Bazil Figura-Poet
Thought Provoking Stuff...
These pieces were written to get people to think, the subject matter varies and the words are chosen carefully, don't just read the lines but think between the lines...enjoy.
Alone
I lay alone inside my room,
I sob myself to sleep,
I am alone in this world now,
I have no relationship deep,
No woman to share my breakfast,
No woman to share my bed,
No woman to share my life with,
No woman that I can wed,
So little interest do they show in me,
So little explanation as to why,
So little time to put things right,
So little wonder I cry.
Better by Far
A gentle shunt, a whistle blast,
The station clock says quarter past,
The signal moves with such a dart,
My favorite journey is about to start,
On the platform people wave and cry,
I see their tears as I go by,
As the world rushes by I watch and see,
My window becomes a giant TV,
Executives on mobiles and laptops too,
Sit with mums and kid’s who are off to the zoo,
Students with backpacks quietly reading their books,
Young lovers hold hands and exchange gooey looks,
Out of the window the hedges are a blur,
The old man sleeping opposite is starting to stir,
Going over the points with a bumperty bump,
Entering a tunnel still make me jump,
As the carriage wheels tumble round and round,
They make a comfortable rumbly sound,
Better than a bus, plane or car,
Traveling by train is better by far.
Candles
Candle burns, candle bright,
Candle lights the darkest night,
Candle wax, candle hot,
Candle flame touch you must not,
Candle straight candle tall,
Candle by the morning small,
Candle out comes the day,
Candle smoke just floats away.
Chair
Where’s my chair, Where’s my chair,
Who has gone and lost my chair,
If my chair does disappear,
Is it only I that care,
Find my chair, find my chair,
Look and then locate my chair,
If my chair does reappear,
A joyous shout of glee you will hear,
Here’s my chair, Here’s my chair,
I have gone a found my chair.
So sit my dear, with ease my dear,
In the comfort of my chair my dear.
Clouds
Clouds are funny things to me,
Its amazing at the shapes you see,
A horses head, a garden rake,
The candles on a birthday cake,
But stranger still I must admit,
When friends come round to look at it,
These soft white pictures that fill the skies,
Are seen by no one by my eyes.
A Country Walk
A muddy path, a forest track,
My pack secured upon by back,
A stony ridge, a windy hill,
In the distance a cotton mill,
A riverbank, a shady glade,
The grass now flat where cow’s once laid,
A gurgling stream with stepping-stones,
A sound much better than mobile phones,
A large oak tree, a village green,
I wonder at the sights it’s seen,
Meadows pastures, clean fresh air,
Is that a Rabbit or is that a Hare,
A barbed wire fence, a dry stonewall,
Far off I hear a cuckoo’s call,
Headlands rough and hedges thick,
I rest awhile upon my stick,
A wooden stile, a five bar gate,
I must press on or I’ll be late,
A village pub, good ale to drink,
Time to sit and rest and think,
The sun is setting, as the swallows drive,
I thank the lord that I’m alive,
For hours on end on need to talk,
I’m busy enjoying my county walk.
DNA
There’s something deep in all of us,
Going about its business without any fuss,
I’d like to introduce to you if I may,
A special thing called D.N.A.
A double helix of golden string,
Carrying the message of what life will bring,
Beyond the price any man could pay,
The magical ingredients of D.N.A.
Sugar and Nitrogen are all in the mix,
Life’s cocktail shaker can play funny tricks,
It never gets lost or losses it’s way,
The remarkable, versatile D.N.A.
Always progressing, always trying to improve,
Twisting and turning forever on the move,
They never stop working, have sleep or play,
Those busy industrious D.N.A.
Black hair or blond it knows the shade,
Deep within the coil decisions are made,
Will they be straight or will they be gay,
All questions are answered by D.N.A.
A little at time it changes for the best,
For millions of years it’s passed the test,
Ever since man first saw the dawn of day,
His future’s been shaped by D.N.A.
