Res's Writing and Poetry: March 2013

Friday, 29 March 2013

"Praying for Nelson"

Praying for Nelson

He taught the world forgiveness

And we need him still

Nelson Mandela under observation and "responding positively" to treatment.
(The Guardian Friday 29th March 2013)

Thursday, 28 March 2013

"Heartbreak"

My good friend and comrade in arms Damar Bahadur Rai

at Kengingau Airstrip, Interior Division, Sabah.

Built by POW's in WWII

"Heartbreak"

I remember those heady days
When we both thought
This might be the real thing.

Exploring likes and experiences
Enjoying the shared discoveries
And common ground.

Remember the Gurkhas?
How fond I was of them?
How proud I was
Of my service with them?

What fun we had drinking
Rice wine in Longhouses
With the Headhunter's trophies
Smiling above our heads.

How delighted I was
When I heard you say,
"Mum used to date Gurkha Officers."
Still delighted, I asked,
"What, Nepalese Gurkha Officers?"

The horror in your voice
Was echoed, chill, in my heart!
"No... No..." you shrieked, "No... No...
White Men... White Men...
They were White Officers!"

In such glimpses through
The curtain to your soul
Heartbreak is born!
Things were never the same!
And there is no going back!

© Res JFB 27^th March 2013

Captain Harkabir Gurung,

on the right of the picture.

He went on to become

Queens Gurkha Orderly Officer

after our tour in Borneo.

This is dedicated with great admiration and affection to the men

of the two Gurkha Brigades that I served with in Borneo.

As you can read above, I will NOT hear a word said against these

gentle and cheerful men from the mountains.
Nor will I tolerate any racial bigotry!

"Appalachia, Appalachia"

“Appalachia, Appalachia”

Appalachia, your green mountains are weeping black tears.

Mine Owners. Your neighbours are living in fear.

You’re raping the mountains and Good Mother Earth,

Your millions are nothing to what this land is worth!

Appalachia, your sons have fought in all wars,

They’ve given their lives so what’s yours remains yours!

They’ve marched off to battle to serve that Great God Mars,

Would you have them return to a land that’s all scars?

Appalachia, Appalachia, I know you of old,

Your songs are worth more than silver and gold.

Scots – Irish and English and Cornishmen too

All men who sang here when this land was new.

Appalachia, your mountains will always need trees,

To hold back the rainfall, like the shore holds the seas,

Without them your rivers will run clear no more,

But be thick with slime like a slaughter-house floor!

Appalachia, your mountains should be sacred lands.

To show what your God could do with His hands.

Mountaintop Removal is a crime against Him!

And a crime against nature, a terrible sin!

Appalachia, the time has more than come round,

Time to start healing on this Holy Ground.

Your men folk have fought that all men might be free.

That freedom should apply both to you and to me!

Who wants to hear the rumble of dynamite all day?

Or giant earthmovers where the blue jay should play

The shareholders and mine owners don’t live around here,

So time to leave the mountains to the people who care.

America, America, come listen to this prayer,

It’ll be too late to save ‘em when the mountains ain’t there!

Appalachia, come waken and nevermore say,

Mr Peabody’s Coal Train has carried us away!

Appalachia, Appalachia, I know you of old,

Your trees should be valued much higher than gold,

The green lungs of the mountains in the Land of the Free

Not a scar on a Mother, where her breast used to be!

If they contravene any ©, contact me and I shall remove them

Monday, 25 March 2013

"Cinnamon"

A sliver of cinnamon bark

In my bowl of saffron rice

Oh how that taste and perfume

At once sweet and earthy

Still affects me

I can remember when young

The scent of rolled peelings of

Cinnamon bark

Drying in the tropic sun

I recall as though

From my own past

The words of Michael Ondaatje

And his tale of the

Cinnamon Peelers wife

It is as though I can smell

Her breasts and shoulders

Warm and aromatic

As if my scented hands

Had lovingly caressed her

With the dust

Of that exquisite spice

I seem to remember her

Touching her belly

To MY hands

And saying

“I am the

Cinnamon Peelers wife

Smell me.”

And I remember how

As so many times before

I really WANTED that woman!

Saturday, 23 March 2013

"Gold"

Gold of the beech wood

A crisp rustling carpet

Makes a poor man King

"Green Whales"

Dark mossy boulders

Like green whales heaving upward

On a leafy sea

Wednesday, 20 March 2013

"Roots"

We need our head in the sun

Just as we need our feet on the ground

And our toes wriggling in the dirt