Gutter Angel, Five Years Old.
Copyright P.Gamsby 2004
Scabs and snot and grubby faces, hands imploring, traffic chasers
dirt and grime and filth abound, babies racking sobs of sound
heart strings pulled and throats caught lumping
sweaty. flesh. sheen and humping
more and more their loins spew life
no share their own of rich man’s tithe
no future theirs but graves so early
damn you Lord why won’t you do?
Smite them now their misery ended
to my eyes their plight offended
surely I don’t deserve this guilt
I pray to you in the house you built
I erase my shame with my buck in the collection
why should I suffer some peasants erection?
why give me shame and conscience too
Oh Lord what is it for me to do?
Keep my brother I don’t want him
Wash your own feet, my faith died
in the gutter of some Manila sidestreet
yet your love still burns inside
drag me up I sold my bootstraps
to feed the hunger in my soul
now I know what life’s like for them
gutter angel, five years old.
OUT OF STOCK SIR!
The other day I went to play at the Gaisano House of Fakes
Watches, shoes, shirts and trews and purple iced sponge cakes
Spills on floor beside the door are fanned to make them dry
But ask for something particular and the girl will make you cry!
I’m sorry sir we’re out of stock, of that there is no more
Perhaps next week we’ll have what you seek
Please sir, don’t be sore!
A week does pass and back your arse does go to the Gaisano place
All agog with joy they’ll have your toy down the center aisle you race
The sweet girl sees you coming and knows her days are few
For foreigners don’t understand the reality like Flips do
Out of stock does not always mean that none of them is here
It’s an easy out to avoid the shout, Incompetence! My dear!
You can’t blame the Dong whose six month long, tenure is all he’s got
Why should he try harder, or risk his brain will rot?
Forgive them their trespasses, in their heads are more than rocks
But take it not so personally, when they say they’re out of stocks!
By thinking hard for others he may use up all his clues
By saying out of stock sir, he just gives us all the poos!
A Poem For The Philippines
A Peso buys your guilt a rest, from the kids that work the street,
Selling candles to the traffic, in their rags and naked feet.
You can reach the stars for two dollars, if you pretend that he’s a she,
The real thing doesn’t cost much more, but nothing here is free.
If innocence was ever here it’s now trampled in the dust,
From diesel’s screams and hollow dreams, hot bodies chilling lust.
As darkness falls and nature calls and decency’s cut asunder,
Their commerce done, their thoughts are one, for now there’ll be no hunger.
His inner beast has had its’ feast, for him a weekly treat,
For her and her kin it’s a nightly sin, but at least it lets them eat.
In a country where, Christ’s everywhere and Jeepneys quote the Psalms,
The people weep and life is cheap and helping hands?
SONG FOR AMELITA
“A LIFETIME IN YOUR SMILE”
Copyright P. Gamsby 14/3/02
If I said I only loved you for a while,
Would you know I live a lifetime in your smile?
I look into your eyes-it’s like your soul it has no end,
There’s room in there for lover, for mother, and for friend.
And space for something more that words can’t name,
But I feel it when you’re with me all the same.
As if you’re there to defend me, in the courtroom of love’s trial
And sentence me to a lifetime,
Of living in your smile.
And distance works it’s tyranny,
Like a gambler plays his hand.
One choice is all I have to make,
Like a line drawn in the sand.
I either step across the line
Bewitched by your sweet guile.
Or waste life’s most precious gift,
Of living in your smile.
The first time that I saw you, I could not believe my eyes,
At last the true love of my life, after oh so many lies.
Forever might not have an end, but I had found its start
Your smile shone like a host of sunrays, lighting up my heart
I knew at once, without a doubt, my soul had met its mate,
You and me, same time, same space, it only could be fate.
Your presence held for me the same as finding the last tile,
To finish off life’s rich mosaic,
By living in your smile.