A job well done through a millennium of ages,
Life’s book reveals all as you turn over the pages,
The building blocks of life are here to stay,
We are what we are through D.N.A.
A Country Walk
A muddy path, a forest track,
My pack secured upon by back,
A stony ridge, a windy hill,
In the distance a cotton mill,
A riverbank, a shady glade,
The grass now flat where cow’s once laid,
A gurgling stream with stepping-stones,
A sound much better than mobile phones,
A large oak tree, a village green,
I wonder at the sights it’s seen,
Meadows pastures, clean fresh air,
Is that a Rabbit or is that a Hare,
A barbed wire fence, a dry stonewall,
Far off I hear a cuckoo’s call,
Headlands rough and hedges thick,
I rest awhile upon my stick,
A wooden stile, a five bar gate,
I must press on or I’ll be late,
A village pub, good ale to drink,
Time to sit and rest and think,
The sun is setting, as the swallows drive,
I thank the lord that I’m alive,
For hours on end on need to talk,
I’m busy enjoying my county walk.
Drugs
Roses are blue, violets are red,
I’ve had a bad E and its doing my head,
Elephants dancing all coloured green,
I’ve just been talking to my washing machine,
A pigeon flew down and told me a joke,
Five minutes after I shorted some coke,
My slippers laughed and started to point,
As I sat in the rain and drew on my joint,
The trees smell of chocolate as the clouds stand still,
The crack that I had is making me ill,
I’ve swallowed, injected and smoked the place clean,
I’ve visited places that no man has seen,
My body’s a shell that I only rent,
Often I leave it when visions I’m sent,
My body and sole are tearing a part,
The way to avoid it was never to start,
So next when I take the stuff that I buy,
To get me to stop is to hope that I die.
Fallen in Action
Shed no tears for me,
For I alone chose my fate,
As cold air rushes in my chest,
I hear God calling for my soul,
His hands warm my spirit,
I grab at the soil but the pain stays,
People run by as they should,
They want to stop but they know they can’t,
I have lead good men and bad,
Now it is my turn to be lead to a better place,
The noise of battle matters no more,
The shouting, the fear and confusion matters no more,
I matter no more,
The ground beneath me now feels strangely comfortable,
My heart beats slowly but my mind is racing,
My body is weak but my pride is strong,
My duty done for the future I will never see,
Was my sacrifice enough,
War seems immortal unlike its players,
I will be forever at peace,
Things around me go quiet then dark,
I lay and wait for an angel to take my hand,
From this madness into calm
My life has played out fighting for peace,
My life is a contradiction in terms.
First Love
This is the story of Molly Keen,
Who had the blondest hair you’ve ever seen,
She was the prettiest girl I’d ever saw,
The day she moved in next door,
She had some freckles just one or two,
And her eyes were the deepest colour blue,
I walked her to school on her first day,
She held my hand part of the way,
At the door I saw a tear,
I smiled and whispered ‘I’m always here’,
And at the bell at half past three,
She ran and threw her arms round me,
‘To settle into a school so new’,
She said ‘I sat all day and thought of you’,
From that day her heart was mine,
I’d fallen in love at the age of nine,
She said ‘I’ll help with your maths if you like’,
And in return I fixed her bike,
When Molly became my girl friend,
I never wanted the time to end,
We laughed and played and just hung out,
Because that’s what friends is all about,
But as one day we walked her hand in mine,
Outside her house we saw a sign,
On a post with a rusty nail,
In big red letters it said ‘FOR SALE’,
Both sets of parents looked so glum,
But we were unprepared at the news to come,
We both cried tears that fell to the floor,
When we realized we would see each other no more,
The house was sold and she moved away,
I really think it was my saddest day,
An old man with his dog now lives there in the dark,
The curtains stay drawn, which makes the dog bark,
I often think of Molly Keen,
And ponder at what might have been,
Even now it’s hard to understand when,
You lose your girlfriend at the age of ten,
Although I’m an old man now but heavens above,
It still really hurts when you lose your first love.
