Three Poems Known

Three Poems Known

(written ninth August 2008)

 

Would that she not wonder

Why the loot stripped ripped asunder

For a face to plunder

Will straw hats shake out the wonder

Of how someone spoke their number

In advising child like kind of slumber

To go head on down

To the depths of town

Wherein be the best thieves around

For to escape from

Straw hats have broken of

No less than festooned from

Want to prove

Worth in the groove

Of having briefly suffered alike upon

Those words first

Whose work earned

The worth unturned

 

 

The Olympics are on

Nothing going for a song

My son’s leaving the whirl

Of how many artifical pearls

Might have been too long

Sold thus upon

For the life of heaven

While ever the leaven

Never ever depends on

That the countenance of hell goes on

So if you’ve found this

And are in a wee fix

Best remember forever

There never was better

And that blessed best

Finds no future in debt

But are debts of the past unpaid yet

 

 

The only ones with

Any legitimate claim

Against

Australian Aboriginal basis

To ask for financial reparations

Became portrayed as though racists

When the real engagers

In racial based hatred

Were wondering too long

Upon the nature

Of Australia’s Aboriginal status

And imagined into the equation

A couple of thick idiots

Thick enough to attempt the theft

Of that status

Of being indebted to by

Aborigines on high

But Lord what have they done

Hardly bares accounting the sum

Total abrogation

Of why any fact is ever won

Between his and hers

The queer’s strange world

And the work’s next code unfurled

Why in full view of the sky

The deed had been done

By which to lock none

For the claim had begun

Within their same one

Just another poem

What that he would for
That great oaf I stood for
To prevent his courting the criminal world
For there because of his own whirls
Within what might have made me poor all the more
Has Mr Grimes not learned to be sorry and sore
By depending upon my worth for
All of his own dreams known
Of any victory in any court room for
That I have done was
Prevent that the father of my children
Might ever be made alike to
Those many time bombs fused
Of people in prison’s abuse
For not I ever could have
Let any inmate at
The providence for
Being father to my children not poor

So when he will take it in that
It is my will he begin don the hat
Of earning money by work to go back
Surely Ms Angus
Not to stingey for that
All of the money in China he had
Was always about some wages bout
Which he claims to refute of
In his own wars because
His is the worth of
Being simply the lazier of us
But of any reason he could find would
He want to refute that
His own worth in his hands labour
Is just not worthy to trade upon

Yet by the fact of what he gave for
To father my children
Might I always have paid him
In self worth of the love therein
But that he has bent that very meaning
By seeking to deny children their own needs when
He refuted and abuse their
True worth in feelings
Might he thus realise no love
Was ever lost between us
No worth had I ever
Been able express to define thus
The reason I ever walked beside him
Yet that has it never
Been for any season but
To approach as close as I dared to
The worst human being with whom
I could enter into an intimate relationship with
For somewhere inside me
Was always the reason being denied by him
That one day somehow and without loss of mind
Will I
The fare of causing child abuse by accusing of kind bind
Into its real consciousness of causation’s silent night
For never has it been my own right
Nor ever did I in any intentional might
Blame or accuse
That he supposed to have used
As his excuse
But rather have I between
These reasons and feeling
Just let it be that
For his hell am I paying
Such that he never will but be staying
The hand in which his own father branded
His own lack of praying
For my children need never learn of
The real derth of his feelings for Earth that
He blinds all and sundry
In lies of great flurry
With the insideously corrupted
Coins of having stolen
The real way through the future to
Real environmental salvaging
So as that the trees can and will
Regrow into forests for
The love between he and I never poor
Yet by whom through he
Was it ever received be
That one day somewhere
The rest of the planet seem to have needed
To stick it to his bum baring glare
Was not my own will to dare

Yet never not believe in me rare
For the will not to deceive is
That by my own mind this
Real tune will the real wish
Of my perfect truth its
Having been told all the while in
The family court’s bind this is

