Hekamaat Poetry (28)

When fear taps on your shoulder, man-
don't turn around, because it can
and will get straight into your heart
to take you for a ride. The part
it's mostly interested in (your will)
it wants to grab and squeeze and chill-
to stop you in your tracks, my friend,
and while you're standing at the bend
unable for to move aside
your fear will take you for a ride
to places full of ghosts and such
were it can haunt you and do much
to sap away your soul and reap
what you have planted, while the heap
it leaves you in is worthless. Man-
just leave the bugger while you can...

Imagine the periphery a circle does possess:
Imagine it to be inside your heart- I must confess
That I don’t know what I would find inside the one you own-
So I will only tell you of the one which I have grown…

There you’ll see dreams- of love, of life, of sharing which I dream;
Abilities and skills which I have honed since I did scream
When I did take my very first- my most important breath;
and feelings which I have and will experience ‘til my death.

But in the centre you will find a Throne- not made of gold:
The one I should be sitting on before I’m growing old…
And if I sit right there, I should be able to create
My universe- just like a god, before it is too late…

You have a circle- just like mine, like everyone on earth,
Which we possess from our first day until the end of mirth…
Imagine those two circles for to touch- just barely. See-
Too much- and we would be destroyed, or surely we would flee.

Between the circles is a sign- and like a mouth it looks:
The means for to communicate as used in ancient books…
The meaning is quite simple, friend. So come find out and see
Exactly what we are and yet what most don’t want to be…

When god created man he added Soul into our hearts-
for ‘Soul’ is what he’s made of, and he’s master of the arts…
a drop which does originate from oceans swelling tide,
a drop which fills our hearts- where it will dwell and it can hide.

An attribute which is divine- and that is what we are:
Divine but not immortal- and that will suffice by far…
As long as we will just create we learn about the arts-
As long as we don’t try to rule what is outside our hearts.

For inside, we are mortal gods- while outside we are dust
and if we can communicate, then love will never rust…
two suns which can illuminate each other will unite-
one being with two bodies which will bathe in love’s delight.

‚Today is the day!’, so I say to myself-
‘The very last pack’ as I look at the shelf
The girl in the shop takes my money- ‘Bye, bye’
And I light the first of the last which I buy.

Next morning however- my dog just has died;
I buy a new pack. Well- alright: So I lied…
It wasn’t the last pack at all. But so what?
The world will go on- if I smoke or do not…

The following week I decide to repeat
What I had attempted before. But I cheat:
My house- it burns down; so I go to the store
And while I am there I just buy me some more…

But then I decide that the time now has come
To try it in earnest- I still have got some
Of the cigarettes bought on the previous day-
So I just throw them out. ‘Try clean cut’, so I say.

The following morning I find a new world-
For during the night world war three has unfurled.
There’s nothing but ruins- but there is the store…
‘Still open’- I go and I buy me some more…

Two years now have passed, and I try once again.
But after two days it starts pouring. The rain
Keeps on splashing down, so I build a small boat
And I find that the store is alongside- afloat…

"Reserve your right to think--
for even if you think wrongly, it is better to make mistakes in your thinking than not to think at all."

There once was a man in Askeaton
who didn't care what he was eatin'
So he slowly got fat
'til he swallowed a cat-
Now his stomach is in for a beatin'...

I look in the mirror and think ‘Oh-my god—
How time has been flying!’; A wink and a nod
Are all I can muster; and I don’t quite know
What happened: And why am I feeling so low…

For youth- it has vanished; I can’t get it back-
And never you mind all the things I now lack.
Oh- all the mistakes! Oh- the foolishness…Well;
I still have a hide which I don’t want to sell…

I look at myself, and I wonder ‘What now?’
And slowly begin to my weakness to bow-
How easy it is: Just give in to the urge…
Feels good, for it looks like my past I can purge…

As fast as I can- like a coward I flee
Not just from my past, but above all- from me.
‘Who am I?’ I wonder. I haven’t a clue…
And blindly I run past myself… and past you…

(Oh- why are there WORDLIMITS!!!!!)

Oh, well... Here goes:

A thousand years ago, my friend,
There was a little-known land
which- over more than sixty years-
did see no wars, no swords, no spears.
The knights, therefore, were forced to rest.
The lack of war caused them to test
their skills in blood-sports: tournaments-
and more such entertainaments
which- to their minds- did keep them fit
and held intact their battle-kit.

There once was a man who did live in a flask;
The light which he saw looking up was all he
who couldn't be bothered to question and ask
could ever perceive: It was all he could see...

To wonder and question to him was a drag;
The light which he saw was to him like the sun-
and to ask or to think- an unbearable snag:
It meant to give up what to him looked like fun.

His own little world was his womb and his dome,
and leaving it was an unthinkable fate:
"The universe outside my own little home
is something for fools- and it is what I hate!"

Oblivious of the world outside his own,
he spend his existence without any care
while ignorant bliss was all he had known-
an ignorant’s life he did live without dare.

And all the while he never noticed the flaw
which he kept ignoring while living a lie:
The world which he knew was all ever he saw-
but never could rule it, until he would die.

The knowledge of what is inside your own flask
is never enough to control your own life:
To know what is outside is what you must ask-
Or else you'll be ruled, in a world full of strife...

There once was a man who was tough to the bone-
who-by and large- wanted to be left alone...
So, he put up a sign saying "Keep off my grounds",
while in his front-yard, he kept two huge black hounds.
And everywhere he put up fences and walls
and installed an alarm-system inside his halls.
Then he bricked up the windows and blocked up the door
so that no one got in- which had happened before!