(It still hurts like hell when you lose your first love)
Floor Boards
Flat, straight, smooth lines,
Sunlight strikes between the blinds,
Tongue, grooved, nailed tight,
Knots and grain a pleasant sight,
Feet walk, warm feel,
Smell of wood has such appeal,
Senses tingle more and more,
Beneath my feet a wooden floor.
Garden Shed
That bastion of manliness, that fortress made of wood,
Where I retreat for solitude more often if I could,
Like a refugee in search of peace I leave all hassle and move,
And seek solace in my sacred place, that womb of tongue and grove,
When life resembles a storm beneath a dark and raging cloud,
Mainly due to the wife’s volume control that’s permanently stuck on loud,
For once the door is firmly closed at the sound of a falling latch,
Begins my state of utopia that no professional therapy can match,
For gardening or model making or the delights of producing home brew,
The advantages of my garden shed; the average woman just hasn’t a clue,
I’ve shelves on which to stack things and hooks from which to hang,
I’ve seven different types of saws to cut with and hammers for to bang
With jam jars neatly labelled and filled with screws and nails,
The method by which you find things is understood only by males,
Most have a radio to listen too; some have a kettle for tea,
Mine has a comfy chair in front of a small TV,
I potter around doing gardening and fixing things when they break,
And it doesn’t matter if I swear and curse should a mistake I make,
For inside my citadel of shiplap guarded by creosote and felt,
I’m protected from a world of woes and the hand life has dealt,
So although it’s typically English and typically misunderstood,
The mysteries that lay within are a force for decency and good,
For in this green and pleasant land that was created for you and me,
Without my garden shed what reason is there to be.
Hats
A builder’s hat is for laying bricks and building up a wall,
A policeman’s hat is not much use, except to make you tall,
A monarch’s hat is for waving and making you look royal,
A chef’s hat is for peeling spuds and making sure they boil,
A witch’s hat is for casting spells and also kissing frogs,
A postman’s hat is for delivering mail and being chased by dogs,
A baker’s hat is for kneading dough and making lots of bread,
A soldier’s hat is for creeping round and shooting people dead,
A bishop’s hat is for saying prayers and singing hymns to God,
An angler’s hat is for catching fish while playing with your rod,
A jockey’s hat is for galloping fast and clearing all the jumps,
A nurse’s hat is for making you well if you have flu or mumps,
A clown’s hat is for lots of fun and throwing custard pies,
A pilot’s hat us for looping the loop as they travel through the skies,
A teacher’s hat is for doing sums to see if you pass or fail,
A sailor’s hat is for climbing ropes and letting out the sail,
A fireman’s hat is for dousing fires and sliding down a pole,
A miner’s hat is for digging coal down a big black hole,
A fisherman’s hat is for laying nets for cod and shark and tope,
A cowboy’s hat is for chasing cows to lasso them with a rope,
But of all the hats in all the world that titillates and flatters,
Remember this and only this, it’s what’s under them that matters.
Hope
Don’t talk to me of man and gun,
How heroes stand and coward’s run,
Don’t talk to me of bombs that thud,
When hill and vale runs red with blood,
Don’t talk to me of lands and rights,
When bargaining down rifle sights,
Don’t talk to me of cannons roar,
When to me they all mean war.
