These
poems were written when I first started writing poetry on the Roger
Waters Bulletin Board in 1999.
The
first is me telling a rabid Christian he'd have more respect of his
fellow posters if he stopped plagiarising his Bible and posted his
own dogma.
Plagiarism
= Deja Vu = BarkingDogFox
The
street peddler pedals his soul,
to
all that care and don't,
with
microphone and mini-amp he drones on
without
staring his sheep in the face,
nor
caring for who he converts or not,
I
walk by and pity him, but for what?
The
space between me and him grows,
for
I know that I shan't preach,
nor
waste shallow speech, on him nor his type,
for
I keep myself to myself and
ride
off on my bike, and converse with only my ilk.
But
comes to pass when man can no longer, feel
weak
when he knows he is stronger,
as
jaded posturing street preacher,
spreads
his maker’s words and not his to be heard,
in
a site designed for free thought.
Bow
down, bushy tailed one, look in the mirror,
what
do you see that is such a horror,
yourself
amplified in shards of light
blanketed
by dark,
for
your mind is clouded and interminably shrouded,
by
someone who's not you. Oh Bark!
So
you plagiarise to make your name,
where
we free thinkers,
some
good, some stinkers,
express
our deepest, darkest, lightest,
prose
for us and those,
who
wish to share our minds and waters.
Well,
Roger has spoken to us and for us
and
the choking hoards who appreciate free
thought,
so
expression is the recession, clouding your
mind,
I ask you, implore to leave Gods works behind,
when
you make your mark in this thread.
Psalming
is calming, for you and your kith,
myth
or legend for what, do I wonder,
as
history says, that man shall not plunder
the
riches of the mind but
seek
to search for the sake of mankind,
the
answers to questions not written.
Oh
BarkingDogFox,
take
your hand off your eyes, and see why we despise the darkness that
lies within,
with
your hands removed you can touch other books
and
have a good look at others interpretation,
give
your mind-eyes new sensations,
and
marvel at what YOU can produce!
Never
really new what I was writing but in retrospect every poem had a
message, this one for my Brother.
Heart
of Gold
Rub
the cherished rock,
plain
as day
dark
as night
reach
in with your eyes
and
visualise the core.
See
the glitter and
warm
sparkle
of
a nugget,
or
just see,
nothing!
Take
the rock axe,
ready
to hew,
change
your mind
thinking
gold will spill
and
grey ensue.
What
to do?
Admire
the rock
for
what it is,
or
risk ruin for the sake
of
human vanity?
This
one is plainly evident.
Bad
Habits
Rosary
beads clicked,
one,
two, three, four, five
and
boy children made
a
calculated dive 'neath the pews
as
the Black cassock of belief
wandered
by,
prowling.
The
type clicked into place
letter,
epistle, apostle,
bearer
of news
of
little laddies constantly abused
for
many years and mournful
tears
of mothers reading the press,
God
Bless.
And
the Frocks hang
testament
to times
when
crimes were dealt with
in
the Confessional,
no
one clicked for ages
yet
now it is professional
recourse
to unseat the horse.
Click,
click go the beads of sweat
in
the Vatican where a Pope
measures
out the hopes of change
and
the dealings with the Boy Lovers
are
hidden away
for
another day
and
still the crime rolls on.
That
was some time ago now,
belief
has been reinstalled
and
Cassock lifters defrocked
humiliated
for their habits
and
turned into gaols
with
males who like them,
basic
instincts reversed!
Justice
is in the hand of
the
True power,
The
power that reigns supreme,
in
Humanity, and in God,
how
odd!
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