Eyes Of Mr D (Part 3)
(The author recommends that you read Parts One and Two before reading this.)
For a week, he frantically looked
for her at the bus stop
and the surrounding area.
Unfortunately, he could not see her anywhere.
It was as if she had vanished into thin air.
He bought most every paper,
looking for her picture there somewhere,
but it never appeared.
At his ground floor flat, he paced about.
She was on his mind constantly.
He need to find her,
but was lost on what to do.
He could not go to the police;
they would take him as a crank,
or worst still,
accuse him of being a murderer.
He had to get them to listen.
The question was how?
The next day he drew out some money,
then went to the bad side of town,
and purchased himself an illegal gun.
He set out writing a note
saying everything he had to say.
He could not go any longer living this way.
He need to escape the torment
and helplessness he felt.
He could not go on with his feelings tide,
the only way out he could see was suicide.
Now he had a weapon to help him with his quest.
One single bullet
and fate would do the rest.
Sitting in the sunlight,
suddenly he could see
a time, a place and a date.
What did it all mean?
He would have to visit the place
before he performed his final act.
He had to know what was there.
Next morning he travelled to the place,
a park with a lake and wooden bridge.
Dotted around the side of the lake
were park benches and several people sitting there.
The wooden bridge spanned the lake at a narrow part.
He had seen enough,
and he knew what he had to do.
At his flat he passed a neighbour,
he put his gloomiest expression on.
He did not talk,
just nodded with a long engraved frown.
He past them in the hall.
Entering the flat,
he sat at the table just visible from the door.
He lifted the gun and pointed at his temple.
It had to end now and forever more…
Outside in the hall the neighbour
heard the shot and something heavy fall.
Rushing to their flat the emergency services called.
Within in minutes a police car arrived,
and pulled up outside the flat.
The anguished neighbour rushed out to them.
She explained what had happened
and everything that she had heard,
the shot and the loud thump.
One of the Constables rushed
to the front door of the flat.
He shouted out the name
the neighbour had told him.
However, no answer came back.
The neighbour then explained
she had a spare key
because he used to be blind.
She gave it to the Constable.
He inserted the key in the lock
and then gave it a twist.
The door swung open.
To be continued……
7 June 2007
poem by David Harris
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Eyes Of Mr D (Part 4)
Entering the flat
the Constable found no one there.
He searched every room,
nothing, only the fired gun on a note
left on the table.
He had noticed the back window
was left slightly ajar.
He picked up the note
and quickly read it through,
then put it in his pocket
along with the gun.
He smiled to the neighbour
as he left the flat.
He told her to lock it;
Mr D would be coming back.
At the car he got in
saying that,
they had to go back
to the station.
He sat on a bench
near the waters edge.
The white walking stick
resting between his legs.
He could not look at his watch,
as that would give the game away.
A blind man is not supposed to see,
so he had no idea of the time.
All he could tell
that day was turning into night.
He stood up;
he had to stretch his legs.
He moved along to
the bench by the bridge.
The dark waters of the lake,
lapped against the shore.
Then he heard the footsteps
walking across the wooden bridge.
He knew by the sound
they were of a woman’s shoe.
He did not look up
to see who it was,
just listened, as they got closer,
until they were in front of him.
He could now see her face,
under the light of the moon.
Her hair was dark,
and danced on her shoulders.
He wanted to say something,
but though he better not.
The killer could be lurking,
in the bushes somewhere,
waiting for his chance,
when he thought
the coast was clear.
She stopped and stood,
near the waters edge;
she watched the moon’s silver finger
dance on the breeze-ruffled waves.
He sat unnoticed except
for his white walking stick.
The blind could see nothing
at least that is what he hoped
anyone passing would think.
Then from the darkness, he emerged.
A mask of death he wore.
He moved quietly up behind the woman,
extended his hands out to her neck.
To be concluded……
poem by David Harris
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Hat Too Flat
We come in on the morning scan
All the way from far arcturus
Bringing with us peace and good will
From the margins of space and time
Our women are slung down low to the ground
Theyre very good youve probably had one
Our men are brave, studly and wise,
A pleasure to behold
Right away we walk the walk
More or less we talk the talk
But every time we make our play
Their eyes get wide they run away
cause the hat stays too flat
My hat is way too flat
My english she is much better now
But my hat remains too flat
The man smells a rat
And thats the end of that
My english it is more better now
But my hat is still too flat
Fair arcturus fashion forecast:
Skirts will be shorter
Legs stay long
Virtual raincoats are coming back
Hats as always continued flat
Back at home the machines work hard
We folk like to take it easy
Honing our awareness of
The finer things of life
Here when I go down to my job
I work hard for what seems like a long time
I look at my watch: fifteen minutes
It felt like half a day!