Don’t talk to me of man and gold,
When people starve both young and old,
Don’t talk to me of planes and cars,
When people sleep beneath the stars,
Don’t talk to me of styles of hair,
When children walk with feet so bare,
Don’t talk to me of who shall lead,
When to me they all mean greed,
Don’t talk to me of stocks and shares,
When one mistake can cost careers,
Don’t talk to me of merchandise,
When children labour for a bowl of rice,
Don’t talk to me of independence rule,
When ethnic cleansing is unjust and cruel,
Don’t talk to me of persecution,
When it leads to execution,
Don’t talk to me of race and creed,
When bones shatter and flesh does bleed,
Don’t talk to me of holy wars,
When innocence die for cause,
Don’t talk to me of religious ideal,
When bodies lay beneath piles of steel,
Don’t talk to me of self sacrifice,
When life is worth more than the roll of a dice,
But talk to me of family love,
Of your lord god and heaven above,
And talk to me of how to trust,
The confidence to share one’s crust,
And talk to me of peace on land,
With fellow man hand in hand,
And talk to me of how to cope,
When to me it all means hope.
Lost
Do you know where you’re going?
Have you been there before?
Do you know how to get there?
Once you leave the front door,
Have you seen where you’re going?
Do you know it’s still there?
Is it where you want to be?
Is your journey crystal clear?
Once there how will you know?
Is your path straight or not?
Will it be somewhere that you’ll like?
Is it cold there or is it hot?
Is the place where you’re going, far far away?
Are you sure it’s where you really want to be?
Do you need help how to find your way
Is the place that you seek very clear to see,
So is it where you really want to be?
So is it where you really want to go?
And will you really like when you get there?
Is the answer yes or is the answer no?
Moles
Moles are quiet and never seen,
You only know where they have been,
Small earth hills that dot the lawn,
Are proof their work can cause forlorn,
Tiny, black, soft and shy,
They live their life without a sky,
Subterranean lives they lead,
As they tunnel, dig, work and feed
Under foot and unaware,
We know not if they’re far of near,
Eyes that cannot bear the light,
Are sharp as pins in their eternal night,
Their world is damp beneath our boots,
As they navigate passed stones and roots,
Try to find one, and as such,
You’ll never get to see or touch,
We know not of their ways and history,
They live their lives in total mystery.
Omnipresent
How can God be everywhere,
The world is a very large place,
With all the people there is around,
How does he know my face,
Moreover, if he is everywhere and there is nothing I can do,
Is God really watching me when I’m sitting on the loo?
Questions
Ask yourself this question, how did I get here?
Do I know where I started from and do I really care,
If I’m here how do I know and do I really mind,
And if I want to return will the way back I find,
Did I come here by myself or was duly lead,
And do I know who lead me or was it in my head,
Am I by myself or are others here as well,
I think I am a lone as far as I can tell,
How long can I stay for and when will I have to go,
And do I have a choice to say ‘Yes’ or to say ‘No’
I think that I quite like it here and may choose the choice to stay,
And if I do I’ll settle here and never go away.
Shy
I’ve never been the sort to stand out in a crowd,
Or the kind of individual with their head up in a cloud,
I am so shy its true and it must properly be said,
This is the reason why I wear a bag upon my head,
Strange as it may look I like to hid my face,
I feel comfortable and safe inside my private space,
People stop and stare and wonder why it’s done,
They think it must be for charity or just a bit of fun,
I’m protected from their gaze for they cannot see in,
My whole world is shielded by a layer paper thin,
And if things get unpleasant and people get me down,
All I have to do is turn the bag around,
Doctors say I’m mad and should be put in care,
But when I see the crazy world, the safest place is in here
People scream and shout, and fighting’s all I see,
The more perceptive among you might say they are mad not me,
The lord once said ‘The earth shall be inherited by the meek’,
But society has labelled me ‘Nerd’ and ‘Weird’ and ‘Geek’
And if prejudice could see through the eyes of those it is at war,
Intolerance and bigotry would be a thing no more,
We live our lives to fulfil our dreams until our creator’s call,
It’s just some of us do it quietly, and differently that’s all,
So next you meet someone like me don’t label them you pass by,
Inside their bag they live their life happy, but shy.
