A Warrior’s Lament.
Water flowing from my door,
Seas are boiling like before.
Blood is dripping from my sword,
My heart is bleeding, please no more my lord.
I just want to love you, feel no more pain,
Eradicate memories, that torment my brain.
Ah. But no!
Clouds are rolling across the sky,
Lighting flashes burn my eye,
Thunder throws me to the ground,
Nought but corpses do surround.
Time is turning in my brain,
Please don’t make me think again.
I just want to love you,
Feel no more pain,
Eradicate memorys,that torment my brain.
Ah but no.
Copyright E.F.H. De Maine.
Despair: The Brotherhood of Man
We sit in seats at the back,
Whilst the grotesque clown of life
Performs his tricks of wonder
For the rich in the front row.
I am not alone and yet I am,
Because there are many like I,
Who strain their necks to see.
But we are an island unto each other,
As he performs his act of love and pain.
We must stand alone and watch,
The lords of the front row,
Build walls and drive stakes between us.
We have the power in our grasp,
To destroy their monarchy of hate,
But we do not listen to each other,
But stand in our chains and cry.
The time was now or yesterday
Tomorrow will never come only death,
Eyes be opened to see what they hide,
Behind their facade of lies
We have the tool, our tool is compassion,
We have the power, our power is knowledge,
We know their weapon , our greed,
We know the truth, our truth is love.
Copyright E.F.H. De Maine.
Glass Shoes Blues
Ho Baby, what have you done to me,
See you in the mirror, of my mind,
Well before, I’ve seen your kind
I was true, now I’m blue,
Hurts my eyes, to look at you.
You got rouge, upon your face,
In your eyes, I see disgrace,
I know your falling, in the morning,
What you did last night.
Got glass shoes, upon your feet,
Did you think, you were dicreet?
Now those shoes, are like my heart,
Broken, shattered, all apart.
Painted dressed, just like whore,
Don’t want to see you, any more,
Had your chance, now you’re through,
Well baby, I’m done with you.
Ho Baby, what have you done to me.
Copyright E.F.H. De Maine.
MA and PA Snow.
Mrs. Snow she said, I can get inside your head,
Show you countless wonders, whilst you lay upon your bed,
Just one sniff of me, can electrify your brain,
I’ll tell you dearest child; I can drive you quite insane,
That’s what she said,
Come to mommy baby, come to mommy now,
I’ll get you really moving, get you feeling wow,
Let me be your space invader, your junkie mommy snow,
Way to go my children, I got my seeds to sow.
That’s what she said,
Let me introduce you, to my son and daughter pain.
I’ll take you off to paradise, whilst you spiral down the drain,
You’ll not be very healthy in your body and your soul,
But your minds a cosmic roller, when I am in control.
That’s what she said,
Hey Moma’s tired of playing, theres no where else to go,
You’re puking in the corner on the people down below.
I’m going to tell my daddy you been a real bad child,
Let me introduce my papa, doctor death awhile.
That’s what she said.
Copyright E.F.H. De Maine.
Reconciliation.
Don’t Blame Me.
I refuse to apologize, he said.
It’s not my department; it’s not up to me.
If we could laughed we would.
Do you not gain from their demise?
Whether it was yesterday, or now.
Is not your benefit, their tragedy?
When the glory of your race,
Lays in their dispossession.
Think on little digger,
Are you proud?
Copyright E.F.H. De Maine.
Sorrow.
A baby is dead, who care’s,
Many said I, Butt cared not,
It’s mother cared, her empty breast ached,
She felt her heart sqeesed with emptyness,
It’s father cared for his seed had died,
A hole of ifinate depth apeared in his stomoch,
The union of their love, now just a shell,
After such promise taken from them.
For a baby is dead and who care’s,
Many said I, but cared not.
The grandparents wept in silence,
For their loss was felt soul deep,
The child felt no pain as before,
It’s life was short and felt small missery,
Those who expearence life feel its loss,
Compashion is all we have to cushion lifes sorrow.
A baby is dead, who cares,
Many said I butt cared not.
Copyright E.F.H. De Maine.
Tragedy.
Are you proud to be of your race?
That you are responsible for their tragedy.
Annexing their land.
Dispossessing of their culture.
Robing them of hope.
Addicting them to alcohol.
Steeling their children.
Not me you say that was in the past.
But do you not benefit from the crime?
Yesterday today and tomorrow.
I say offer them your hand.
But no you just spit on them.
ARE YOU PROUD?
Copyright E.F.H. De Maine.
White Ghosts
We came from the sea like spirits,
Our sails and our skins white as death.
The people said visitors welcome,
We replied “we claim this land for our King.”
Who put the poison in the flour?
Who chained a man that was free?
Who stole the land from the people?
Was it you white man? Was it me?
A man built an empire for his children,
Built it on grass, big as a sea,
The word came down. It was Mabo.
He said “who steals this land from me?”
Who put the poison in the flour?
Who chained the man that was free?
Who stole the land from the people?
Was it you white man? Was it me?
People were worried and frightened.
A man’s castle just was not safe.
Politicians said “we’ve the solution.
Join us in envy and hate.”
They said “we’ll print lies in newspapers.
We’ll pervert truth on TV.
We will poison the flour.
White man, throw your lot in with me.”
But truth cannot be perverted,
Before God one day we must stand.
Those who commited these crimes remembered,
To purge this stain from our land.
Copyright: Edward De Maine.
White Madness Then and Now.
Kangaroos stand, ears nose held erect,
Gunshots ring out beside the blue sea,
Flower of a race given up to the dream,
Childen left helpless generations to come,
Thirty five dead in a Tasmainian field,
Finger of hate located next to the thumb,
Death on the wind like a kookaburras laugh,
Signals the end of compashion and love,
Greaf Fills their hearts all purpors lost,
No one to council them broken with fear,
Only the drug of the old demon gin,
Handed by, the same finger and thumb.
Copyright E.F.H. De Maine.