Soon enough we break for lunch
Me and the boys now Im one of the bunch
But no one wants to sit with me
So tell me what can the matter be?
The hat stays too flat
My hat is way too flat
My english she is much better now
But the hat is just too flat
A little thing like that
They dont get past the hat
My english it is more better now
But my hat remains too flat
song performed by by Steely Dan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Respectable Street
Heard the neighbour slam his car door,
Don't he realise this is respectable street?
What d'you think he bought that car for?
'cause he realise this is respectable street
Now they talk about absorption,
In cosmopolitan proportions to their daughters,
As they speak of child prevention,
And immaculate receptions on their portable,
Sony entertainment centres.
Heard the neighbour slam his car door,
Don't he realise this is respectable street?
What d'you think he bought that car for?
'cause he realise this is respectable street
Now she speak about diseases,
And which proposition pleases best her old man,
Avon lady fills the creases,
When she manages to squeeze in past the caravans,
That never move from their front gardens.
It's in the order of their hedgerows,
It's in the way their curtains open and close,
It's in the look they give you down their nose,
All part of decency's jigsaw i suppose.
Sunday church and they look fetching,
Saturday night saw him stretching over our fence,
Bang the wall for me to turn down,
I can see them with their stern frown,
As they dispense the kind of look that says they're perfect.
Heard the neighbour slam his car door,
Don't he realise this is respectable street?
What d'you think he bought that car for?
'cause he realise this is respectable street
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Neighbour
Neighbour
is good
Friend...
Neighbour is
good relation...
Neighbour is
Your brother...
Neighbour is
Your sister...
Neighbour is
Your mother...
Neighbour is
father and gran father...
All are thear...
Neighbour is
Not neighbour...also
your family...
Love it...
Help it...
Enjoy it...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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You Can Do That
Lennon/McCartney)
I got something to say that might cause you pain,
If I catch you talking to that boy again,
I'm gonna let you down,
And leave you flat,
Because I told you before, oh,
You can't do that.
Well, it's the second time, I've caught you talking to him,
Do I have to tell you one more time, I think it's a sin,
I think I'll let you down.
Let you down and leave you flat,
Gonna let you down and leave you flat,
Because I've told you before, oh,
You can't do that.
Ev'rybody's green,
'cause I'm the one, who won your love,
But if it's seen,
You're talking that way they'd laugh in my face.
So please listen to me, if you wanna stay mine,
I can't help my feelings, I'll go out of my mind.
I know I'll let you down,
And leave you flat,
Gonna let you down and leave you flat,
Because I've told you before, oh,
You can't do that
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Can't Do That
I got something to say that might cause you pain,
If i catch you talking to that boy again,
I'm gonna let you down,
And leave you flat,
Because i told you before, oh,
You can't do that.
Well, it's the second time, i've caught you talking to him,
Do i have to tell you one more time, i think it's a sin,
I think i'll let you down.
Let you down and leave you flat,
Gonna let you down and leave you flat,
Because i've told you before, oh,
You can't do that.
Ev'rybody's green,
'cause i'm the one, who won your love,
But if it's seen,
You're talking that way they'd laugh in my face.
So please listen to me, if you wanna stay mine,
I can't help my feelings, i'll go out of my mind.
I know i'll let you down,
And leave you flat,
Gonna let you down and leave you flat,
Because i've told you before, oh,
You can't do that.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Graced
I am graced and I greet you with open arms,
Hands are stretched out to keep your heart.
My heart has good wishes for you,
I want to complain, I need some time to explain.
The neighbour is to be loved,
That neighbour is you and my heart.
I want to marry the dream of my choice,
That next-door person is you, my choice.
I read the complaint I make, and I have warmth,
For warm feelings deliver a peace.
You are to be loved like the one next-door,
The neighbour of decisions, no lies.
poem by Naveed Akram
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How badly good!
I helped my neighbour put out the fire.
Yes, it should not spread to my door.
Heard of robbers in the next flat,
I bolted in, tight lipped,
And later said I was fast asleep.