Now catch it if you can
For the excellence never be damned
And if you’ve been trying the plan
Of space travel by vans
And rocket ships that land
On another planet’s worth found
Be it never with manners
That the mars probe has landed
And forever never had a chance in hell or earth to have found
Whatever it is why by my love
Will be that work being held down
Into the ground
By everybody who blames me around
As though married and fluidly current
By prostituting myself for brown money
For higher will the lives
Upon nothing arise
Only to be
Turned to rocks when arrive
Such is the worth of the Earth
Within which all will be heralded not dearth
And of all those of us who here have seen it
The probe upon mars might our spirits have believed in
Is that forever to have loved so behelden
And the planned escapes from
This Earth’s rocky providence
Have ever been of the set up
Against
Yet the worth in our cover up
Was not that of marsupial luck
Since only certain of us
Were ever able that condolence
But
Of the forests
Will every intolerance
To the blinded countenance
Of refusing to keep human mind’s worth real for this ants
Thus of my hands you will dance
Upon insanity’s brands perchance

Cultural Anomole or Prank of Culture? Aboriginal Australians and what often seems to be our over exposure.

There is following something I wrote for a North American based yahoo user group, which focusses on applying theology to science and integrating theology with astrology:

I have been writing recently about why it is that Australian Aboriginal culture sustains an overt teaching for the external self expression, about the human types and archetypes, in which we can learn to know ourself by following the right story.

 

Most cultures, and indeed most mainstream religious contexts, keep the knowledge of which archetype is each individuals real story, a secret.  I is a secret which each individual needs to find for themself so as to validate it.

 

What does not happen in Aboriginal culture, is for any person to be told exactly which story is their own real perfect archetype.  Yet each person is given a name at birth which correlates their whole living situation into the set of sisters or brothers whom also all have the same name, and whom ideally, if every marriage has been made perfectly according to kinship rules and laws, will be the all the same archetype.

 

Sometimes it happens that a person just naturally notices very young what their own story is.  In other instances people live their whole life according only to that story which is being socially provided them, if they are not born adjusted into the right archetype because of their parents marriage variety.  Aboriginal culture is much more restrictive than most cultures in respect of what forms of marriage are enabled.  Either it is perfect, or to a person whose archetype belongs to a grandparent’s generation.  There is no intermarriage of persons of the same archetype ever allowed, and any instances of such are ostracised from culture altogether.  In remote hunter gatherer cultures, that ostracism basically amounts to the individuals concerned being left to die in one another’s company.  Also, in some tribes, but not all, marriage between a son-in-law and mother-in-law, or between the archetypes in which that relationship ideally occurs, is also forbidden and carries a death penalty.  Sort of like a mercy killing, but that is among the communities who rely on the desert environment, while where there is more water, that form of social relationship is recognised, but always recognised as rape.  The severity of social sanctions for marital relations and all intimate relations, is the necessary accompaniment to enabling that even children are able to form open mental associations with the stories of ancestors (like cult and/or lodge stories) in which their own life is taking shape.

 

There is one other aspect of our indigenous culture which enables this.  It is that all our lodges, or patrilineal clans, as well as the matrilineal kinship name given at birth which is more akin to a cult identification, have animal totems, and in the ancestral and religious traditions, it is believed that even the most honourable figures and holiest men, manifested a transformation into an animal form.  The basic belief is that if even one person in any community, enacts even one criminal behaviour, then that act effects the possibilities of the future for every other person in that community, and so every person accepts some small portion of the culpability, equitable with the extent to which they could not help but notice the consequences of crime.

What eventually socially manifests is a conscious conviction of belief that every one among us is wrong to be letting any criminal get away with crime.  There is no viable method of sustaining a healthy culture without causing it to be isolated fully from every other culture, which is perhaps why Australia is as it is, in that our culture was socially isolated from the rest of the planet for many thousands of years, even giving rise to a whole array of new species.  The arising of marsipials and eucalypts is believed to have been caused by the fact of the best and most innocent Souls coming to rest within the form of flora and fauna.  In fact, our native flora and fauna is unique in its capacity to live in extremely arid regions, and particularly with a high level of salt in the subterranean water table.  Also the eucalyptus family is very neatly discriminatory as to which plant typically corresponds to which archetype of human association.

