Colin F. Jones
KALEIDOSCOPIC BALLOON ~ PART 1
Each time that it floods; each time there’s a fire,
Each time there’s a drought, when circumstance is dire,
It will be “climate change” that will surface to say,
This was the reason for the inevitable fray.
But climate change is not the problem; it is a result,
A significant symptom of a fast growing cult.
The problem is more complex; more personally attired,
In everyday clothing and things not required.
It is part of success as we perceive it to be,
Of extravagant ambition and a will not to see,
To keep blowing up a balloon that surely will burst,
Is an irresponsible progress that must be reversed.
Now the bragging is over and the flaunting of fame,
We still look for something, other than ourselves to blame.
We cannot just spend, give millions of dollars away,
You can’t get out of debt creating more money to pay.
A sinking ship cannot be saved by increasing its load;
You can’t build across water a bitumen road.
The debt that you leave, someone must pay,
Spending more money will not wipe any of it away.
Governments are dishing out money they gathered as tax,
Accumulating debt to help you relax,
Until around comes the time when they want it all back,
Then comes the revolution then comes the attack ..
That’s when everything plunges to rock bottom low,
When some lunatic messiah becomes the pride of the show,
To establish the bee-hive that some think must occur,
For systems that fail need a leader called “sir”.
So what is the answer “a new world order” perhaps,
(And I hear from the gallery, all the socialists claps.)
But what IS the answer, the one we don’t want to hear,
That topples our pedestals and establishes fear.
We must look to the wise ones who live only for life,
Who seek not to cause ripples of torment and strife,
Those who love nature of which they are a part,
Thus respect her system from which they can’t depart,
Those who know why a bird flies low to the lake,
Why poison is no substitute for the hoe and the rake;
Those who would not leave for their children their debt,
Who stand humble and proud without any regret.
It is time for the high fliers to clip off their wings,
And let people decide what truth and common sense brings.
A square meter of garden many plants can grow
Cabbage and lettuce each in a separate row;
Fifteen minutes per day is all that you need
To plant all you can eat from recycling seed.
There’s no need to buy vegetables or to buy fruit
If you have a square meter where they can take root;
If you grow lots of flowers then why not something to eat
Like carrots, and peas, potatoes and beet.
Flowers are pretty and often attract bees,
But they do not produce apples, cucumber or peas.
If you do not want them you can give them away,
Share with your neighbours without having to pay,
Then maybe it will virus all down the street,
Like a long chain reaction in constant repeat.
Do something for nothing; surprise everyone!
Give something away and pass on the sun.
Start with a smile then offer a hand,
Your help will be appreciated you must understand.
Just be kind and forgiving friendly and true;
Just be who you are, that your goodness shines through.
Stop thinking of self stop hiding away,
Get out there and do something; make someone happy today.
Your burdens will be lifted you will feel so free,
For doing for others is the way it should be.
For we all had the same desires to give others a hand,
No one would need helping; you do understand?
For the richer get poorer and the poorer folk sing
For to give to the beggar, is to make him a king.
The more money you have the less you have got,
Too many flowers won’t grow in the same little pot,
Soon the pot begins cracking as the roots bury deep,
The flowers start to wither; you lose all your sleep.
You have too many to choose from, all so well dressed;
The last one is always the one you like best.
When the first one was forgotten that decorated the pot,
Was the beginning of losing all that you’ve got.
For like many folk in searching for what you already have,
You walk a narrow disappointing perpetual path.
There’s no glory in riches, no satisfaction in fame,
For your friends are but shadows and love is a game:
A game of deceit, false desire and greed,
And a target for envious fools, if your ambitions succeed.
When people come to my home they look and they stare,
Their inquisitive eyes moving from table to chair;
Making judgments as the aniles, all that they see
To compare with their own idea of how things should be.
They check out your car, “Oh, how much did it cost”
“It’s a bit smaller than mine though the one I wanted I lost.”
“yeah well I’m a bit thrifty, and as tight of a fishes…er lip,
So I to let the Rolls Royse from my spending spree slip”
I settled for this one, it will just have to do,
As I don’t have the wealth that seems to matter to you”.
I don’t know what they say when they leave to go home,
Nor do I care what they drive nor what car they might own.
But it seems I’m unique in being so slovenly and lax,
But I love the shock in their eyes when I say, “I don’t pay any tax.”
Well I may not deserve it I’m not sure about that,
I would like to be normal, you know, ugly and fat!
It’s just that I went to Asia to taste the air and its smells,
Its jungle diseases, its heavens and its hells.
I volunteered you know; I was a professional man
So I was not much bothered going over to Vietnam.
I enjoyed being a soldier I was proud of my lot,
And was quite willing for my country to kill or be shot.
I got sick with malaria but their bullets missed me,
But I was unaware of the orange stuff that I couldn’t see.
Maybe that’s what gave me diabetes, and developed my ire,
I dunno really but I’ll never call another man sir.
There had to be a reason why I was serving out there,
Risking my life like I was too dumb to care.
Well it was what we had trained for; we were solders you know;
What’s the point of all that training if there was nowhere to go.
It was exciting and serious and challenging and real,
It was a test of our skill and our back bone and zeal,
But we were JUST soldiers – manipulated numbers, not men,
Expendable but relied on be we a thousand or ten.
We represented our country; its first line of defence,
We were aware of the risks that our time there would be tense.
We were a team united by our system of law;
Every man knew his duty we had trained hard for this war.
But why were we there; was it the truth that they told,
Could we not know the answer until we tired and were old.
As soldiers it was perfect we tested our abilities in war,
But when we came home we didn’t want to say what we saw.
We thought that our country would welcome us home,
But when I walked from the airport I stood outside all alone.
My girl friend, she met me but it was a hello and goodbye,
And my heart it was shattered for I did not know why.
I was lost and so lonely and I could not go home,
For my burden was heavy and was not theirs but my own.
But eventually I got sober and put on a fine face,
They were delighted to see me, of my woes there was no trace.
When I returned to the barracks promoted as well,
I was so glad to be back and ready for my next roll in hell.
But I wondered why people treated me as a freak,
As I pub crawled for ages; friendship desperate to seek.
Year after year I did this, I was drunk every night,
It seems what we did in South Vietnam was considered not right.
I went off into the wilderness where I was always at home,
To escape from the night clubs I’d spent enough money in to own.
Just my camera and me, a four wheel drive and a bike,
And a small boat for the river and good boots for a hike.
I left the army behind and hopefully the world as well,
But I knew running away was not a good tale to tell.
So I worked for the railways and was soon running a team,
Erecting telephone poles over mountain and stream.
We camped all the time as the whole coastline was mine
To maintain and construct the new cable and line.
This suited me fine; I could still drink every night,
And hammer my road bike like a spear through the night.
I’d had three DUI’s and crashed my good car,
But now I was okay…well I was okay so far.
There was no Faye, no Nancy no Sheila no Mel,
No friend like Tony, and Woody as well,
No Alan, no James and no Jim and no Terry
No Gary, no Butterfly, no Fred and no Mary,
No Ritch, no Mark, no Rogue and no Gar
No Brownie, no JJ, no Dani and Poppa.
There was no Rebecca; no blue eyes, refined,
No miraculous twins; Usan was remarkably kind.
Though brief in my life with this family I share,
All my inner collections of love and despair,
Of struggle of turmoil lost hope and distress,
Of recovery and will power without trying to impress.
So now to proceed after this brief interlude,
That seemed to slip in with a will to intrude.
©Copyright April 4, 2009 by Colin F. Jones