Cunning Right Hand.

Cunning Right Hand.

For there they that carried us away captive

required of us a song;

and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying,

Sing us one of the songs of Tzion.

How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?

If I forget thee, O Jerusalem,

let my right hand forget her cunning.

                              Book of Psalms

But your right hand never forgot its cunning

Lobbing bombs into UN sanctioned safe zones

You are losing the war you think you are winning

Hamas rockets still threaten your homes

They tunnel beneath your dwellings

Can you tell the fighters from civilians?

How can you tally the bodies of children?

Is this a Jewish blitzkrieg?

(How ironic)

And why do they fight?

For the same thing you did.

Remember the bombing of The King David Hotel?

Zionists are not above using terrorism

To achieve their ends

So why begrudge the Palestinians theirs?

Israel is an idea, a panacea

A placation to a broken, wandering people

Granted by the UN, secured by terrorism

To the disenfranchisement of Palestinians

You have the right to defend your land

But not at the expense of other peoples right

To call that land HOME

Stop all development in disputed territories NOW

Establish an independent Palestinian territory NOW

Trading on European holocaust guilt

Will only get you so far

After that, you’re on your own.

© shaun patrick green 2014

Patience.

She says patience is a virtue

So I wait through the curfew

A wilting plant on her verandah

She says she needs space

Keeping me in my place

I can’t begin to understand her

Pacing like a stray cat

I lurk outside her flat

Waiting for a light to be turned on

But she leaves me guessing

Apologetic and confessing

Like a moth flying toward the sun

© shaun patrick green 2014

Vanishing Woman.

A stain in linen slowly dissolved

A tear washed away in rain

Mote of dust seductively swirling

Line drawn between pleasure and pain

Day transforming into night

A line drawn in the sand

A funky bar built of ice

You keep slipping through my hands

Like waves upon the ocean

I see you here, feel you there

You ebb and flow, stop and go

Then you completely disappear

You become more eternally feminine

Vanishing for longer each day

Yet somehow it perturbs me not

That you may eventually fade away

© shaun patrick green 2014

Budget Balancing Act (or How I Shifted from a Leaner to a Lifter)

Joe Hockey tells us

With great authority

And a certain amount of regret

That apparently some of us “lean”

As opposed to the “lifters”

Now most of us are quite familiar

With the idea of Archimedes' Fulcrum

(at least those of us who were

educated under that sweet system

of state funded schools where science

was taught by people who are passionate

about it and not trying to cosy paying

Students through to a certification

That allows them to be just as dumb

And antisocial at University as they were

At High School and eventually seek

A career in politics because they are

Bored and shit at everything else...)

Back to Archimedes' Fulcrum

The idea that with a big enough

Lever you could lift the world

Provided you had a solid ground

To
Lift
It
From

Thus the conundrum

What holds the world up?

Given the shortage of tortoises

It would seem

To the untrained

And unpolitical eye

That holding the world up

And having a base to press against

Are the poor, disenfranchised, the weak

The homeless, the drug addicted

The disabled, the unemployed

We are your fulcrum

Your balancing act

We know that “Lifting” And “Leaning”

Are the same thing

Given the laws of thermodynamics
But like Galileo

It is against our religion to admit it

© shaun patrick green 2014

Crab Fishing.

He met us by the jetty

8am sharpish

Skidding into the bollards

In a 4 seat 18 ft tinny

Helped my mother

And heavily pregnant wife

Onto the boat with alacrity

He promised us crabs

Maybe a Barra

Tides willing

Given their scarcity

We skipped over the chop

To West Arm

8 traps were laid

Ropes over mangroves for security

An hour later

We checked our traps

Only to discover the pots empty

Biding time we cruised

To an estuary

Where rods were cast inexpertly

Despite our lack of skill

My wife went in for the kill

And hooked a 68cm Barra

Almost instantly

Hoping reeling in 7 pounds

Would help her push out 7 pounds

Fishing unfortunately

Doesn’t work that way

© shaun patrick green 2014

Language is the Teacher.

At what point does the blank page

Become your mortal enemy –

Where the space between words

Screams louder than words themselves?

The same point as when your

Bottle is finally empty

You’re drinking lighter fluid

And watching the wallpaper dissolve

Nothing glamorous about writers block

Though it’s always soaked in booze

As if alcohol were the cure and answer

That curious yet coquettish dancer

Too much too soon you snooze you lose

Another morning with a tongue like a sock

Or a prematurely blunted pen

For are we not meant to tell and tell again?

The bards of old through songs were told

Great loves, marriages and battles

Now words are written with print we are smitten

We no longer sing, we prattle

Vital to the life of any language

Is hearing it openly spoken

It’s rhythm, cadence, timbre

Guttenberg did us a disservice

If the blank or printed page offend you

Speak your heart out loud

Sing as if your soul were a cathedral

Language is the teacher, we are the novice

© shaun patrick green 2014