The Clever Observer

The Clever Observer Home

The Messenger

The postman

The postman knows what he has to do
his work load street by street
the unknown in his sack
for those he drops in numbered boxes,
only they to open know that information
and then to the messenger say hello or mistreat.

Go in your wilderness
the world around you now.
How is it possible
for you to become aware?
Even the messages, clearly precise
are being destroyed
as you neglect the very source
as a basically ill-informed
human, lost unknown form.

July 2nd, 2013
Tags:  

A Lost Generation or More


Cross over
don’t go back to a war

the village I came from
has lost a generation or more
of men as boys

and further more
no more heroics
for they are all now dead
that is for sure.

The valley is green
the pastures red
with a poppy or two
but mostly of the young men
who joined without a word or two
from you –

you, who were before that day,
knew the atrocities
they would face and do.

September 12th, 2012
Tags:  

How Can We be Free of Our Past?


How can I be free of my past if I am unable to value that journey’s knowledge, historically for my future path ahead?

How am I to be relevant in a world longing to free itself from the pains and chains of old?

How am I to be of value if a world does despise its own human race
– where people are dying and being senselessly killed, corruptly denied their worth and their historical relevance.
– and also their own land and sea, waterways and soil’s potential and animal and vegetation sources of wealth too?

I am at last free of my past loss, but what of our future if we are to remain irresponsibly stupid to allow suffering and despair to prevail on all concerned. And not even care, or wipe a tear occasionally away from an eye?

What does prevail is loss, despair and corrupt dealings if we are even a little less likely to care about those people with whom we are acquainted, let alone those of foreign soils far, far from our sight. And in sight, yes of those to whom are responsible to the valuable worth of other people, yet deny them that validity and purposeful existence?

I am on an adventure, but who am I in a world of nothing more than corrupt and deceitful people if I am unable to claim back from that world my wealth in a spiritually enriching and rewarding sense?

A sense to know when I am in the wrong, the unacceptable and definitely incomprehensible state of play.

I am on a mission, a type of dedication to enable my mind of thought to embrace myself in a way that will be ever vigilant and source within that which is of a goodly and purposeful approach to life, people and the importance of valuing all life – no matter how big, small or in-between, in every aspect in each day, so that I am reminded of the life one has as precious and not easily restored nor ever to be replaced.

September 6th, 2011
Tags:  

One more breath before I die…


Gradually, gradually as I go
something I sense tells me
my life-source is very low.

Someone comes and whispers low
I cannot tell who though
for loss of consciousness
is upon my life now.

Help me to remember
those with whom I have known and fought
men of valour, courage –
beyond a man’s normal everyday thought.

Give me the courage too
as I do pass over this world
one more breath before I die
to say a big thank you
to those few
for giving me love and care.

And too a life here on Earth
to get to know some part
that I previously, in the normality of life,
did not, about myself, did know.

June 26th, 2011
Tags:  

“Victory” a word a coward shouts


A crime, a crime, a criminal I will be
for having survived
such mental torment daily
upon a blood-letting scene.

God or who or what ever you may be
have forged some hearts into a hell-like,
war-mongering disease.

God, you are the most hideous of beings
to allow little ones as young as these
dying badly from such horrific injuries.

Grant me peace that when I die
my heart does return somehow
to force some peace and love around
before I scream of victory.

As from where I lie right now
‘victory’ is a word a coward shouts
one without a heart of peace, but war.

No one with whom I have fought
ever more does want to be
part of a history destined to war.

So battle cry and sing or shout
my mantra, my cry, my song will be…

God of the heart of humanity
grant unto me
a love I want to feel
and be expressing in my life
now and ever more
even if for a day or two at least
I will have recovered some part of me
out of this hellish war.

One so evil,
who on Earth declared it so violently
without even a word of reasonable
human decency?

June 26th, 2011
Tags: