Thursday, 7 May 1998

Transit Lounge in Hong Kong


Transit Lounge in Hong Kong
Lord i hate this place
please Lord send me an Aussie
or a familiar Kiwi face
a Pom would do (but not a yank)
a German would be fine
Just any English speaking sod
or soon i'll lose my mind



an outcast
from earliest memories
a fringe dweller
tarred with the brush of many hatreds
no group to call mine
not even one besmeared by aeons

the street welcomed me, the gutter
then years of self neglect
and "sin" that to us was life
and further, deeper, lower
so that even my mother
did not know me

you slept in feathered comfort
and I shivered on a grave
you ate your fill of plenty
my last penny bought sour milk
you had an education
I stole books and hid them from my peers
you went to piano lessons
I breathed life into the mouth of a dying junky

I finally sought death full throttle
Hess and Nitche cheered me on
and I'd have found that sweetness too
but Gods plan is strange
so to me a son
and a wife from a long dead mother
and I had to struggle on

and I did it too
climbed slowly up, often falling
clawing, dragging others on my way
and earning never any praise
or comfort or ease
for my peers did not see what I had done
or did not care

and many many hard hard years
(the tracks now all are healed)
and made I others greater than they could have known
but what gave they me?
calumny and selfishness and greed
and from the heights I'd climbed
I painfully looked down
and saw I'd come but a single step

now? I've lived, I really have
I've seen the world and built
raised a family and traded fairly
made that others might live too
and still in humble clothes I tread
not caring for the trappings
nor for the praise
giving freely even my last pennies to the poor

so why this?
I had never expected anything in life but death
and hid my heart deep deep deep inside
until one day a stranger who like me had climbed
dug out my heart and gave me back a life
but Gods plans are strange again
for it was not to be
and from my lofty place I fell
and fell and fell
and I am falling still

and for the first time
I know real pain

An infinite surprise of poets


Gods gift: our soul, peeks out sometimes
when poets fall in love
for every cell of being cries
the praise of God above
and from such love come mighty things
an infinite surprise
of poets new who'll speak of love
and open all our eyes