And now the years have done their deed and set us free at last
Together we can look back, at a warm and loving past
Our journey isn’t over, I’d say its just begun
Side by side forever more, we live again as one
That has been our saving grace, united did we stand,
Never once divided, we lived life hand in hand
You never left my side, walking many a hard mile,
Just so I could always;
Be living in your smile.
YOUR OWN BACKYARD
Perry Gamsby 1979
He surveyed the carnage with a weary eye,
The paddy where he’d seen, so many men die.
There was blood on the levees, blood on the ground
Blood on the bodies, lying around.
He heard a sound coming from the sky
And tears of rage, came to his eyes
Three choppers, just minutes late
It filled him with anger, disgust and hate.
So he walked away from the killing ground
Walked to a place, a place void of sound
And he sat for a while with his head in his hands,
The faeces of war, littered the land
He gazed at the heavens, despair on his face
And asked himself why? Why this foul place?
A voice answered his question, fast and hard
If not Vietnam, then your own backyard.
HOORAY WORLD WAR NONE
Perry Gamsby 1979
Here’s to the dying, the dead and the living!
Here’s to old enemies, all is forgiven.
Here’s to the limbless, without legs and arms
Here’s to the children, no one they did harm.
Here’s to Korea, Vietnam World War One
A toast for the future, Hooray World War None.
THE IMJIM RIVER
Perry Gamsby 1979
The Glorious Gloucester’s was their name,
Four hundred brave men, called up again
Here they fought and here they tried.
To save us all, for this they died.
They fought at odds of ten to one
They fought for time, till we’d all gone
Their ammo low, they used their knives
And desperately fought, to save their lives.
Again and again, the enemy’d attack
By now they were fighting, back to back
But no one turned, and no one ran.
Now they were fighting, man to man.
And when they say, we will remember them.
I think of four hundred, very brave men.
And still the enemy, cower and quiver,
When they remember, The Imjim River.
The New Ayatollah!
Perry Gamsby 2003
I’d like to know, before I go
Just who gave George the urge?
To rid the world of evil scum
And hit the tit marked “PURGE”?
Was it a God given right to lead the fight
Against the men in the black berets?
Or something else, perhaps oil wealth
To make him end their days?
On whose command does he demand
They give up all their toys?
By any count he has a bigger amount
Of bombs and guns and boys!
But for those of you who’ll do the do
And end up face down dying
Don’t fret for George, the Tyrant’s scourge
He won’t be the one who’s crying.
Did I vote for him with a chad and a whim
Or his New World Govern-Ment?
But I’ll still die when he starts to fry
Those men in their desert tents.
So spare a thought for those you’ve bought
With your bad spelling and coca-cola,
We all suffer too, from what you do
George Dubbya, the New Ayatollah!
Sticky staples can’t be trusted,
Buy them now, before they’re rusted,
Stuck there in her chest and thighs,
Never ever between the eyes.
Shoot yer wad between the creases
(hope this gal’s not somebody’s nieces)
Sticky pages, torn and stained
Used every drop, not one remained.
Relief it came, and then the calm
Is that a hair, upon my palm?
The Anonymous Bear (Not a Poof)
Upon Her Neck A Southern Cross
Upon her neck a Southern Cross
The trademark of our local dross
And on her arms the names of cars,
Or planets, moons or distant stars.
But no, they were her kids it seems,
with names like Taisha, Jayden, Dreams
And dates of when they came to life,
Despite no man would call her wife
But who cares of these mere details
When so many marriages now’days fail?
Her mouth so foul her words are screams
At Taisha, Jayden, even Dreams
Her lack of life’s success their fault
An empty shelf in her moral vault
Where once our parents did invest
Good manners, speech, a sense of dress
She’s just the same as her own kin
You get back only what you put in
No way could she ever hope to find
More, from genes of her sad kind
So take the path of sartorial sin
Get slag tags, tramp stamps, facial rings
Stick pins and needles with steel disgrace
And write your hate upon your face
And make it hurt the world to see
What it be like if you were she.
Copyright Perry Gamsby 15/11/2010