out for lunch

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Bricks Upon Bricks

November 22nd, 2011 by f32dream
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Bricks Upon Bricks‘ was ‘Highly Commended‘ in the ‘Level 3 Advanced’ section of the FaithWriters writing challenge. USA 2011.

Also to read the lovely comments and critiques that this poem has received, read the original version at FaithWriters

——————

Bricks upon Bricks

One, two and three
thud, thud & thud
bricks upon bricks
Babel’s rubble raises again.

I once used my fingers
then stored the answers in my head
grew into a calculator
now I google instead.

One, two and three
thud, thud & thud
bricks upon bricks.

Map books and rulers
arithmetic and thinking
all necessary for calculating distance
plug it in and bing.com you have your answer.

One, two and three
thud, thud & thud
bricks upon bricks.

Those lovely road maps
from a bygone era
getting directions
search.yahoo.com.

One, two and three
thud, thud & thud
bricks upon bricks.

Community nurses
neighbour’s remedies
mother’s wisdom
health problems, just ask.com.

One, two and three
thud, thud & thud
bricks upon bricks.

Anything, anything at all
forget the encyclopaedia
and other lowly things
lift your eyes up, altavista.com.

One, two and three
thud, thud & thud
bricks upon bricks.

Soon brainless
with stubby fingers
our dollar will read
‘in Google we trust’.

Then one, two three
thud upon thud
Babelling bricks will fall
and search-engines will tower no longer.

———————–
Thank you so much for reading ‘out for lunch’. If you would like to contribute, please do. Thanks Kel.

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‘Bristol or Bust’ venues & times

October 31st, 2011 by f32dream
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Walsall

October 28th, 2011 by f32dream
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Klaipeda, here we come

October 5th, 2011 by f32dream
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BRISTOL – Bristol or Bust

September 26th, 2011 by f32dream
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Silly Not-On

August 29th, 2011 by f32dream
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Men with balls, spectators with none.
Sport flourishes in the absence of war.
Australia experiencing an historic Ashes loss.
Whilst New Zealand rejoices in an English victory.
It is silly not-on racism.

———————–
Thank you so much for reading ‘out for lunch’. If you would like to contribute, please do. Thanks Kel.

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Rodelio and Rohelio

August 23rd, 2011 by f32dream
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~12th Place Editor’s Choice Award

‘Rodelio and Rohelio’ won 3rd place the ‘Level 3 Advanced’ section of the FaithWriters writing challenge. USA 2011.

Also to read the lovely comments and critiques that this poem has received, read the original version at ‘FaithWriters‘.

—————-

Rodelio and Rohelio
part 1

In a Cebuano village
under palms, papaya and poverty
Rodelio and Rohelio
twin boys arrived in this world
innocent and free
bound in their fate

In a culture and class
where family survival
depends on healthy men
a rumour escaped
from their hessian hut
that Rodelio was beautiful
and Rohelio had club-foot

Shame and pity shrouded
in humidity and midday sun
forced Rodelio’s Dad to flee
flee to the joy and the glory
of a anxiety free
solvent tin

And me
the Joe, the white man
driven to prayer
through anger and injustice
driven to action
motived by faith
and western values

I stormed off to my doctor
told him the story
of twins born in a village slum
absent Dad, passive overwhelmed Mum
and a kid who will bring humiliation
without income or food

In a nation where affliction is normal
and goodwill to all is all too expensive
my doctor said ‘treatment is possible
but only with money’
I had faith, earnest faith
and only faith

Again we laid hands on the infant
pressed our prayers into the throne room of God
God was listening, just not answering
wounded and determined
I carried my expectations
off to the city council

Poverty ain’t precious
on a Filipino island
and the poor are paralysed
by the predicament of their situation
money moves men
and my pockets were empty
of coins and prayers

Prostrated and pain-stricken
ardently I soldiered on
to the mayor’s office
I poured out my passion
and drowned him in my sorrow
until justice was led to victory
and God got the glory

Rohelio at three days old
was going to visit the capital
sleep in a hospital
and would bring home
years of fish and rice
for his loving mother
and inebriated father

Anger subsiding, praise magnifying
justice given to a poor wean
by a God whose very child
was born into the malady of a manger.

Rodelio and Rohelio
part 2

I was earnest and sincere
loving God
obeying his call to serve the poor
and if I lived in
Liverpool, Lyon or Los Angeles
maybe here this montage could have concluded

Rohelio returned from his undertaking
wearing a healing, itching plaster-cast
the fear, pressure and all night screaming
cast the die of fate one more time

His dad returned
there in the absence of glue,
the bedlam of flowing tears
and the resulting sleeplessness
he ripped the cast off
and pronounced that this was
‘the divine will of God
for his son to have club-foot’

He might have been right
he might have been wrong
but when the boys are old enough
to slip and slide
around in the communal water pump
Rohelio will be watching
and slipping further into poverty

Rodelio and Rohelio
part 3

Rohelio, the divine will of God
is for there to be
no more death, crying and pain
for you to bathe in the waters of healing
and bask in the fountain of life
wait for your miracle
and wait for Christ’s return

And then and perhaps only then
you can explain to me
just what happened.

