MORTAL TO IMMORTAL
The morning spits up the sun
Below my bed my lips peels
Yo our childs Hullabaloo over
Keeping our first abo culture good
Clean shaven back lands
And we sunstruck by a colourless talk by Americanos
The afternoon spits up the starred night
Below my head lays eyes looking
At the noses arse-end of this world
A first fella said I want to be oblivious
‘what for?’ cos midday squinting toward
a trespassive on Murri land
Rumour field the house of every Peoples Spirits of;
‘how come a sickle moon kisses earth and found out what heart’
Toned cry sitting love makes
So fuck love for yesterdays dump
So lullaby away dreams that don’t come true
Those Murri skills remain are
Future clumsy flinch with business
Those Murri hobnailed on naming
Each other cabs calm in drawer for a bit of money
The rituals gentle Murri sorcery
Gives ancient weathered faces
Stout to taut the looter?
Awake now readers and seed basic
Eternal life humble shipped out
Of man’s sorrow affairs
Murri old commanded us us
Murri young commanded us us
The morning wings me to supreme sacrifice
According to the perished
© 2010, Lionel Fogarty
Song for a Singer
When you go underground with all your airs,
Your kindly lies and your ridiculous prayers,
You shall not ever fear to face again
The strong man’s rage, the woman wild with pain
Nor song nor sigh will beat upon your brain.
The world will mourn you neither less nor more
Than all the pawns who played the game before;
The lover-lad will kiss his love anew
The water-birds will have their dance to do,
And the rude Spring will gallop over you.
The men who make will match the men who mar,
The eye unsatisfied will seek a star;
Your visitor the worm will speak you fair,
The bride will tremble and the child will stare,
And the red Summer will ride everywhere.
John Shaw Neilson
Jewish Blessing of the Mourners
Those who are worn out and crushed by this mourning, let your hearts consider this:
this is the path that has existed from the time of creation and will exist forever.
Many have drunk from it and many will yet drink.
As was the first meal, so shall be the last.
May the master of comfort comfort you.
Blessed are those who comforts the mourners.
the old proverbial recovery through ancient eyes