My Democracy Poem

My Democracy Poem

If life was just a line of perfect scripted

instead of a circle strange ellipted

we'd have eaten a pie and just gone to bed

instead of worrying with our head

but there's lots of lies

that form our truth

Most times all there is is... Strewth!

So, pick up the ball and take a punt

Why the fuck did we elect that cunt?

At 63, I have, about, maybe, at a stretch, 8 or 9 poems I wrote that I really like, and this is my favourite one. I hope you like it too. She can be changed to He...a few syllables can be adjusted, to suit a lot of things. The 'little poem' has got a great amount of versatility built in but remains very personal at the same time. /////////////////////////////// The Escape Cage She wanted what she wanted until she got it then didn't want it so she could want it again when it was gone. Oh my dears, the tears, the fears, the years. Each escape became a cage to escape and then one day when she realised that she was unrealised she bent the cage into a bicycle and rode it all the way to China ringing the bell she made of me. John Fitzpatrick 2012

At 63, I have, about, maybe, at a stretch, 8 or 9 poems I wrote that I really like, and this is my favourite one. I hope you like it too. She can be changed to He...a few syllables can be adjusted, to suit a lot of things. The 'little poem' has got a great amount of versatility built in but remains very personal at the same time.
///////////////////////////////

The Escape Cage

She wanted what she wanted
until she got it
then didn't want it
so she could want it again
when it was gone.
Oh my dears, the tears, the fears, the years.
Each escape became a cage to escape
and then one day
when she realised that she was unrealised
she bent the cage
into a bicycle
and rode it all the way to China
ringing the bell she made of me.

John Fitzpatrick 2012

"There is nothing good that isn't in some way broken.There is nothing good that isn't in some way unspoken." John Fitzpatrick 2017

Terrible Thing: My Camel Brand (as in Cigarette Company) brilliant black mid winter jacket torn its non-tear outer nylon cover near the pocket on my tough Russian Fuk-U-Jak steel steering wheel lock as I got in the Nissan this morning. I know terrible things happen, sometimes, by why? And especially why to me? Coming home from work I stopped at the Chinese IGA and bought some Gaffa tape, satin black, and kind of fixed it up...but it was a very tragic event. Once such an injury occurs, there is always a weakness there. Damn. Mind you, as Melbourne gets seriously into winter, it was just, at its best, at being a useful jacket...it was beginning to look better than it felt as the temperature dropped down to about 3 degrees. So, I have had to resort to the warmer old black leather coat I bought from Cairns St Vincent de Paul for $25 2 years ago to get me through the horrors of winter. I just took it to the Dry Cleaners to see how much it would cost to clean, as it has some maybe 20 year old 'natural discolourations in the black patina' or maybe someone else's sputum stains...and the guy at the shop said it would cost $81.50 to Dry Clean...and I thought...am I being taken to the cleaners about this? So I declined his kind offer and will invest in a tub of Dubbin instead for maybe $15. From my motorcycle jacket days I'm a great fan of Dubbin anyway...so I am, as always, happy to take the more reasonable economical root. Night shift was good. I get really tired, as anyone should, around 4am but have to spark up for the drive home around 730am...now I'm home after all the traffic and its 9am...and I am all fired up. Interestingly, and truly, someone stole my identity on line the other day. the bank informed me they would send out a new credit card, the darlings. I asked if because my identity had been stolen, shouldn't the NEW John Fitz be responsible for the entire debts anyway? They didn't think that was reasonable or funny at all. As Mr Trump would say "What a bunch of babies!"

Sigh. Who would we be without our young dis-enfranchised radicalised men? We expect our useless young men to lie down and just shut up, but, the bastards, they just won't. Instead, they just go off and find things to believe in all by themselves., as if they didn't care at all about how more important we are.

The Corporate Global Market poem: Let us all get off on work. There be the gherkin. And there be the jerk.

My God, what a frightening future, the loan interest rates start to rise and every fashionable cafe goes out of business...all those bizarre baristas wandering the countryside, like Kane, in Kung Fu, wondering what to do with their respected professionals skills, and their pig tails...like the new poor...like...immigrants. yech.