I speak ill of men who eye woman
So that I can hide my evil eyes.
I attend my invalid parents
To show my son for his turn.
I did all frauds to heap wealth
To leave my children in good stead.
I met petty needs of people around
Lest my funeral should go unattended.
How badly I have grown good!
14.05.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sparky's Inside Your Cat
My dad bought me a goldfish,
Of him I was really fond,
His jar was really far too small,
So my dad built me a pond.
I called my goldfish Sparky,
In honour of my dad,
Full of life and boisterous,
He really was quite mad.
My neighbour used to say to me,
I don't want you to fret,
But if you don't watch your goldfish,
He'll make a meal for my nice pet.
She said her cat liked real fish,
That really made me worry,
I'd have to buy a safety net,
I needed it in a hurry.
Despite all my precautions,
I felt really put upon,
For when I checked on Sparky,
I found that he had gone.
I really did my best for him,
My God how hard I tried,
Yet despite all my best efforts,
My Sparky had now died.
When My neighbour heard me crying,
She asked me what was wrong,
When I told her what had happened,
She said you must be strong.
It's what nature had intended,
The cat has got its wish,
My feline friend has won the day,
It has ate your little fish.
I said to her well such is life,
One cannot tell a lie,
Everything alive on Earth,
Including cats must die.
It was then I knew the answer,
For my pain to be relieved,
If I dug a grave for Sparky,
I'd feel that I had grieved.
When I prepared his resting place,
I put in all his toys,
My neighbor then peered over and said
Who's making all that noise.
I said I was burying Sparky,
To ease my awful pain,
I explained he'd gone to Heaven,
But one day we'd meet again.
My neighbour burst out laughing,
She said don't be so absurd,
You don't even have his last remains,
She hadn't listened to a word.
She laughingly then asked me,
Why dig a grave as big as that,
I told her the reason was simple,
‘'Sparky's Inside Your Cat''
Being Insensitive
You said to me 'if' I rode my bicycle,
I may or MAY NOT get a flat tire.
Well...
Mister President,
I 'did' get that flat.
And I'd like to know...
What you intend to do about it?
'I understand the gravity of your concern.
I can either take the bicycle back.
Which this administration purchased,
At no cost to you at all.
Or...
You can fix the flat tire yourself,
Creating a minor inconvenience.
To get back and forth from A to B.
Opposed to hitchhiking,
Or taking your time to walk.
Getting both exercise...
And obtaining a more healthier outlook on life.'
But Mister President,
Don't you think your response is a bit insensitive?
'Perhaps you are right.
I should have been more direct,
And called you an imbecile for your attempts...
To accuse and blame me for your recklessness.
Sit down fool.
Now...
That's being insensitive!
Next comment or question? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You Dream Flat Tires
It came to pass
Like lightening striking from above
Electric flash
Just like lightening striking from above
Struck by precious love
Precious, precious love
So hopeless and so inspired
Why do you dream flat tires
When you dream flat tires?
You dream flat tires
With a jack and a spare youre there
Trying to get to where love is
Coming in on a wing and a prayer
Trying to get to where love is
cause love is precious love
You said it was precious
When first you felt my fire
Before you dreamed flat tires
You dreamed flat tires
You dream flat tires
Woman she bounce back easy
But a man could break both his legs
Are you telling me that to tease me?
Or just to hear me beg
Please dont go!
Cause I know that you love me
But, when are you going to let love be
Just a vague flirtation
Or extra special company?
cause love is precious love
Everybody knows its precious
When first they feel that fire
Before they dream flat tires
They dream flat tires
They dream flat tires
Woman she bounce back easy
But a man could break both his legs
Do you tell me that to tease me
Or just to hear me beg
Please dont be cold
I know that you love me
But, what are you going to let love do?
(flat tires, love, love is precious, flat tires,
Love, love is precious, flat tires, love,
Love is precious)
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The military police
One afternoon
just after returning from work
there was a knock on the front door
and three military policemen
with flat orange hats,
and orange arm flashes
demanded to come in
and wanted to search my place
as somebody had told them
that I was a friend of someone
for whom they had an arrest warrant
for not turning up to camp
and the simpletons thought
that I was hiding him.
Being in the citizens force,
I intensely disliked the military police
and knew that he was quite safe from them
and showed them the gate
which made them really angry,
but they were furious
when I told them that I knew
where to find him
and that they could go
to the local police station
where he was on duty.
poem by Gert Strydom
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An Innocent Victim
She was a lively
and a bubbly girl of three,
running around and playing
with her brother in her flat.