 

This week, on Wednesday at 8.55 am Australian eastern standard time, the new Labor Prime Minister is going to be making an apology for the past government policies existing between 1901 and 1967, in which all children known to be of the Aboriginal race were made wards of the state.

 

It is about time. Many of those whom were removed from their mothers are among the best and brightest of the Australian intelligensia, and many other of the most intelligent among Australians are of mixed racial blood and have grown up in families who feigned having no Aboriginal ancestry in order to protect our children.  Notably also the British sent here the best adept of their convicts, yet thus it is that our indigenous culture has predominantly been able to relate to the invading culture through the criminal world, since I can not say the same for the figures of authority whom were also sent to Australia.  Perhaps it is fortuatous for the British that they invaded a country in which our Animist belief is so very inculcated into the pattern of detecting and exposing criminality.

 

In these few days before the new Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd, provides an active statement of apology, in saying sorry, it seems appropriate to be attending also to the fact that the Australian constitution still awards the land the status of having been Terra Nullius in 1788.  That legally defines Australian territory as having had no human inhabitants prior to 1788.  In 1988 prior ownership of Australian territory was however acknowledged.  Does this mean that Aboriginal Australians today are still not being awarded basic human rights?  The answer in general is yes, and that also that status is embodied in the nuances of various aspects of contemporary and recently formed legislation.

 

What the statement of sorry is all about, needs to be regarded as an apology for having branded our Animist faith as tantamount to being unable to provide safety within which children can grown up into a human outlook upon their adulthood.

 

Our culture is such that we can not really fault anybody for blaming us about our animal identifications, we can merely assert that not every animal identification is caused by criminal behaviour, and so it is overtly wrong to perpetrate the psychological abuse of projecting upon us any imaginative concepts of what sort of behaviour has caused us to identify with the flora and fauna.  That we are an honest and hardworking culture, race, and ethnicity, by nature, is proven in the strength of many aspects of today’s modern Australian culture, and the worth of our scientists and our environmentalists, our school teachers and nurses, and our family and social stability patterns generally.

 

Today I want to say thankyou to every person anywhere whom has joined with any of the prayers around the world which are enabling of this statement of sorry from the Prime Minister of Australia, to all individuals whose lives have been immediately detrimentally effected by Australian Government policies in respect of the removal of Aboriginal children from family safety and integrity.

 

Within that thanks, I want to add for the American context, a thanks to all those whom have taken up the ropes of finding the way through science to begin to have amassed the scientific data within which using Kinship regulation by name, as a basis for culture, will one day be proven.  Particularly in the fields of immuno-genetics and cognative neuorolgy, and in the hope and faith that one day those efforts will be combined, and be able to provide scientific backing for what is essentially a strong surviving cultural embodiment of forgiveness, in which Jesus example is never lost.

 

Rivaq Copas nungarrayi

Unsavoury Detail That Became Needing Acknowledgement

Made Plain

 

It seems to be

That the Japanese

Were lead astray about me

For what I had offered

Of Aboriginal Geisha type knowledge

Was supposed before I had time

To fully furnish the knowledge on offer

And was accepted as

The falsifications we made

Of analgesics to blame

For in which to protect my name

From those whom sought thus to lame

The rebel lion thus made

Of their own fame

Without real base

Their own insanity their shame

 

