Colin F. Jones
… WHAT THE HELL!
~ 1 ~
Awarded: July 31, 2005The smoke is rising, towards an empty sky.
The sparks no longer in the night air fly
The flames are dying in the glowing fire,
Tis soon now that the dim light will expire.
Those vacant eyes searching for thoughts lost,
The puzzled frown confused by life’s ill cost,
The terrible frustration as the mind counts back,
Year by year till all memory it doth lack.
That absence from oneself leaves just a shell
Left over from the slow count down through Hell.
A star’s light goes out long before it dies
As in our hearts it still twinkles in the sky.
But then we’ll soon face our own sad demise,
For we know what lives also fades and dies.
~ 2 ~
All too soon the light doth dim and fade
As with old age our youth we sadly trade.
And agile limbs deteriorate to spiteful pain
And beautiful thoughts whither in our brain.
We saw our Mother agonize and die,
Who left us here to reason and to cry.
And now our father, like a retarded child,
By awful time has his mind defiled,
As death draws near to take his life away,
That his body laid to rest might soon decay.
My own pace is devalued; I walk not far,
I’m thankful that this age provides the car
For while I hobble with pain upon these feet
Tis nice, sometimes, to appreciate a seat.
~ 3 ~
The family fort doth crumple before my eyes;
Each soul to face what each one doth despise.
This generation in the final chapters of its being,
Losing sight of youth is its own extinction seeing,
As one by one we fall to deaths cruel hand
And are cast as dust or buried in the land.
Beyond the grave we know not what can be.
We have no mind to think, no eyes to see.
We rot away as ingredients of the whole
Gone beyond the formation of the soul.
Those left behind with myth and who pretend,
Pray and hope that they all comprehend.
But they are doomed to live until they die,
Just like our parents; just like you and I.
~ 4 ~
I’ve seen so many die in peace and war.
Those lives cut short are the pains we store
For life, with all its vices and its trials,
Is all we have and we must walk the miles.
The gallows wait; erected at our birth,
For we only have a certain time on Earth,
Condemned to die simply because we live,
And all we have is ourselves to give.
And while our span of time marks out its way
There rises from its structures more decay
And institutions exploiting what we fear –
That final day when death comes looming near.
Dominated now with subliminal thought,
We are unaware of what we’re being taught.
~ 5 ~
For myth becomes belief in those who fear;
And superstition soon is changing gear
That losing logic we resort to lie
Lest death becomes the end when we all die.
We know the mind is gone; the flesh and skin,
The heart the liver; every part of him.
Tis soon we need to resurrect a God
Lest all life ends deep in the morbid sod.
So over death we seek to make a claim,
But only those who live will know his name.
That power becomes the motive of the rule
That moves mankind like children attending school.
And all that it unites it will divide
Death the blackmail of its falser side.
~ 6 ~
Across the plains of Africa the death sounds wail;
Children starve and die with the old and frail.
And all across the world the harsh guns roar;
Maim and mangle in the lands of the rich and poor.
Where in this gloom resides this gracious Lord
Whose ways and dreams most folk cannot afford;
Who fails to serve the tragic folk who pray
Believing that he will somehow pave the way?
But yet they suffer atrocities and pain
For it is not true what their Churches claim.
Yet we the vain cling to our selfish dreams,
Ignoring the cries for help and the awful screams;
And moan about the price we pay for beer
And how hard it is to establish a career.
~ 7 ~
They dream of fame who would not famous be
As would a prisoner longing to be free
From the gentle charms of a woman’s care,
Knowing love works best when one is in despair.
How brave the man whose chains restrict his way;
He strains against them having much to say
But when released such freedom makes him mute
And exhaustion seems to quell his bold dispute.
If we are to discover who we really are
Then by ourselves we need to travel far;
That of our passions someone really knows
Because we stepped upon their tender toes.
Or better, if we like to sit and dream
We can without remiss be what we glean.
~ 8 ~
I am not what they might want me to be;
I am the man I am for all to see.
I speak the mind that is my very own
And not somebody’s parrot puppet clone.
Who else am I if not this loyal me?
Each branch belongs to this one unique tree,
These feet are mine on which I deftly walk;
This voice I have is for my words to talk.
I do not “belong”; I am unique and free
And it matters not who might disagree.
My sky is clear of all the smoke and cloud.
I’m not a member of the established crowd.
My verse is neither new nor is it old,
And the way I write is the way it will be told.
~ 9 ~
A proud Australian, I love the land and sea
Where people play here – affluent and free;
Where the poorest of the poor are better fed
Than most of the world that strive to get ahead.
I owe much to those who make this land so good
Where I have fought through famine and through flood.
This land for which I risked my life in war,
Because of this culture I desire more.
Yet I am not a slave to flag and state,
(Though to both I proudly can relate)
For first of all I am a human soul,
Part of the world, part of its diverse whole.
And though an Island I can never be,
My loyalty and truth are pledged to me.
