shed we, any tear for feelings of sudden sadness,
We learn from ourselves the true spirit of love.

We like to blame others for wrong doings of myself,
We like to brag on and on, leaving others gazed for a while….
We don’t like to be told, but we like to tell them,
And mostly we like to promote ourselves without anyone standing in one’s way.

Temporary emotions of hatred arise,
To be envious of your partner,
For bashing the words out of hell,’
Into your little ears!

Can’t you, you of the adults,
Get yourself into a smoother gear.
So you don’t run out of juice,
And you’re left alone, in the middle of nowhere.

You don’t have to follow your brothers and sisters.
You don’t have to show or lead the way.
Just be responsible and secure, within yourself,
On the actions and words of life, those others know of you in better ways.

May you judge yourself with more self-assurance,
Then wipe your fingers clean of standards,
To prove that the only person you know can be,
In this world, will be your first.

Thursday, 17 July 1986

Poem Number 133 - Running The 'Pru' - 17/7/1986

Working at the ‘Pru’ is not something that is new,
But the friendship you share is always a tight bond.
There are many of us, who don’t have friends here,
And if you don’t, there is nothing to fear.

Before there are Administration changes, that are affected,
Everyone knows this information, which is given.
You have junior clerks doing junior jobs: known as grade one,
You have the senior/junior clerks with that little extra authority.

In different departments, there are different grades,
From Section Head, who share the most burdened responsibility.
They have to be the interviewer for performance reviews,
Working out individually how that individual is suited.

Then in Departments, you will have the 2IC’s,
These 2IC’s assist in the running of the sections,
Making sure that the Department works, with high esteem,
Which any serious problems or solutions are discussed with the Departmental Head.

Most major Departmental discussions are made a t Departmental meeting,
It is like a meeting with directors of a company,
Having meeting with no long term end,
But is treated seriously, as any outcome will effect at least one of us,

The Branch Manager is our link to all other areas,
That is; Head Office, Agents and policy Holders.
You have got to have that charisma,
To have all the fruit well, all in one bag!

Monday, 7 July 1986

Poem Number 129 - The Wish Of A Life Time - 7/7/1986

Like a cigarette burning down into a cinder,
Like a hot burning campfire, with your eyes alight,
As you and your friends drink from sunset to dawn,
As the timber is used and wasted, in the air.

As you sit alongside the edge, of an abandoned wharf,
With not even one animal to be seen, by you,
You stare and gaze at the movements of the lake,
Watching………as the water glistens right onwards our awaken eyes.

You feel sudden coolness in the change of weather,
No sound you make will be heard or interfered.
Yet, the clothes you wear will be one, to comfort yourself,
Not making you feel left on your own shelf.

Barren are the woods behind,
Of which you search into
For mother’s nature borrowed hut
To keep you dry, from winds and rains.

Civilization and communication is miles away,
Little food and liquids is kept in your haversack.
Yet, you have located a somewhat cozy spot,
But since you have searched, you are now left completely lost.

There is no news to watch and to listen too,
There are no newspapers lying around to be read.
There are no modern home facilities to accommodate you with,
There is just you and your little haversack.

You hear the creatures of the night; call out in their lingo,
You feel the strong wind blowing across your face, from side to side.
You talk. Yet, no one hears.
You are here with some small fear.

Boredom has not entered your head,
Yet there are running thoughts, streaming out in gushes.
Sleep is what you decided,
Instead of, eating some of the food.

The weather gets colder, as the time slowly passes on,
There are no sheets or pillows, to lie on.
Your sweater will have to do, to keep you warm,
But no sleep you will get, until dawn.

All is quiet. Just a song from a couple of bush birds,
The dew is drying up from the bush and dry grass.
Four on-time footsteps are racing away,
As they find their food for a new day.

Shiver from the light drops of rain, received overnight,
Your feet are warm but cold, underneath.
The images of animals, of noise by night,
Are brought in perspective, the whole daylight.

The specific amount of time doesn’t make you worry,
As you have other things more important, on your mind.
Figuring out, where you are and what to do,
Lost. Even without any money, to call for help on any phone.

Your stomach requests for a little to nibble,
While your thoughts, question if you should go on a trekking.
If you move on, you may miss people, whom would be looking for you,
If you start walking around, you may then get yourself further lost.

You decide to stay and build a better shack,
For you don’t even know if there is such a search.
Your shack is completed with soft leaves of bedding,
A bark-timber shack is constructed, so very little rain will seep in.