As the sun went down
she fell ill and
started vomitting.
Short of breath
she was rushed to the hospital
she began sinking
Inhaling the pesticide
sprayed in a
neighbouring flat,
she struggled with life now
ultimately she gave up
and died
without an antidote
for the banned pesticide.
Was she destined to die like this?
A question left unanswered.
poem by Rizvana Parveen
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A Little Bit More
When your bodys had enough of me
And Im laying flat out on the floor
When you think Ive loved you all I can
Im gonna love you a little bit more
Come on over and lay by my side
Ive got to be touching you.
Let me rub your tired shoulders
The way I used to do.
Look into my eyes and give me that smile
The one that always turns me on
And let me take your harir down
Cause were staying up to greet the sun.
And when your bodys had enough of me
And Im laying flat out on the floor
When you think Ive loved you all I can
Im gonna love you a little bit more
Got to say a few things that have been on my mind
You know where my mind has been
I guess I learned my lessons
And nows the time to begin
So if youre feelin alright and youre ready for me
I know that Im ready for you
We better get it on now
Cause we got our whole life to live through
And when your bodys had enough of me
And Im layin flat out on the floor
When you think Ive loved you all I can
Im gonna love you a little bit more
When your bodys had enough of me
And Im layin flat out on the floor.....
song performed by by 911
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Happy Flatite
We were living in a flat; it was number eighty-three.
At eighty-four the Barleys lived, a fearsome man was he.
He had a wife and numerous kids. We heard then rip and cuss,
Some three feet and a quarter off, across the hall from us.
And when the Barley boys broke out, and ended up in fight,
Or when the Barley baby read the Riot Act at night,
And on their balcony their cat put up an eerie moan,
The fearful Barley family might as well have been our own.
When Barley after parting with some others of the ilk
Came panting up the narrow stairs, and drank our jug of milk,
Then broke out at his missus, and as fiercely answered she –
Where was the great advantage of our marked sobriety?
When Barley bedded early he would shake the common floor
And fill the gulf of night with an intolerable snore,
And people in the other wing at us their bluchers threw –
What good if we slept soft as snow and silent as the dew?
This Barley when unoccupied would fill my study chair,
And utilise much time, and take up space I could not spare,
To tell me of the deeds he’d done, his drinkings deep and vast,
And ladies who had loved him in his sanguinary past.
And Mrs. Barley dropped in – in the morning, as a rule –
And stayed till lunch and chattered like a ladies’ boarding-school.
Then she borrowed bread and onions, and wondered if she might
Leave her little Willie with us. She was going out till night.
Our little flat’s forsaken; we have left St. Kilda road;
We knew not where to go to, and we haven’t an abode;
But no flat in any building that we’d suffered in was worth
The comfort of a camp-out. So we’re flat upon the earth!
poem by Edward George Dyson
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Move On Out
So you tell me youre certain about it
Sure to tell me youre rid of me
How cool can you be
Shrugging your shoulders saying youre rid of me
Thats the way it is
So sickly sweet and oh so candy
No matter which way it is
Ill live in the flat the council gave me
Youd better move on out now
Leave town and get on out now
Living with each other only for the sake of it
Living in a shack they said was 'handy
Your good looks blew you out and now you want no part of it
Suffice to tell me youre rid of me
Thats the way it is
Ill live in the flat that the housing gave me
Look uh get outa here!
Get outa here!
Youd better move on out now
Leave town and get on out now
Poisoned letters from snakes who died to make it
Hung out drying in the cemetery
My personality always is a problem
Always was and always will be
Thats the way it is
You dont need to understand me
No matter which way it is
Ill live in the flat that the housing gave me
Look uh get outa here!
Get outa here!
song performed by by Simply Red
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Silent River
The river usually runs in such a great rush,
But, today, it is still, and there is only hush.
I glance over at it, in the darkness, as I pass:
I see the river’s surface is as smooth as glass.
It’s like the river itself is feeling the great grief,
Of losing someone, whose time on earth was brief.
It appears to be grieving for its long time neighbour,
Who, for many years, in the nearby store, did labour.
Just like people, it stands in silence, to show its respect,
And its many thoughts and feelings, it wants to collect.
No more will the river, running through this restful place,
See its neighbour with her eternally happy and smiling face.
From the river, to be heard, there isn’t a single sound:
Night time has fallen, so no ducks or swans are around.
Never before, can I recall the river being so totally still;
It’s as though it has decided to stop of its own free will.
From what I can see, and this may sound just a little bit mad,
The river, just like its neighbour’s family and friends, is sad.
It isn’t in the mood to chatter cheerfully, to dance, or to run;
Now is its time of remembrance: not a time for it to have fun.
Soon, it will continue on its journey, but it will remember,
The loss of this lovely lady, on the tenth day of December.
As it journeys onwards, its surface will shimmer and shake,
And, with it, precious memories of its neighbour, it will take.
(In memory of Debbie Baptiste)
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Music In The Flat
When Tom and I were married, we took a little flat;
I had a taste for singing and playing and all that.
And Tom, who loved to hear me, said he hoped
I would not stop
All practice, like so many wives who let their
music drop.
So I resolved to set apart an hour or two each day
To keeping vocal chords and hands in trim to sing and play.
The second morning I had been for half and hour or more
At work on Haydn’s masses, when a tap came at my door.
A nurse, who wore a dainty cap and apron, and a smile,
Ran down to ask if I would cease my music for awhile.
The lady in the flat above was very ill, she said,
And the sound of my piano was distracting to her head.
A fortnight’s exercises lost, ere I began them, when,
The following morning at my door, there came that tap again;
A woman with an anguished face implored me to forego
My music for some days to come – a man was dead below.
I shut down my piano till the corpse had left the house,
And spoke to Tom in whispers and was quiet as a mouse.
A week of labour limbered up my stiffened hand and voice,
I stole an extra hour from sleep, to practice and rejoice;
When, ting-a-ling, the door-bell rang a discord in my trill –
The baby in the flat across was very, very ill.
For ten long days that infant’s life was hanging by a thread,
And all that time my instrument was silent as the dead.
So pain and death and sickness came in one perpetual row,
When babies were not born above, then tenants died below.
The funeral over underneath, some one fell ill on top,
And begged me, for the love of God, to let my music drop.
When trouble went not up or down, it stalked across the hall,
And so in spite of my resolve, I do not play at all.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Crane
A neighbour finds a crane noble
who neither warns nor boasts.
Ripples, hindrance to scheme,
trigger the neighbour's dream
of visiting a lake, as needed,
but living in the sky
where nobility's required:
'An albatross, you know,
would flop around down here;
should always only fly.
I disdain the ripples.
I keep my thought on high.'
poem by Douglas Scotney
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Vision at Little Bighorn
I went to Little Bighorn
On a hot summer day,1987,
I wondered if the Seventh Cavalry
Was in hell or heaven -
Out there all alone
I came upon the old General's ghost wandering around,
He kept glancing far away
While staying close to the ground -
I'll never know for certain
If he saw me or not,
He just kept wringing his hands
As if he couldn't stop -
Upon the path where he paced
Blood dripped from his boots,
It soaked in deep and wide
Down to the prairie grass roots -
From way down in this hallowed ground
I heard the dead soldiers cries,
The agony of the lost
Who so long ago on this spot died -
No one else was there under the burning sun
This mysterious scene to see,
I observed it all
Alone, on the desolate, dry prairie -
I felt as if a visitor
Watching from another time,
Perhaps the heat had got to me
Or I'd simply lost my mind -
I tried
But I could not walk away,
I wanted to ask him 'Why? '...
Yet no words could I say -
I just stayed there
Hour upon hour,
Watching, listening... feeling it all...
As if in the grip of a strange power -
I swear I saw Sitting Bull
Riding swiftly toward me on a spotted horse,
I was knocked flat to the ground
By the passing force -
I looked up high
Into the blazing sun,
There I saw Warriors in victory dancing
Realizing full well their fight was done -
Still, I couldn't help to wonder
What of Custer? What was his fate?
Was he too far gone?
Was it, for him, way too late?
Suddenly I was brought back,
when out of nowhere an old medicine man appeared.
Looking into me, as if reading my thoughts, he said,
' Do not worry about Custer, he'll never speak another word.
Because out here all alone the General shall remain, forever dead. ' -
'As for the rest of us
We all must come to understand,
The time to live and work together
Is now at hand. '
Then he reached down and helped me up;
Together we walked the long path back;
Side by side, into the sunset,
We followed the same track. -
poem by Smoky Hoss
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