~ 10 ~
I’m not owed a living lest of it I’ve been deprived
Through means of law or by plots vile contrived.
I served as a soldier because that’s what fair men do,
That I can stand a patriot among the rest of you.
Why should I moan it was my chosen life?
I’m not a fool. I know soldiers face much strife.
I know the costs of going off to fight a war
That some see nothing, while others see much more.
Some stand strong, while some more weaker are;
Some milk the coffers some have genuine scar.
But all that I am, I am and am proud to be
For I know the truth will never wane in me.
I bow to none; I lick no others feet,
For the power of truth, no lie can ere defeat.
~ 11 ~
I side not with you because you are much feared,
Or with you who is by most revered.
I care not how much your treasure chest doth hold
Nor if you are timid or if you are bold.
I don’t give a damn what colour you call your skin
nor where you come from or where you have been.
It matters not to me what myth you choose to claim
Is your belief that is intended to enslave or shame
For I shall speak out firmly for all who choose to hear
And make my comments honest and quite clear.
And whoever shall determine that I’m wrong
Will drown themselves in their own prejudice song
For none of any truth can claim to know
What they can’t set before themselves to show.
~ 12 ~
I am myself, I am who I am, I’m me;
With only my own eyes can I see
I was myself formed to be myself; I am no other,
Subservient to none; to my sister nor my brother.
Bound not by trend or by another’s thought,
I conform not to what others have been taught.
My ideas are mine; my thoughts; my phrases
My words; my rhyme; all that my verse embraces.
I am not the institute; its pawn; its puppet nor its slave;
I am alone; unique and dignified until the grave
Determines what it will do with my flesh and bone
For there is no copy; no imitation and no clone.
Thus I was born to be the man you see
And nothing changes if you don’t agree.
~ 13 ~
History shows how religious institutions think;
How they force their will in ways that are distinct;
How they divide and cause in minds a rift
When you and I would simply share a gift.
A single friend has more value than a Church.
A single smile knocks a fool right off his perch!
The loyalty shared with a real friend
Who does nor preach, and needs not to pretend;
No claims of grandeur; no blisters on his nose,
Just an honest person dressed in one’s own clothes.
Paint not my shadow with your counterfeit paint.
With your own faults more truth you should acquaint.
For me, I am not subject to your rules
Imposed by people who depend on faithful fools.
~ 14 ~
Three in one, or is it one in three,
It is enough that none of them I see.
It’s enough to rival Harry Potter at his best
Or a limping Lion in a thorny test;
Or perhaps some bloke having a whale of a time
While everyone who is born commits a crime.
And yet poor Grimm has passed into a void,
And Alice and her Rabbits, people now avoid.
Yet Peter Pan, the most magical of them all,
Still animates while more foul pirates fall.
Yet while good Nuns to heaven still float off
On rainy days while folk without umbrella’s scoff.
Life goes on and we live until we die
And all the children laugh until we cry.
~ 15 ~
A frail old man now bleeding through his skin:
His face so shallow his body veined and thin.
He wears a diaper beneath his pyjama shorts,
His cold, cold fingers unfeeling in them caught.
I feed him with hot fish pushed between his lips
(His favourite food, with salt and vinegar chips).
Still making jokes through the misty waves
Where yet his brilliant mind in reminiscence bathes
As he fights with gripping hands to tear himself away,
For he knows he’s in this jail now until his final day.
What can we do? Our sickness is beyond normal belief.
We struggle for the answers for tragic is our grief,
But this is how a Warrior who did not die in war
Disintegrates undignified at death’s horrid door.
~ 16 ~
What man of any measure would want to die this way,
Who has carved from life a living for which he now must pay;
Who has fought for King and country and for his wife and kin;
Has struggled through great hardships that they may by it win?
None could have been more loyal, more human, or more strong
As this man who is my Father to whom my better parts belong.
He will be buried with our Mother when finally he dies,
Where at least there will be love inlaid where her body lies,
And I hope, because she believed in God and believed in Angels too,
That they will meet in heaven and prove that love is really true.
I can think no other thoughts than these sad thoughts I express;
I’m distraught and I am crying, this I must in haste confess.
We do these things alone you know, we men who never cry,
Who think nothing of ourselves but hate to see another die.
~ 17 ~
I see my brother failing and my sisters they are too,
And my wife is sick and tortured that I know not what to do.
So I just keep on keeping on doing what I can
Just like every other woman and every other man.
For though I think I am unique, I am no different from the rest,
For we all must live and face this life and do our very best;
To cope with all its terrors, its wonderments, and pains,
And with great gratitude in our hearts for all the things we gain.
It is dreadful what we suffer, for we know our sons will suffer too,
And our daughters and our friends before their lives are through.
I am writing this for no one; for myself I think it’s for,
For I have not, in my turbulent life, felt this way before.
So now I rest from torment for I need to close my eyes
Lest I hear the constant sounds of the truth that I despise.
©Copyright July 6, 2005 by Colin F. Jones