The Brave Do Not Heckle

The one who joins the heckling and booing mob may somehow feel empowered
But as an individual in him runs the coward
The brave do not heckle or boo they stand on their own
For such cowardly behavior their sort are not known
In the face of derision the brave one speaks out
Booing and heckling of an individual is not what bravery is about
One individual against a harassing mob is powerless to fight back
And those who join in the heckling and booing In courage and compassion and empathy lack
Such people in their thinking and behavior in their ways are so small
Their idea of a fair go does not encompass a fair go for all
About such people there is nothing on which to admire
Any sort of fairness or justice their sort never inspire
Above the very ordinary they never do rise
And any of them never short listed for any peace prize.

You Are Not To Blame

For the crimes of your fellow Country people you are not to blame
Their sins against others should not be your shame
You live as a good person and have never harmed anyone
And why should you feel any guilt for any harm that some of your race to others have done
You are not responsible for the crimes of some of your race
If the law does not catch up with them from Karma for them there is no hiding place
As individuals we are all responsible for our own lives it does seem
And the crimes of some of the members of your race should not cause you for to lose any self esteem
Wearing guilt for the sins of others seems rather pointless to me
Leave them to feel their own guilt is how it ought to be
Of a good and a bad race of people there is no such a thing
The praises of a good individual one only can sing
For the crimes of some of the members of your own race why should you feel any shame
Since for the wrongs that they do to others you are not to blame.

Were I Born A Poet

Were i born a poet i would write poems about
A soft breeze at morning blowing with a freshening mouth
And the pleasant flute like warbling in the magpie's song
A voice from once heard one will never again get wrong

Were i born a poet i would write poems of the homeless of the street
Who every day life's toughest challenge are obliged for to meet
The test of survival they face every day
My homage to them in a poem i would pay

Were i born a poet i would write poems of the rill
That babbles downland from it's source by the hill
To the big river that journeys to the ocean shore
In a distinctive voice of Nature that is forever more

Were i born a poet poems to Nature i would write
That lovers of poetry would feel happy to read and recite
But poets are not many as most would agree
And an ordinary rhymer is the best i can be.

Of My Time In Mushera

The memories with me are all that does remain
I will never fell pine trees by Mushera again
In all sorts of weather wind, sun, frost and rain
With brown rain water flowing in every drain

Across the high country the cold winds did blow
And old Mushera was often in his hat of snow
Late Winter in Mushera can be a cold and wet time of year
The wind soughing in the pine trees in fancy i hear

But Mushera is a beautiful place in the Spring
When the wood pigeons coo and the nesting birds sing
And the weather temperatures close to a pleasant twenty degrees
And the warmth of Spring in the freshening mountain breeze

When the hawthorns are cloaked in their white blooms of May
Dark faced young lambs in the high fields by Mushera around their mothers play
And the dark barn swallows in the blue and gray sky
In pursuit of flying insects chirping as they fly.

The memories are all i have left to retain
Of what used to be but will not be again
Of my time in Mushera felling spruce and pine trees
On weather temperatures of varying degrees.

Those Who Like To Talk

Those who like to talk and are not good at listening for to learn are slow
And the one who is good at listening is always learning is something everyone does know
This is common knowledge it is true to say
A good listener is learning something new every day
Those over fond of talking of their own voices like the sound
Though with knowledge such people are not known to abound
That empty vessels make the most noise remain ever true
And this applies to everyone as well as me and you
The wisest people of the town are amongst the most knowledgeable as well
And why this is so is not hard to tell
Since they are good at listening they learn every day
They do learn most those with little to say.

Pride Is A Thing

The words of a wise person are ours to recall
Pride is a thing that comes before a fall
The proudest of people have known of wounded pride
And the mental hurt they did feel they struggled for to hide
It is a known fact the proudest of the town
Have had their humbling moments and felt mentally down
A wound to the ego is mentally a painful thing
But some temporary humbling to the proud one does bring
Yes indeed it is true that pride comes before a fall
And the most arrogant of people can be made to feel small
A prick to the ego can cause mental pain
But a loss to arrogance can be humility's gain
And the words of the wise person are ours to recall
Pride is a thing that comes before a fall.

Not An Excuse

The man who ill treats his children and beats his wife
Is one who has not learned from the book of life
And though he himself as a child may have been abused
From his bad behavior he cannot be excused

For such an excuse it is not good enough
Since many men as children who have known it quite tough
To their wives and children are loving and kind
Aggression and violence are born of darkness of mind

For violence of all sorts excuses are often made
But it only does show the darker side of the offender when violence is displayed
And domestic violence is on the increase as a statistic this is quite bad
And to read of this to say the least sad

Of domestic violence we so often hear of and read
A good man by good example always does lead
And though the man who beats his wife and children himself a victim of abuse
For his bad behavior this is not an excuse.