All But Two Years
January 4,2006
It's all but two years since
my friend and mentor,
Eric Smith died.
Adieu dear friend,
until we meet again.
poem by Jerry Hughes
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Eucalypt
A giant eucalypt crashed to the
ground with an agonised groan.
The earth around it shook, then
settled. As I stood in awe of this
magnificent death, it seemed to
me like a metaphor for life itself.
poem by Jerry Hughes
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For A Dancer
Sad little face
Sad wide eyes
the nymph of you
belies your womanhood.
Ah, that I could by magic means
flower that within you unfulfilled -
But I am just a poet
writing words
released to air
like fledgling birds.
The strong survive
The weaklings die
Sad little face
Sad wide eyes.
poem by Jerry Hughes
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The Shadow Of His Smile
His grip was strong
and his eyes twinkled,
he was pleased to see me.
Alan Bainbridge, friend and
mentor with a vocal delivery
that thundered, now reduced
to an incoherent whisper.
I recall something he said
the last time we lunched.
'It's a bugger getting old'
It certainly is Al pal,
it certainly is.
poem by Jerry Hughes
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Never The Twain
We put up the barriers, you and I,
with some misguided notion that
one of us was superior to the other.
Prejudice based on colour, wasn't it brother?
At the end of the day does it really matter?
For when we shuffle off to seek a better place
we'll face each other sans colour-
equal in the eyes of god, won't we brother?
poem by Jerry Hughes
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VALE RONALD RYAN (Febuary 1976)
Ronald Ryan was the last person hanged in Victoria.
Shortly after hanging was abolished in Australia.
The barbarism of the procedure,
worse than any Greek tragedy.
No, this wasn't theatre,
this was murder!
We hanged a man to satisfy
a drunken premier's whim.
Therefore the sin of omission
rests with him;
Not the man who pulled the lever.
poem by Jerry Hughes
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Bloody Disgrace
During two horrific world wars
thousands of young men died,
defending freedom and democracy?
That's what they were told as they
marched off to a certain death.
But it was a calculated lie!
A hundred years on the freedom
they gave their lives for,
is a freedom for the rich and powerful
to manipulate the weak and poor with impunity.
Under the high flying flag of democracy.
poem by Jerry Hughes
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Ceausescu's Children 1996
Out of the manholes they crawl
to face another hopeless day.
Not rats or cockroaches,
but Romania's children.
Selling their miserable bodies
for food, or glue.
Food barely sustains, but sniffing
glue anaesthetises their misery.
Children of Romania, raped,
abused, diseased and forgotten.
Alina, just sixteen was heard to say.
'I wan't to die'
Why not?
She's only just alive.
poem by Jerry Hughes
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Panacea
Panacea for the worlds ills.
Chicken soup in America.
'Mr President, the twin-towers
were destroyed by el caida terrorists.'
The President replies:
'You wouldn't have any chicken soup
on you, would you? '
A cup of tea in England.
'Prime Minister, the nazis have bombed
the shyte out of London.'
Prime Minister replies:
'Bastards, we'd better have a cup of tea
and think about this.'
poem by Jerry Hughes
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The Flasher
In she'd arrive at the supermarket
car park in her convertable Mini Moke.
Micro-mini-skirted and no panties.
Knickers, to the more refined?
She'd wait until she drew a crowd
of departing elderly, then with a
flurish she'd step out legs spread
wide - hiding nothing - showing
everything.
The ladies tut-tuted audibly, while
their husbands found it hard to push
a loaded shopping trolly with one hand.
.
poem by Jerry Hughes
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