So what will it be

That you have the image of me

When with Chris or is it

A Mark who is he

That bound to the fact

Made me Babylon in pact

Or rather to see

Me with who will he yet be

Is unknown to me

But of offers are three

Not yet taken so will we

And of those yet to be

So trialled how many

Between now and the sweet

Truth that Mark Spencer’s fruit

Chris Smart to fart

The beast covered in these words will

His own start

Between the police

And the child pornographer

They sent to follow

And attempt to seduce me

Of course in permanence unsuccessfully

Yet but that police presumptions be

Causal to their own demise we see

For that they have caught but let away with real criminality

In exchange for a few small girls he entraps is

The status of police work to date

In untangling the face

Of Gold Coast brothel and pornography industry

 

But When Written

When you write down

Why you are bringing to ground

That will materialise

In reality to realise

What not true and righteous

Belongs to diseases

Yours if nobody reads it

Not even in dreaming

Yet if real

Even when unread

Of reality instead

And then when unread

Might those who supposed

The written words lie

Never find out why

The Earth’s density condenses

In weightier matter

Literally solidifying

By writing

Thus Arc of Covenant

Is blessed in the opposite

But not for want of trying

While an arc of profanity

Truly less disparity

In which case

As it is at its best

That edits out

Edits down roundabout

And unto the ground wed

By the heaviest elements

Is what the written word is about

When any real meaning abounding by blessed

By diaspora’s test

The cause of children’s protection behest

But of course

It is also the truth

On the smaller scale of

The world in another value made real

That many can write

So as and despite

To prevent of the past that was

Now long gone because

We none of us wanted

To contaminate future’s thus bonded

At least not enough of us would that

To let such be real again as

Has been even if only in the dream

Of sloth not awakening

Impinging upon the dreamtime not wrong

Of the way out from sleep through its way not cheap

We will cause the ending of any harm done to children

That to remember I am

When I write with this pen

Remember a girl’s truth

Shines blame the past’s roof

Dismantling the fear that was

Have written words had always good cause

So take care what you write

For the truth takes its bite

And lies the worst force

Upon your own health the author

Consider direct the proportions

Of time wise decisions to write

While of editorial right

Be choice despite

Who Would Have Thought It Best Not Further This Cause

This poem is not because I blame my family, or because anybody else needs to, or ought to, but because my family needed to be facing their own situation before now; and because I know that these things are not originally my own parents fault, but have sourced real evidence of my parents having been set up to wrongly persecute my own choices, I am able to tell now the real facts, and will ask you not to become tempted to further fault my family, since many are already blaming them far more heavily than what is their own true extend of fault.  They were set up in the 1970’s to my own witness, by Rosicrucians, among whom are those blaming my parents for our Aboriginal-Indigenous Australian genealogy while also seeking to deny us that birth right.  Beware of our rights before reading this poem.  The Australian constituation must be changed to remove the claim that our land has ever been ‘Terra Nullius’. 

Who Would Have Thought

 

Who would have thought

My mother and father have fought

To be fallen unto naught

By their own game

This the same

 

Who would have thought

My parents so devious

As to fail to realise

When a child was being honest

Is that I own their shame

 

Who would have thought

That the reason I own of

The old bones that

Rattled parental thrones is

Because of nobody’s fall my own

 

Who would have thought

Of my failure to fall

Despite one and every and all

Projecting upon ma

Desperation to hate thee

 

Who would have thought

It was my father’s own game

To falsify his own fall the same

But then become tricked because

My own false line the better cause

 

Who would have thought

My father was costing

His own falsifications

Of societies required statuses

Wrongly upon me his daughter longer

 

Who would have thought

That to falsify lust once

Never had I need to fabricate

For those who tried to bribe my father

Obliged me that grace

 

Who would have thought

That my mother’s blames of

Her daughter she sold to her husband

Were never able to cause of

What she was holding her own costs against

 

Who would have thought

My own will to never

Let badly matched coupling win

The game of my father’s

Would have left me so stranded

 

Who would have thought

They did their level best to

Impose upon me the reality they sought

But have failed to and rather

Falsified for me my way into the game of my father

 

Who would have thought

Might have been Dad

But that

His wife imagined to have had him at

Since she fell into the mirk of false reputations staked upon this grace bidden rest

 

