The Poem and the Song
… Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: “The Arrow and the Song”
I shot a poem into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
How in the world could I have known
Where this wistful thing had flown?
Perhaps it touched the cheek of a child
And was the reason that child smiled.
Perchance it fell on a penniless peasant,
And, for an instant, made life pleasant.
It possibly parleyed with a warlike man,
And gave him the germ of a humane plan.
Or it may have met a suffragette,
To imply some sisters are suffering yet.
It matters not where it was bound,
Somewhere, some time it will be found,
I care not a bit if it’s hell or above,
As long as it kindles the warmth of love.
A Work Of Art
A work of art is a thing of beauty
A joy forever
It is a gift to all people
Made by one or more of our fellows
It stands supreme
With its own integrity
Depending entirely for its existence
On the artistry that created it
Its aim is artistic perfection
Not profit
Not conformity
Not political success
Not obeisance to simplistic formulae
It lives by its own magic
And triumphs in spite of everything
There is no bargaining with art
No compromise for personal advantage
No quest for irrelevant social status
It is where inspiration begins and never ends
Where human dignity
Is apparent to us all
So that we cannot hear the noise
Of undeserved reputation
Or fictitious claims of virtue
Art is a beacon of light
Thrown on the darkness of self interest
And its place in the world will forever be
A guardian of human fulfilment
So for art and its eternal welfare
With all the joy and wisdom that entails
Here I stand
Teacher
I walk with others towards the future
Because I am a teacher
I travel the road of self awareness
Patiently correcting errors
And giving new hope of success
In spite of all the barriers
That bar the way
I find in my care very often
Underlings in strife
Torn and harassed by the traumas of life:
Troubled parents
Graven images of instructional gain
Costly solutions to needs that don’t exist
And external testing probing the wrong things
Sometimes I win the battle:
Words are read with understanding
Significant equations are solved
The past becomes a living thing that teaches in the now
Yet still my work is a never ending struggle
There is always more to be done
If the battle is to be won
And I fight on
Rewarded joyfully from time to time
By the light in a pupil’s eyes
That is often my only sign of success
But it carries me forward
With a dream of a better world
Some will say dreams have no place in the classroom
That old fashioned stress and duress are sorely needed
To bring back the good old days
I say no
That is not the place to go
Worn out ways are not what my students need
There will be a different legacy when I am gone
I know each lesson as time passes
Is a balm for tomorrow through my classes
Boat People
Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not
born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a
new world is born.
Anais Nin (1903-1977)
Kindness gives birth to kindness.
Sophocles
Little fishes swimming in a shark-infested bay
Flights of fragile insects, dodging birds of prey
Cries in the guise of humans, ever on the run
Shadows on my doorstep, afraid of the morning sun
Sterile seeds of sympathy, trying to grow on stone
Flimsy flowers for funerals, which may yet be your own
Beggars knocking softly, on a rich man’s door
Noticing the dogs let loose, not believing what you saw
Whispers in a wilderness, drowned by a lion’s roar
Prayers in a vestry, that sovereign ghouls ignore
Broken dolls still floating–last memories in a gutter
Butterflies ensnared in a web, a spider’s bread and butter
What on earth are you doing here, tossing on our waves?
Stop cluttering up our borders; go home to your own graves
We will select who enters here, and who beats our drum;
We will decide the circumstances when we let you come.
Ave atque vale!
Hello and farewell! Catullus
A Pigeon Among the Cats
Recollections of a Refugee
When a stupid man is doing something he is ashamed of,
he always declares that it is his duty. George Bernard Shaw
Ah the despair! Such anguish there, at my final destination.
My family was dead, I still lived in dread and fear of elimination.
So I came, as a desperate man, to this port with barbed wire borders,
Where the one refrain the locals maintain is we are illegal marauders!
Ruthlessly they ambushed me
Into their hell then they pushed me,
From their looks askance,
I felt like a pimp at a children’s dance.
They searched me, researched me, as doctors do with disease,
And they asked a thousand questions to bring me to my knees.
My answers were cancers, like smoke to nesting bees,
Words they despised with downcast eyes — you’d think that I had fleas,
Or else was a secret agent, forming a deadly ring,
Or yet just a piece of floating trash, a soulless, empty thing.
So distant from my dreams was this, it’s hard for me to say
Why I was doomed to be treated in a such an uncouth way.
Who in Heaven would find me willing for such an angry spree,
To have me seek asylum here across the devilish sea?
Here on this ledge, with a razor edge, where years of tears are spent
Behind harsh wires in a guiltless gaol where you have to pay the rent.
That political tune is a deadly refrain, with no harmonious notes,
But the loud-voiced choir that sings it, know it will win them votes.
‘Sentence first–verdict afterwards,’ said the mindless, heartless queen,
But the counterfeit justice such as this, makes her seem serene.
All I am is a wanderer, jinxed by race and place and time,
A loving, longing, lonely man whose only crime is rhyme.
Yet this I know, from years ago, spent in this troubled land,
King-like birds that snarl to be heard, walk wrathful on shifting sand,
And treat refugees like cattle, at one of Vesty’s musters,
To turn voters into freedom deniers and aliens into feather dusters.
Warmonger
On a recent war outbreak
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Morality is under duress
A liar is setting the world on fire
To sanctify his godless desire
Look closely at his wrongful scheme
To notice the dullard’s preposterous dream
His mighty army has its flag unfurled
As the most powerful in the world
So to hell with peaceful conciliation
Exhibit your status as a power-hungry nation
Shake your fist
Imply this gist
You are the Lord who must be obeyed
And every recusant will be dismayed
Come on then now
Cast aside your peace vow
That a cordial outcome could be real
And you truly sought a deal
On with it then you fanatical hawk
It’s time to fulfil your jingoistic talk
Fire! Fire! Fire!
To implement your vile desire
Bring fear to a chosen maligned race
Let your deeds match your disgrace
Look at the destruction, how lovely, inspiring
Kill! Kill! Kill! Is what you’re desiring
Show any nation prone to dissenting
Its future is doomed by not consenting
There lies the candour if one is realistic
The fail-safe truth that you are fascistic
The Crime Of War
On a current conflictWhat a scandal is this stupidity
Bleak iniquity disguised as validity
International law is cast aside
While the leader fetishly loves the ride
Listen to the nonsense he sends through the air
When you seek insight it isn’t there
And as for his ally committing the crime
His whole persona is bogus sublime
The Grim Reaper is the chosen friend
But the dirge of the folly will never end
Once more into the breech go fools
Another invasion against the rules
Overthrow! Overthrow! Overthrow!
Strong-arm regime change is the go
Might is right thinks this Neo-blackshirt
Who turns justice into dirt
Innocent people already have died
Big Brother in charge goes along for the rife
What is the reason you may ask
That lies behind this depraved task?
Why nothing more than a grab for domination
That to every pure mind’s an abomination
So deadly weapons light up the sky
And even children appallingly die
Victims beseech and kneel in prayer
But the gift of mercy isn’t there
So heed me dear thinker note the folly you see
What on earth can the outcome be?
Why, injustice will be recorded on the walls of time
With the names of the doers of this ugly crime
royciebaby
Royce Levi Australian Teacher and Author 