Now- if you had managed to enter the grounds,
past the fences and walls (not to mention the hounds),
and peeked through the hole he had left in the wall
for want of fresh air, you'd have seen his hall.
The view you'd have seen you'd have had to behold,
for the walls, floors and ceilings were all made of gold:
and this was the reason our man was alone-
why he even had ripped out the cord of the phone...

The walls were like mirrors. He needed no friend,
for he was surrounded wherever he went
by his own reflexion; which (to his own mind)
was really sufficient (unless he'd go blind).
And so he was quite happy, alone with himself-
'til the day he had wanted to hang up a shelf.
He just took what he needed- a hammer and nails
"...and the first-aid-box, just in case everything fails".

So he'd thought to himself. His reflection agreed,
and with hammer in hand, he got up on his feet.
He went up to the wall- something caught his attention;
a torrent of words (far to nasty to mention)
escaped from his mouth. "How did you get in here?
...Put your hands on your head now, and hold it right there!!!"
He lifted his arm to look threatening and tough
in the hope the intruder would not call his bluff...

But as he came closer, he clearly could see
that this fellow was armed. "Keep your distance from me!"
Now stricken with panic, he turned and let fly:
With his hammer he caught the intruder. Bullseye...
The hammer hit home full of power and might-
and so did reality. Through all the fright
(...and even before that!) our friend simply failed
to see that in truth he had always been jailed...

The fellow he saw in the mirror was real-
our friend was the image. Unable to deal
with the truth, he had managed to shatter himself-
while he had been trying to hang up a shelf!
Revival was futile- but few even tried;
and all attempts failed. Even fewer then cried:
No first-aid-kits, band-aids or ambulance-men
could put Humpty-Dumpty together again...

When the banks can have a say
in matters of the heart one day,
the world will go around the bend-
for love is not for sale or rent;
it won't yield any interest,
and so it's what the banks detest.

Thus I detest the banks right back-
their facts and figures, all that craic
which drives me slowly round the bend:
For love is not for sale or rent...
It always must be given free,
to be received without a fee.

If banks can have a say in this,
then something has to be amiss-
for they will run our lives for us,
with facts and figures and such fuss.
But love is free, I say- and swear
without it, life we can not bear !

I tell you here and now: The day
that things like banks can have a say
about those matters of the heart
will be the day that life turns hard:
For once they have a say- they might
as well charge for the sun's own light...

We do not live in the past:

The past no longer exist- except as a memory.

We do not live in the future:

The future exists not yet- except as a dream.

We live in the present-

And what else is the present but a fleeting moment...

Remember the past.

Live in the present.

That way, there will be a future...

"Get back in line and be polite
and wait yer turn, ye little shite!"
With this, he turned around to go
back to his "Chevalier flambeau"
and to prepare his pots and pans
for a second course of food in cans.
Sir Rambeaux found it opportune
to aim and throw- with great fortune-
his sword at him. He nearly died
of cardiac arrest- sheer fright!

Our knight untied the kitchen-maid
and told the wench to fetch a plate
of silver, for the dragon's head
(Who at this stage were not quite dead-
but realised he soon would be-
unless Sir Rambeaux's chivalry
prevented him to do the deed:
That dragon was last of his creed,
and if he died, there would be no
more dragons left- so he said so.

Sir Rambeaux showed no interest:
"I'm sorry- but I'm on a quest
to show my lady-friend how brave
I am- I want your head, you knave!"
(He didn't know that, in his bed,
the king was found quite cold and dead
two years before. The Queen was keen
on fauna, flora, issues green...)

The dragon did accept his fate,
lay down, and died, head on the plate.
Our knight went off to dream of glory-
the maid was left to do the gory
dragonhead-removal-act.
(She twice did faint- this is a fact!)
The two of them then put the dragon-
or his remains- onto a wagon.

Thus they went home. They passed the gates,
and through the streets. Sir Rambeaux's mates
uneasily looked on. "I'm ready
to get my due reward already!"
The Queen had watched with much dismay
the dragon's corpse put on display:
Sir Rambeaux noticed her cold stare-
and suddenly felt nude and bare...

"Your graciousness- your majesty!--
How glad I am to be with thee..."
The Queen did interrupt him rudely:
"Shut up, you twit!" said she quite crudely.
She then came up to take a look-
and hit him with a heavy book.
"This is the book of brand-new laws",
said she- and hit him in the jaws.

"You did exceed the quota set
in ‘hunting-regulations’, pet!
You also want a due reward?
Just wait for it...
Where is the guard?"
With this, she caught him by the phizem
and had him thrown into prison.
(Well- he was not alone in there-
five other knights already were
chained to the walls, with rats and mice
for company- to keep things nice.)

The Greeny-Queeny's harshness did
eventually cause a split,
resulting in a revolution.
The knights went free- then "evolution"
just took its course: Wolf, boar and bear
all went extinct, by sword and spear,
which thus did cause a lack of game.
The knights found hunting far too tame
in any case. They took their shields
and went back to the battle-fields...

Oh- well, it almost slipped my mind:
Sir Rambeaux in the end did find
a wife. Alas she was no queen:
A kitchen-maid of just sixteen
was she. It didn't really matter;
the queen's head ended on a platter
just as the dragons. And about
fifteen years later, in a rout
Sir Rambeaux died: Not by a sword…
but of a heart-attack. My word!

(WJB)