Chapter Six: History

Beautiful Seascape

Port Arthur was a convict's hell,
Hardship rang their death knell,
Colonialism tried to impel,
Aborigines, eggshells to repel.

Now a world heritage island hop,
Historic daily tours nonstop,
Forget and visit the gift shop,
Dead men in the backdrop.

One day a local man came,
Martin Bryant was his name,
Broad Arrow Cafe was his game,
The day was his to defame.

Coffee was consumed without rancor,
Lost was his cast anchor,
Anger was his rancid canker,
The sports bag was his banker.

The Colt AR-15 was his friend,
Mass shootings, life was his to expend,
Carjacking and arson were the trend,
GTA style killing to the bitter end.

My legs are a broken bough,
My husband's weak pulse to disavow.
Who will help him now?
Caked in blood, death I disallow.

The gunmen, a greedy blood hound,
I am silent in the burial ground,
In this fox hole we are earthbound,
This nightmare battleground.

I wake up with a cramp,
What a dream! I feel damp.
I turn on my reading lamp.
Why is there a ramp?

Why am I in a wheelchair?
Oh God that's right! So unfair.
My husband's nowhere.
It was real. Empty prayers.

Cretaceous Child
 Hunting throughout the floodplains,  
 Beautiful in this feathery coat,  
 No one escapes these terrible claws,  
 Impaled, gutted, eaten alive.
 But what is that smell?
 Ash and fire fall from the sky.
 Dead and dying sauropods cover the ground.
 Trampling over them, we raptors flee,
 Leaving unhatched chicks behind.
 But I am a little egg in the ground.
 I am obsolete before I have begun.
 Aeons later I am a treasure,  
 Brisk two legged creatures find me,
 Fossilised, I am carefully dusted free.
 My new home a museum. 

Sticks and Stones

Einstein had a little theory;
Manhattan Project's so dreary;
FDR's new deal sounds eerie;
Oppenheimer was quite leery;
A thousand suns flared, sin's a weary.

Enola Gay dropped the Little Boy;
Alloy killed Hiroshima's joy;
Nagasaki, a school boy's toy;
The Fat Man was the real McCoy;
Soldiers came to kill and destroy.

Bogeymen fight from an armchair;
Nuclear bomb's a double dare;
Play find the flag without due care;
Destruction with little fanfare;
Children alone in their despair.

Dense world leaders fight for power;
Doomsday Clock ticks in the bower;
We will cower in this rush hour;
World War Three, the acid glower;
Shower amid the corpse flower.


Safe, isolated, with my scotch,
A horror film I vicariously watch.
Perpetual news cycle, a Rorschach,
Mathematical hopscotch.

We are stuck in a paradigm,
Another black death; bells chime,
A sepulchre the finish line,
Part of God's pantomime.

No point in assigning blame,
Yarn twirling in a spinning frame,
In the end, it is a numbers game,
We are all part of the same mainframe.

Categories: Books, Naked Violet

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