In front, there is no door. Only a wide cave like opening,
The height of this shack is as tall as a normal two-man tent.
Set away, is the campfire of warmth,
Where you’ll sit around and gaze at the flames.

You’re lonely, as there is no one who could assist you,
Or to help you attain your daily needs.
There is but yourself, imagination and “bush ambition”,
That will make you overpass these past feelings.

After setting a small-like home,
You then decide to go for a stroll.
To see what if any, living souls are around,
After a time or so, there is nothing to be found.

You have just settled down by now,
There is little else for you to do,
As you have thought of a lot for one day,
Inside you, you feel rather strange.

It is that you are consistently thinking of a special woman,
That has always acted towards you, as a wife.
But you, only like her personality, not her looks,
And that was what caused the sudden rift, in your young life.

As the darkness nears, you are cooking like made,
Feeling more for your stomach, then what’s inside your head.
There is the senseless feeling of hatred being released,
As you direct your eyes towards your neat looking shack.

The wasted time of not having feelings for her,
The wasted time of not bedding with her,
They were the times of when you thought you were wrong,
And they were the times of both enjoying everything.

But you were scared, just like the recent night,
You were frightened, that she would accept thee “popped question”.
You, just you alone was to blame,
From that sudden blankness ever since.

Remember how cold you felt all over?
Remember how you didn’t want to speak to anyone?
Well, if you don’t, you should have a somewhat different feeling now,
One that you’ll never forget, for the eternity of your life.

But! There is a second chance you will have,
You will have to be readied at once.
As the situation will be laid in front of you,
But you will have to spread the bread on the butter.

The scene will be yours, as long as you are patient,
Your split second decision will determine the land of your life.
The silver platter will be served, so you can feed yourself properly,
No interference will be distracting you, for any reason at all.

So then you can start eating slowly, and again feel a few drops of rain,
Build the smoking fire with very little fuel,
And decide to stay up for a while in the dark,
Then like a shot in the air, there are mingled voices heard from afar.

Listening with caution, the voices sound feminine,
At the same time, there is a sound of someone bashing the bushes and trees, with a stick.
They can see the campfire light of the camp, and they approach with care,
Yes, what a surprise! The girl you know and you were just thinking about, is here with her friend.

For instances of precious moments, there isn’t anything said.
They all looked conditionally wet and tired.
You invite them to your shack and tell them that you’ll stay outside,
They blush to the thought of a man, being a gentleman (in the bush), and being so kind.

How and what has made you, as you are?
Where and when will you decide to call for help?
What will you say when Elizabeth opens her mouth, to you?
Will you say the right words, at the right time?

The woman converse with you in small talk,
Then they brought along with themselves.
You insist that you set up the tent by yourself,
And you do so, in time of haste.

The tent fits three people; again you decide to be decent,
As the women both unpack in such unlimited time.
You stare at the shadows, which can be seen through the outside of the tent,
Eyes sparkling, as your mind visualizes, on only one of the women.

Then the lights go out and a bicker is heard,
And you thought that they’d come out for a bit of talk.
The animal creatures of the night, take control,
To they’re individual echoing sound of each species.

It seemed an hour or so, when the light dimmed to dark,
And then racing out the tent runs, Elizabeth.
“She touched me all over with her hands,
She wanted to kill me, if I didn’t follow her instructions.”

You see blood drooping from one of Elizabeth’s arms,
And then call out to the woman left in the tent,
“Get out this instant, or I’ll come and you’ll feel sorry!”
“Come in! Come in! There’s nothing for you to fear,” she replies.

Picking up some timber, just for your own protection,
You race inside the tent and find that that woman is looking bare.
She had some blood smothered around her arms and legs,
And yet there was no kina to be seen.

You talk like the voice of God, is with you at heart.
This woman is calmed down by now.
She passes the hidden knife to you,
And says she doesn’t remember a thing that happened.

You at first, half believe her and ask her to clothe herself full,
Elizabeth is tearing crying and afraid to live on through the rest of the night.
How she was lying there,
Looking dead.

But you are outside,
Wrapping your arms around Elizabeth,
Trying and trying to comfort her,
By talking about her other things.

This turn out to be the right time for you to be personal with her,
To let out the feelings that you wanted to share with her, before you’d both broken up.
And she listens with intent and truthful understanding,
As you ask her for her forgiveness, in the way you treated her before.

Cuddling up together in your shack with soft spoken words,
The night drags on until the following day.
Were there are men in military uniforms, fully equipped with weapons,
They question them of why they were there and a while later…handcuff the other woman. 

Monday, 20 February 1984

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.