———————–
Thank you so much for reading ‘out for lunch’. If you would like to contribute, please do. Thanks Kel.

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David

August 23rd, 2011 by f32dream
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‘David’ was first published in ‘Blackmail Press 28‘. [ISSN 1176-4791], New Zealand. 2010.

———————-
David

You lie there in the starkness of your understanding.
Four green walls and a lifeless gurney.
The tube down your throat sucks your history from you,
As the drugs that you use depart from your decaying body.
Detox is the intersection where your history is flushed away and your future is chosen for you.
Borstal for users and naughty boys, but not for drugs.
The court has deemed for you a childhood with a lock and key.
But David as they pump you dry and further condemn your future,
I want to reflect on the fourteen years that have got you here.

Did you ever get to call out the names Mum or Dad,
Is there any memory of them at all?
When did your heart harden,
Did it happen when you were abandoned and institutionalised?
Or did it come from being bullied and beaten, underachieving and surviving on your own?
David you are still a lovely boy, you’re still good inside,
But the barrenness of living with eighty kids has made for you some unhappy choices.
So now David the perception of your genre has moved from a problem to user and looser.
There is only God for you now.

By the way, I saw your abandoned little brother yesterday.
The poor soul was moping around as lost and lonely as ever.
The kid’s still a dreamer but now his hurt is closer to the surface.
He is too young to understand your loveless life,
But he’s old enough to follow your example.
A government paid caregiver, social worker and coach are his last line of defence,
Before he meets you on the other side behind the lock and key.

I don’t blame you David, I am angry at you and I love you, but I don’t blame you.
I don’t even blame God, let alone the system,
I am just numb from walking the tombs of hopelessness and helplessness.
Just numb from the empty lives of so many lovelorn kids.

———————–
Thank you so much for reading ‘out for lunch’. If you would like to contribute, please do. Thanks Kel.

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Needs Met

August 23rd, 2011 by f32dream
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‘Needs Met’ was first published in Side Stream.

Please forgive the quality of the scanning, I will redo it when I receive a copy of the book.

And for those of you who may be interested this is what the original version of the poem looked like. The editing and re-working of the poem was done by ‘Side Stream’.

————

Needs Met

I went to visit the grave of a loved one, whose rebellious child was sucking the life out of her marriage.

I placed some flowers in the tomb beside the toaster on the kitchen table.

Then I pulled some weeds out of her grave with words of self-gratification.

Now that I have met my need to tidy up the grave of my loved one, I left her alone to die in the misery of her life.

I stopped on the way home to put the car through the car wash.

All is well God is nigh safely rest.

———————–
Thank you so much for reading ‘out for lunch’. If you would like to contribute, please do. Thanks Kel.

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Two-ply or not Two-ply

August 19th, 2011 by f32dream
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Of all places
that this could
have happened
it was the
toilet paper section.

Too much Mexican food
the very evening
that late night
out-of-town
guests were arriving.

He resented
being told
‘you used it,
you replace it’.

Cranking up
his beloved
F150
he rushed
into town
determined
to be home
before his wife’s
guests arrived.

Scowling
at the long
check-out lines
he barged his way
through the store.

Frustration set in
this was not
a man’s
natural environment
it took him an
eternity
to find
the
toilet paper aisle.

He had no idea
that there was
such a choice
and he knew
that he was expected
to get
the right
package.

Two-ply
or three-ply
with the cute dog
or the cute baby
forty-eight pack
or twenty-four pack
and what was this
‘aloe scented
for sensitive skin’
all about.

Sweat was beginning
to bead
from his
white straw hat
he could call home
but that was
a weakness.

Eventually
after much angst
he settled on the
twenty-four pack
with the cute dog
but then discovered
it wasn’t American made
so he quickly
put it back
didn’t want the
whole country
to be like
Detroit.

It was then
that he
noticed
he was all alone
like in the
twinkling
of an eye
everyone
had disappeared
checked out
vanished.

The frail
realisation
that
that
crazy
television
preacher
must have been
right,
the
rapture
had come,
settled in.

No point
phoning home
now
his wife and kids
were part of the
faithful
they didn’t need
toilet paper
anymore.

He was alone
totally alone
left with
the toilet paper
the thudding of his
heart
and the piped in music
that horrible music
that always sounded
like
it resided
in the elevators
of hell.

Allowing despair
to take hold
and instinctively
stroking the
roughness
of his handlebar
moustache
he contemplated
his next move.

Suddenly
he noticed
he was not
alone
a curious
little man
in a red
uniform
and
women’s
spectacles
popped his
head
around
the corner.

His spectacles
seemed to be
fogging up
he was
a little short
of breath
and clearly
perturbed.

Their eyes
met
for a
terrified
moment
as the little man said
“I am sorry
we have been
closed
for thirty minutes.
Please proceed
to the check out”.
———————–
Thank you so much for reading ‘out for lunch’. If you would like to contribute, please do. Thanks Kel.

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