Smells
Freshly baked wholemeal bread,
The creosote on granddad’s shed,
Highly buffed polish on my shoe,
Brown and sticky contact glue,
Carnations are my favourite flower,
The smell of tarmac after a shower,
Filter coffee in a shopping arcade,
At the seaside watching rock being made,
Cigar smoke after an evening meal,
The long curly pieces of orange peel,
The inside of a brand new car,
When the lid comes off a marmalade jar,
New cut lawns on a summer’s day,
The stacking of bales of hay,
Dettol poured in grandma’s bath,
Cold grey ashes that lay in the hearth,
A full English breakfast ready to fill,
Wet gloss paint on a windowsill,
Putting petrol in the car,
Laying roads with bubbling tar,
Candyfloss at the fair,
A freshly bathed baby’s hair,
Jacket spuds made with cheese,
Apple blossom on a breeze,
Saw dust made from cutting wood,
A piping hot Christmas Pud,
Smells are things you can’t touch or see,
And they’re individual to you and me,
Like a scrapbook of everywhere you’ve ever been,
Smells are like a time machine,
One small sniff is all you need,
Then to a memory it will lead,
Yesterday or yesteryear,
In you head the pictures clear,
A time, a place, an age, it tells
Amazing things those smelly smells.
The Norfolk Coast
My thoughts drift back to the Norfolk coast,
A place I know and miss,
The salty breeze across the beach,
Cutting lines in my face as I look out to sea,
The December wind icy and quick,
Fills my lungs with life and makes my head light,
A feeling stronger than drink or drugs could make,
The sky is a collage of shape and colour,
Small blue islands appear and disappear,
Among a sea of white and Grey clouds,
A mirror image of what is beneath,
I use to stand upon the silken dunes,
And watch the barbed waves break upon the beach,
They seem to whisper inside my head ‘Watch me, watch me’,
I would sometimes would leave my body and see myself from the sea,
Standing alone, still and spell bound,
My hands buried deep inside my pockets palms sweating,
Fuelled with the passion that burns inside my heart,
The golden crescent of sand that is my county,
I have been away to long,
My mind stretches too much when I think of home,
I should return, I must return,
The world has many wonders,
Many religions, creeds, colours, and politics,
But I am at peace with my maker when alone on my beach in winter,
My troubled mind is like the troubled sea,
I long for the calm, I long for my homeland,
I long for my Norfolk coast.
U F O
Gazing up into the stars,
I can’t help wonder you see,
If I’m down here staring up to there,
Is anyone looking back at me?
And if they are as I suspect,
Watching how we act,
We fight, we kill, destroy the world,
It’s sad and that’s a fact,
If traveling through space and time,
At the speed of light they flew,
How would meet and greet them,
We’d probably put them in a zoo,
Those small green men in silver suits,
May like to visit and stay,
But as they watch at how we act,
They’d laugh and say ‘no way’,
No, all in all it’s for the best,
With sightings as rare as a gem,
It’s safer for all if we stay how we are,
If they’re watching me watching them.
Weekend
Get up late and punch in at the clock,
A minute too late and a quarter they dock,
Yawn and stretch as overall get put on,
And talk of where the week has gone,
At tea break we still dream of bed,
Then plan in full the day ahead,
Lads crack jokes so funny you cry,
But faces are straight as bosses walk by,
The OT is done as the buzzer sounds,
So pay packets fatter by just a few pounds,
Now off to the match, wit sharp as a pin,
Have a few beers and hope for a win,
The visiting players the mickey we shout
Good humored chants at the frog or the kraut,
After he game in the local for chat,
Talk of missed chances and of this and of that,
Saturday night out on the town,
Have a few drinks and act like a clown,
Clubbing all night and pick up a chick,
Have a slow dance and feel something click,
At chucking out time when it’s very very late,
The cab arrives at the garden gate,
Go in for coffee and decide to stay,
Share smiles and glances over breakfast next day,
The hang-over kicks in and penance is hard,
My brain feels like a lump of lard,
All day Sunday saying ