Daniel Kemp

FAMOUS

I wanna be rich, I wanna be famous, the cream of the crop;

I’m gonna crawl, walk, run, sprint, scratch my way to the top.

Immerse myself in imagination, drown in illusion;

dance deliriously and deftly, let myself drift in delusion.

I wanna be loved and adored; be incredibly wise.

Count numbers, write verse; see how far an aeroplane flies.

The wealth of the net is at my finger tips, it is essential;

quote Camus and Sartre, sound profoundly existential.

I wanna strut the stage, to thunderous applause;

bow, begin, ne’er to stop (will this moment last forever?).

Stay away from mirrors, they’re a curse;

tell the truth, and even worse.

I wanna be rich, I wanna be famous; the cream of the crop;

not the milk (nutritious as it might be), the stuff that floats to the top.

Dressed in stolen robes, illusion and delusion are my friends,

with them at my side, the mimicry will never end.

More From Les Bush

You took children’s self esteem and laid darkness

over silent dreams. Some you called names

and jeered them to the ground. Others you

raped and laughed in the name of torturous fun.

That was no home, no place of learning, nah

a place of chains and gruesome heart burning.

Nobody cared, one might think God was blind.

Where was the help, a little sister raped

and a young lad beaten to death.

O eyes turned and silence begat tongues. A

big man with a mean heart, held a young girl

hostage while pocketing the green selling

her soul. A pig of disgust but everybody gave

this human beast their trust.

Lord, I weep to think of the pain. I cringe

knowing what those little girls and boys

sustained. Beatings on a regular basis.

Relentless daggers hurled and bellies screamed

in hunger.

Yes the rapes were many, but fear kept secrets

for many a year. Where is the justice, who 

will stand accountable. No Angels worked at

the home for Colored Children, no fairness, no golden

rule.

What was the outcome, who went to jail? Did

human beasts pay their dues, or are they 

walking in fraudulent shoes? Now you know

a little about “The Home for Colored Children”.

An acknowledgment now sustained, our Canadian

Government and the Home of abuse, together

poured a Blessing, O the warmest rain. Though

your scars will remain infinitely, perhaps thirty four

million dollars will shine a light at the end of a

dark road.

Written by: Melvina Germain

Did you really know her?

Sure I did, but not the public star that shone

I knew her from day one.

Desperate for her place in the sun.

I watched her assess the field,

Judging who’d run and who would yield.

Saw her recreate herself, saw her connect.

An alien creature.

Each feature crafted for maximum effect.

Watched her mesmerise, tantalise,

Deflect the truth

Reflect the lies.

She did ‘vulnerable’ to perfection

With those big soulful, hurting eyes.

The guys fell like flies.

But they had to be the ‘right’ guys,

The ones she could step up on.

You want to know the craziest thing?  The real buzz?

She could have had it all…and more,

Just as she was.

© Susan E Birch – 2014

Come hold my hand and let us walk,

Your lips won’t speak, no need to talk.

I want to hear it all today,

All that your heartbeats have to say.

Your fingers intertwined in mine,

My life has never felt this fine.

When will we stop? Where will we go?

You do not ask, I do not know.

 We’ll leave our world so far behind,

And live the world that’s in our mind.

I’ll hold you in a tight embrace,

That’s where you’ll be, that is your place.

This is the journey of our love,

It will continue up above.

We are two hearts but are one soul,

And when we meet, we become whole.

    A Vagabond Heart, From Shabeeh Haider

I received this as an email and I have copied it straight from there.

This poem was written by a terminally ill young girl in a
New York Hospital .

It was sent by a medical doctor –
Make sure to read what is in the closing statement
AFTER THE POEM.

SLOW DANCE

Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?

Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?

You better slow down.
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won’t last.

Do you run through each day on the fly?
When you ask, “How are you?”
Do you hear the reply?

When the day is done, do you lie in your bed,
with the next hundred chores running through your head?

You’d better slow down
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short
The music won’t last.

Ever told your child,
We’ll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste,
Not see his sorrow?

Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die
Cause you never had time
To call and say,’Hi’

You’d better slow down.
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won’t last..

When you run so fast to get somewhere,

You miss half the fun of getting there.

When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift….
Thrown away.

Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before the song is over.

————
——–
FORWARDED
E-MAILS ARE TRACKED TO OBTAIN THE TOTAL
COUNT.

Dear All:
PLEASE pass this mail on to everyone you know –
even to those you don’t know!
It is the request of a special girl, who will soon leave this world
due to cancer.

This young girl has 6 months left to live,
and as her dying wish, she wanted to send a letter telling everyone to
live their life to the fullest, since she never will.
She’ll never make it to prom, graduate from high school,
or get married and have a family of her own.

By you sending this to as many people as
possible, you can give her and her family a
little hope, because with every name
that this is sent to, the American
Cancer Society will donate 3 cents per name
to her treatment and recovery
plan. One guy sent this to 500 people! So I know
that we can at least send it to 5 or 6.
It’s not even your money, just your time!

PLEASE PASS ON AS A LAST REQUEST.

From my days as a Police Officer.

I was the radio operator in the Police Area Car (fast response) one quiet Sunday winter’s night when by 3am the driver decided he needed forty winks. He parked the V8 Rover 3500 between two blocks of apartments, in a cul-de-sac, overlooking Greenwich Park and off he dozed.

For a while I managed to stay awake, but perhaps owing to the boredom, or the warmth of the car, I too soon drifted off to sleep. I’m not sure if it was a noise of something or my conscience that woke me, but as I did my hand inadvertently hit the siren button.

I’ve never to this day heard such a loud din as the emergency Klaxons reverberating around that confined space, and nor have I seen such surprise register on anyone face as was there on my driver’s! If anyone reading this was living in those apartments, on that Monday morning almost forty years ago, then please accept my apologies.