Who would have thought

Mrs. Catherine E. Marker nee Caling

Might have failed the test

Of what upon her at Dad’s behest

Was the forgiveness forever request

 

Who would have thought

That everybody in one family

Would manifest such great idiocy

As to fail to see

What protects my children is yet today me

 

Who would have thought

That those whom have risked all we earned

Are stationed in governmental positions

And hoping beyond hope

To prove their own joke is their yoke

 

Who would have thought

That unless there is provided real evidence to court

The solutions being founded will prove ungrounded

And a father’s dreams of his wife nevermore blamed

Might prove to be that the whole story is fallen into causing

 

Who would have thought

That they all care less for the safety of children

Than to have one sinning story more blaming somebody’s mother

And when we’ve all finished proving it ain’t my own Mum

There was nobody left to save me my own children’s Mum

 

Who would have thought

The victory longer done by

The children now running too dry

Who realised before now the score be

Best kept close and silent with me

 

Who would have thought

That the easiest game to play

Be feigning incompetence

While sustaining good conscience

Who would have thought

 

Who would have thought

That the simple request of a son

To go easy on his mother at that time of the month

Could have been misconstrued into

A fabrication of his mother being the worst kind of monster

 

Who would have thought

That such innocence being blamed was

No problem for the parents of the same

Uninvolved as they have been

But for the lies between

 

Who would have thought

 

Who would have thought

Rosicrucians did try to have caught

Our birth right as their own plight

By imposing conditions in which

My ancestors were not recorded on paper are those indigenous

Who would have thought

Rosicrucians so frightened of why

Aboriginal land rights to provide

Enables Aboriginal cultural rights

Who would have thought

Just another poem

Tricked Reputation

 

There might be some way

To let the real story fey

Of mr grimes real reputation

He and many conspired to have

Hidden from the court that

Brand naught but who needs of

Is that no shelter can stay

Within his nether reputation

And that this story’s repercussion

Is his own situational problem

While the reality of reputations

In this has tricked a whole nation

 

Tricked by the hypnosis

Of Rowing on Roe “E’s”

Has been the notion

Of what to do with these

Poems in motion

Don’t you forget

To wreck

The breeze yet

For that which mr grimes blessed

Be not what you bet

Thus through Rohan a tease

Of the story please

 

Therefore best be blessed

With the slow pokes best on

That she won’t ever forget

Is a nest best

Of the next best

But whatever mr grimes prevents of

Be that not needed of yet upon

Is how his definition

Became at the

Queen’s behest

Of offloading mistakes upon

Australian children

Thus proven

But three son’s my own

Best efforts known

This poem naught before

Those sick heads did cause

That they Queen took of

The Irish Satanists cause

Instead of the true story

For reconciling

With Britain less poorly

In debts owing for me

Whoever my truth be

 

Is that through this story

The twelfth whoever he is be

Able not poorly

And set up far to surely

By the mr grimes unruly

Reputation mask falling

Upon those “e’s”

Of rowing’s please

Collect the best yet

Among stories on breeze

So long as the behest of

Is the Queen’s

While that being dumped upon

The downtime from

Be what of his fees

For selling this on

Against my reality be

 

Thus know you not

The story belongs

Not poorly but

Through what show because

Has one only the pull upon

And not me but from

 

He who will and who has

Married the right girl his own that

This poem might not need be known

For only is it his to own

The worth in its words

Thus scuttled from that your mind heard

Since reality

Is bound by being indebted to he

Whose worth is the work

Of having overcome the difficult sum

Of what mr grimes attempted

Prevent of

But thus failed bar his own gun

Who holds this true best unto me

Has upon the real force of the law within be

BABYLON’S SONG

The Count In Me

 

Well of course

But the case may be

We’ve always had

Another mechanism than that you see

 

