Level Headed
(A series of true incidents from my life)
Whenever there is a crisis
in our family, I am the one
who has to be level headed
to comfort and console,
but when the crisis is over,
I am the one who is shaking like a leaf.
The first time I was called upon,
was when I was twelve or thirteen.
It was to my brother
who was brought up by my grandparents.
(Though I did not know,
he was my brother then)
My grandparents had just died
and Bill was so upset,
and it was left to me
to console and comfort him.
We went for a walk and talked all the while.
When we got home, he felt better after that.
One day my youngest son
while out collecting
a penny for the Guy,
dashed across the road
straight into the side
of a passing car.
He was all right,
just minor cuts and bruises,
but it was left to me
to calm down my wife
and comfort the driver a bit.
Now my eldest son
is another case,
and what I am about to relate
may seem fiction,
but it is the truth.
He was working for a Naval tailors
and they use potassium cyanide
to clean the gold braid.
They kept it in crystal form.
When his then girlfriend ditched him,
he decided to take some of the cyanide.
He diluted it twice,
once with water
and a second time with tea.
He survived by some miracle,
do not ask me how.
He just did.
While everyone was falling
to pieces at the hospital.
It was again left to me
to stand up and be counted,
be level headed again.
Of course, when I saw him
lying in the hospital bed,
I instinctively knew that he would be OK.
My job was to convince everyone
of the fact that he would be OK.
Happily, I was right
and a week later,
he came out of hospital.
Today he and his wife
have a business of their own.
He has several children
and a grand daughter Emily May.
As for me, well I still get called
for any emergency.
I am the calming factor of our family.
The one who never loses it
when a crisis is around.
21 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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My Brother Bill
This is the sad true story about my brother Bill
who was four years older than me.
He was born and then tossed aside by his mother
who left him to his father’s parents to raise,
then promptly disappeared out of his life forever.
My grandparents brought him up
hoping his father would take care of him
when he returned from the war.
His father also my dad returned from the war
married with another son and didn’t want to know.
They gave him a nickname in private
so no one else would know.
In private, they always called him Dopey.
My sister and I were told
our grandparents had adopted him
and he was nothing to do with us.
When my dad’s parents died in 1958 and 59
plans were made to come back to England
where my mother’s parents were still alive
and leave Bill far behind.
Then as his mother had done eighteen years before
his father abandoned him as well.
For a while, he had to live on the streets
taking handout from where ever he could.
He was arrested for vagrancy and sent to jail.
Getting out he got himself a job and began to build a life.
He got married and started a family,
until one night he came home
and found his wife in bed with another man,
and a divorce followed and he was alone again.
Then after 25 years, his job vanished
and he had to find another.
One day in 2000, he got a telephone call
and did not know whether to believe it or not.
It was a call he never thought he would ever get,
a call from his younger brother - me.
As we talked on the phone, some truths came to pass
his brother and his sister did not know about him.
They were told he had been adopted
and were nothing to do with them.
However, I had found the truth,
which incensed my mother enough to disown me.
We met one another for the first time
after forty-two years in 2001 and again in 2002.
In 2003, this sad story ends,
in the March of that year
Bill succumbed to a heart attack.
His final words were a testament to his life.
No one loved me enough to care.
The sad truth is someone did
and that someone was me.
We never had enough time together,
circumstances kept us apart,
but he was my brother
and will remain in my heart.
2 November 2009
Authors Note:
The facts are as Bill told them to me. A sad refrain to a wonderful guy who was tainted by my parents as being bad and no good. If the truth were known he was probably better than the both of them. He was a guy who would give you the shirt of his back if you needed it. My brother Bill, may he now rest in peace.
DVH - 2009
poem by David Harris
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Laid Up Once More
There is another bend in the road, again with another heavy load,
A heavy load of concern and care, another load in which to bear,
Yes, for another time in this life, I will have to go under the knife,
For The Lord has willed for me, yet, one more necessary surgery.
It’s not only me filled with cares, but, concerns my family shares,
It is especially in times like this, when we trust in The Lord Jesus,
As concerns around us are rife, He comforts my concerned wife.
Who is bearing yet another load, as we travel down another road.
I am not eager for the time ahead, laid up in another hospital bed,
And far away from my normal routine, while in that hospital scene,
Again, limited in all that I can do, while The Lord sees me through,
Back again, with my family instead, while far from a hospital bed.
But The Lord knew well before, I’ll have to enter the hospital door,
And why I needed surgery again, as He guides the hands of men,
While they wield that surgical knife, guided by The Creator of life,
So as they work with their hands, the Lord by me faithfully stands.
All this as God works in my days, for my good and God’s Praise,
As The Lord’s comfort and peace, trumps this now awful disease,
While each day I’m again assured, this battle belongs to my Lord,
As God brings me closer for sure, to His timely and ultimate cure.
Cyanide Song
When you decide
That all your faithful friends have lied
The time has come to swallow pride
And take a little cyanide!
Cyanide! Cyanide!
Did you hear the way the orphans cried
When loving kindness was denied,
Destroyed before their tears had dried?
Yes! They committed suicide!
Yes! All the little children died!
It's a horror that you can't abide,
So take a little cyanide!
Cyanide, yes, cyanide!
There's nowhere left where you can hide,
The gates of Hell are open wide
And happiness is crucified!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Our Brother John
He left Ireland in nineteen fifty two
Our brother John the man I barely knew
He was the eldest of the family
And the Homeland he was never more to see.
In life our brother John he journeyed far
He lived through peace time and he lived through war
In Korea with the Air Force of the U.S.A.
Far distant from the fields of Claraghatlea.
One of my sisters Mary wrote to me
She said our brother died with dignity
In death as in his life he showed his bravery
And at least now of his sufferings he's free.
Our brother John left two sons and a wife
And he worked hard all of his working life
Only in his sixties he seemed young to die
He was my hero when I was a boy.
From Millstreet thousands of sea miles away
Our brother John in a distant graveyard lay
And though I'd not seen him for more than thirty years
The news of his passing reduced me to tears.
He was the quiet man never spoke too loud
And of our brother John we felt so proud
In his death from his sufferings he found his release
And may he rest forevermore in peace.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Identity Crisis!
When born, I was called “baby”
And later they called me “Abby”
Within 5 years they called me “student”
And for 7 years, like that I spent
Then they called me “teen”
I loved it and felt like a queen
Then I was called “woman”
And those times, were the best
Then some one tied a knot and called me “wife”
I hated those times, it was horrible and gross
In years I became “mother”
It was beautiful but tough
Then being called “grandma”
My times got better and better
Then at last I was called “old”
And my body was frail and cold
All this time I wondered,
Where my identity has gone
Some where in the middle, I had lost it
Through the ages, I had a crisis
An identity crisis to say!
DECEMBER 23,2008
poem by Sania Harris
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The Angel
When my love and I decided to marry
she mentioned something new.
She told me she had seen an angel
more than a time or two.
I didn’t want to challenge her beliefs
even though I certainly did,
so I said perhaps it was her guardian angel
who would protect her while she lived.
She said the first time that she saw him
was when she died at the age of four.
She was in hospital suffering from pneumonia
and had knocked on heavens door.
As the medical team revived her,
the angel left with a smile and wave,
and she didn’t see him again until
the funeral at her mother’s grave.
The next time she mentioned him
was on our wedding day.
He was hovering above the aisle,
as her father gave her away.
He was there when our children were born
and present when her father died.
I told her he was a figment of her imagination,
just an illusion from her mind’s eye.
I asked her to explain his presence,
and what good did he do.
She said that he brought her comfort
and some meaning to her life too.
Today I saw two beautiful angels
at the graveside of my wife.
One of them was carved in stone,
and the other gleamed with life.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Why God Gave Her So Many Miseries?