For in measure of accountability

One without relying upon

How we appear to be

More than is real to belong

And more than you no not wrong

Thus yet

Not even in words be

This reality

Confounded by mistakes upon why

Real accountability

Is as it is no bind

Unable to find

No tear unable to cry

No life left too dry

Will that you my

Way to rely

Upon this count made high

For to fear with its style

Of facing in reputations try

That you might land of by

Having wrongly assumed of

That exact in another was

As reason to accuse and blame of

Being your own behaviour

Only imagined excused upon

Was never no way to escape

The real retribution of fate

Being no less upon

What we’ve all dreamed well and long

With that to the end of

And yet but belong

Be it far from

Real meaning to go wrong

When words and appearance

But minor facts of clearance

 

 

Two Bob

 

Tell me

After I win

What was meant to begin

And which win at trial

Was then when you sang

After a while

Need I

Excavate the style

Of Bob being some uncle

Who’s failed

But smiles

Since for all he has failed

Nobody believes in

His win

This being in

Among and belonging

Of the strongest song running

Might the way of the first

Prove ever no worse

But that he heard of

The win of the forth

Through doors opened kindly

But by none too wisely

When all doors were mine and

Of he whose light shines at

The end of the tunnel

That points us to life when

Our keys are well read

Our locks greased and oiled

And nobody able to spoil

The worth of our toil

This win will be his when

Young Bob proves his bread

With this on his head

 

 

Babylon’s Society

 

It is my sanity to know

Whatever they’ve done was too slow

For faster I am

That what they can

Prevent me from having known

 

So while ever they have

Defined me lacking savvy

As with a real disability

All they did was a cover song

Within which I thrive strong

 

While a drug user they’ve called me

Why it’s nothing but their own envy

Of what they truly know really

That my strength defies their certainty

For as strong as I am is that curtain at

 

And of the prostitute they accused that

Might my behaviour belie the real fact

For they’ll never deny what they did to me

Of forcing me into her story

This but a taste of Babylon’s glory

 

It’ll all work out without their knowledge

If only I am let live on in poverty

But who are they I refer to that

This poetry is my real fact

Be no other than the most bizarre story

 

Of Canberra Gurdjieff Society fat

Might it ever be in real glory

Babylon’s own true society

Is in Spencer-Smart’s aftermath ever lonely

And there never was no crime in that

 

 

But

 

Being like

This is a

Set up

(but)

 

One city

One structure

One wart on the brain

No shame

Money’s game

Of my fame

To the lame

Not whose blame

This tame

One same

Story plain

And any terrain

Firm brained

Sand but

Shell’s fact

Is this that

Glass had

Clay at

But wood re-grows

No loss to those

Whose lives haven’t known

This day way shown

 

neither too good nor timely but rhyming

Knew

 

Who knew

That you

Might not have wanted to do

Or what

It was

That you

In Darra because

The Vietnam Veterans

Took Robbing the hood

Quite literally no consequences

Through being possessed

Of that no victory matched yet

Being neither aligned

To know in true time

That twas  their vet

That got

From and of

Siding aligned

With East Asian Buddhists bind

Is how any of that police protection was defined

If only and ever

Not through actual criminals who police you

From among the Queensland police but unto

The saving of those

Veterans who know

Was that its not their own to have sewn

But tiler’s who done their tome

Such it was that they knew

Their own protection had been through

Some old organized crime

Which by East Asian immigration aligns

Into fielding that protection well timed

For sure as eggs can be weighted by the feather

It was never

Veterans in police forces who knew

But that one small time

Charlotte’s mind

Had in her bind

How Vietnamese are too kind

Be it not yours to find

What filth with provides

In the pig bond on high

Neither this by

But knew never why

Name Poem Same

Just because I changed my name

Need not make me less the same

Yet differently known by name

Is naught but of social fame

For I am still my parent’s daughter

Still nobody’s lamb to the slaughter

Still mother to my son’s naughtier

Made by their father’s dangerous games

Is nobody likely to blame

My sons naught ill defined in name

For the bind of mine takes the cake

And in Heaven will Djinn have been awake