With no money in the
Pocket
I was lying on the road
Writhing in pain
When passing by me
She saw me
Stopped by my side
Gave me water to drink
Took me the hospital
Got me treated
Paid for the treatment
As soon as I recovered
To my astonishment
She vanished in thin air
I asked the hospital staff
If anybody knew her
I got an answer
That left me speechless
She was a lonely widow
Living on meager income
She was suffering from
Cancer
Her days were numbered
Her gesture left me startled
To me she was a god sent
Angel
She forget her misery
To help me
I failed to understand
Why god gave her
So many miseries
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Hospital Food
Coming down through the alley
Trying to walk without a sound
It doesnt really matter
cause there aint no one around
Tip toe through the alley and
Tip toe through your life
You still got it coming
Be it gun be it knife
Next thing you know
Youre eating hospital food
Karaoke castration
Take the wasp alive
Hes gonna sting you anyway
And take you to the hive
Yesterday was suckin and
Tomorrows looking bad
Who knew that today
Was the only thing I had
Hospital food
Want some hospital food
Hospital food
Delicious hospital food
In your tribute album to the world
You must never forget
To sing the one about the cat
Whos always getting wet
He always got a problem
Hes a very bitter dude
And now hes complaining
About his hospital food
Hospital food
Its gonna help the medicine go down
Want some hospital food
Gonna take a walk without a sound
A little hospital food
Helps the spoonful of sugar come up
I want some hospital food
In your blender and in my cup
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Non Swimming Man Of The Sea
He had his own fishing boat for many years though he never ventured far out to sea
And from fishing he made a good living enough to upkeep his family
He was born and he still lives near the ocean and the ocean holds no fears for him
But to many it may seem a bit strange that he's never learned how to swim.
Though he left school young for to fish with his father he's a bright man and nobody's fool
And his son and daughter live in the big city their children in Primary school
Two years ago his wife she died suddenly they had been married for thirty five years
And though for her his grieving is over thoughts of her still move him to tears.
A year younger than him she felt quite well till a massive heart attack struck her down
And one day he too will go to join her in the grave yard in the sea side Town
He had a wish to be cremated and his ashes spread on the sea shore
But to his wife he must remain true and with her he will lay forever more.
He sold his fishing boat when his wife died his great zest for life with her died
He now lives on the old age pension and from his cottage he can hear the tide
Rage against the rocks on the fore shore the huge waves they rumble and roll
The immortal voice of the ocean is ever soothing to his soul.
Last February he turned seventy and the years have left him gray and slow
Still he finds comfort in his good memories of his better days decades ago
Of his beautiful wife and their children but life part of mortality
And the Reaper is now quietly waiting for the non swimming man of the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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You're still here
At the finest level of my being you're
still with me.
We still look at each other,
At that level beyond sight.
We talk and laugh with each other,
In a place beyond words.
We still touch each other
On a level beyond touch.
We share time together
in a place,
Where time stand still.
We are still together
On a level called love.
But I cry alone for you,
In a place call Reality.
[Missed by your loving family, wife, daughter and son.]
* All of a sudden I found this cutting among my rubbish of papers.A widow has sent this sad poem to a local newspaper remembering of her deceased beloved husband's third year memorial.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Wedding Band
Joey Wedding Band
JoAnn was the birth name of my wife
To me Joey was her name for a lot of our married life
One of the best things anyone could ask for in life
Is to have a good and loving wife
When it comes time for me to pass no matter day or night
I hope and pray that my wife will be my guiding light
I did not complement my wife as much as I could of
But with all my heart I gave her my love
My wife is in heaven watching over our family
Hoping we could be the best we could be
I am now living by myself and on my own
I have my dogs and my family but I feel alone
I never thought I knew how bad pain could ever be
Until my wife died and left me
At times my wife lets me know she is near
She turns off the picture frame to let me know she is here
On a chain around my neck I wear my wife’s wedding band
I also still wear mine on the finger of my left hand
To anyone who reads this poem do not let the time with your family go
Everything is gone before you know
poem by Michael Gelb
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He Is Your Brother
I was a fighter always looking for trouble
And my life was so empty, there was nothing left to live for
But then it happened one night as I got into a fight
I could hear someone saying as though he was praying
Ah-a-ah-a-a-a-ah-ah
Treat him well, he is your brother
You might need his help some day
We depend on one another
Love him, thats the only way
On the road (on the road) that were going
We all need (we all need) words of comfort and compassion
Treat him well, he is your brother
Love him, thats the only way
I was a woman never thinking of others
And my life was so lonely, didnt care for anybody
But then I happened to meet a begging man in the street
As I turned down his praying I heard someone saying
Ah-a-ah-a-a-a-ah-ah
Treat him well, he is your brother (brother)
You might need his help one day (hes your brother)
We depend on one another (brother)
Love him, thats the only way
On the road (on the road) that were going (that were going)
We all need (we all need) words of comfort and compassion
Treat him well, he is your brother (brother)
Love him, thats the only way.
Treat him well, he is your brother (brother)
You might need his help one day (hes your brother)
We depend on one another (brother)
Love him, thats the only way
song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ambulance that Got Away
When Grandpa suffered a turn, we
Called the ambulance, right away,
They strapped him onto a gurney
So he couldn't sit up, or sway,
‘We'll see you up at the hospital, '
We cried, as we waved him well,
The ambulance went with bells and lights
Like a demon bound for hell!
Grandma wasn't at home, we
Had to phone her on the cell,
She couldn't come back just then, she said
She was having a fainting spell,
So we waited until he was settled in
Then drove in a convoy down,
To the hospital at Ullarook,
Just fifty miles from town.
The nurse at the desk said: ‘No-one here
By the name of Alfred Groom,
We only have private patients here,
We bed them, one to a room,
If he hasn't got private cover, then
You'll have to look elsewhere,
Maybe the ambulance took him off
To the hospital at Bulnare.'
We phoned the hospital at Bulnare:
‘He hasn't been seen round here,
There was an ambulance, come to think,
But he left with a flea in his ear!
We don't take patients from out of town
There's few enough beds for us,
He's probably over at Gundacoot,
They run their own private bus.'
We drove ten miles to Gundacoot,
An ambulance sat in the drive,
We thought, ‘Thank God, he must be here!
Let's hope that he's still alive! '
We all raced in through the sliding doors
And crowded around the Nurse:
‘Who? Alfred Groom, in a private room?
Not here! ' We left with a curse!
We split up the convoy into two,
I drove to the nearest town,
A middling place called Jerribee
With a hospital, quite run down,
‘The government cut our funding, '
Said the Nurse in the parking bay,
‘We shut down twenty beds last week,
Your Dad isn't here today.'
My son had travelled the other way
To Inkermine on the coast,
The hospital there had a hundred beds
The locals were wont to boast,
‘He's isn't here, but the ambulance
Was spotted on leaving town, '
My son had sighed on his endless ride
When he called on the mobile phone.
That night when Grandma got her breath
She went to the ambulance place,
She battered him with her umbrella
Knocking his glasses clean off his face:
‘Where did you take him, tell me now
Or I'll have to call the police!
What? Are your ears painted on! '
‘We took him to Bungaleese! '
The only place that would take him was
The Medical Clinic there,
It isn't even a hospital
And you sit on a leather chair,
When we finally got to Bungaleese
Grandpa could barely talk,
We said, ‘We'll get you an ambulance! '
‘No thanks, ' he growled, ‘I'll walk! '
29 August 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Sometimes It Is Really Hard To Understand
she works with us as our domestic helper
her father is 35 her mother is 34 and there
are twelve of them in the family in that far
away mountain,50 kilometers from here
her brother works as a laborer in that
copra buyer a few meters from here and
he just met an accident and he is sent
to the hospital because he finds it hard
to breathe and he cannot speak a word.
her sister is pregnant with a new baby and
the wife of the master drives her away and
she has no place to stay & nowhere to go.
she wants to tell more sad stories about her
family but i tell her to stop. I do not want to know.
I look up to the sky, and I know God is listening.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I don't think there is such a definition of a perfect family, but I do think that our marriages are in crisis. Our families are in crisis. And I think the African-American family is at one of the worst stages it's been at in a very long time in this country. Fatherlessness is rampant.
quote by Leah Ward Sears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Very Strange Tale
An unexpected and unknown pregnancy
That ushered a series of events
Brought Susan in a state of emergency
Confused in her predicament.
The doctor said she had miscarried
And the bleeding she had was not usual
Her fiance, they were to be married
But now they ended at the hospital.
So they brought her there for surgery
With only her boyfriend now in tow
She called up her mother and said briefly:
'Mom, they're operating on me, you must know.'
When the frantic mother had arrived
Poor Susan was covered in a white sheet.
The mother was told she did not survive
While on surgery, her Death she did meet.
Her sister said she could not believe it -
She had seen Susan in their room weeping,
She was on the bed, dressed in hospital sheets
Crying 'What have they done? I'm aching! '
The sister then asked her. 'How are you?
Are you alright? ' In a flash she had quickly gone
The strangest and weirdest thing came true -
That was the death time of a departed Susan.
Now at night at the hospital corridors
Night shift nurses hear someone weeping
Though dismissed as some silly horrors
Some still see a sad Susan there walking.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Hostage Crisis
Who is a hostage
What is the crisis
Who is there
To solve this.
I am here
In this world
And I am in crisis
It is your world
It is you
Who solve my crisis.
The crisis of
Identification
The crisis of
Beautification
The crisis of
Unification
The crisis of
Liberation.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Console This Eighty Five Year Old Widower
How come you look the same beauty any time I see
As I saw you first time
How come you give the same pleasant association any time I have
As I had with you first time
How come your smiles get me charmed any time I witness
As I did the first time you smiled at me first time
How come you give the same comfort any time I was in stress
As you did first time
How come you blossom the same exciting way any time I embrace
As you did when I embraced first time
How come it pains me the same way any time whenever we are to part
As it pained me the first time when you left for home
How come you expect me to keep alive
As you just died and departed for heaven
How come I do not see any one who can
Console this eighty five year old widower
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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It is popular to call it a crisis of the Western world. It is in fact a crisis of the whole world. Communism, which claims to be a solution of the crisis, is itself a symptom and an irritant of the crisis.
quote by Whittaker Chambers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nicknames
nicknames are thrown
around in my family;
our own terms of endearment
word could not describe.
it is that closeness
towards each other
through words that evoke
a special experience
with a brother or sister
or just a plain description of
his uniqueness.
a brother is called La Ting
because of his bald head when a
baby.
eldest brother is labelled Ming
instead of his real name Thai
because of his intelligence
when a child.
Ming means clear-minded.
Another is called Lung
instead of Ing because of his
Chinese horoscope sign dragon
which in Mandarin is Lung.
mom's favourite animal sign
is dragon so the name sticks.
youngest brother is Bee,
my own spontaneous invention
when I saw the cute little child
in mom's hands many years back.
I am so glad and proud
that this is the only creation
in my life that has been used
for so long and that it
has surprisingly given
brother all the good luck;
he turns out to be a bank's manager.
he should have me to thank
for all his fortune.
another brother is called Chi
instead of his real name Kui.
i could not fathom the
reason for this and wonder
which brother first started
calling him that.
eldest sister is Pui
instead of Hua because
of her plumbness when a baby.
and oh dear, we are naughty
when it comes to our neighbours.
many of them have secret nicknames
coined from the way they
talk, walk, and even look
and we really hope they would
never ever find out these names.
Our family just bubble in
our neighbourhood because of
our incessant inner creative jest
to coin all those secret words.
perhaps, we are nicknamed too
which we never
bother about because
we know nicknames are
given out of endearment.
at least, that is the case with us.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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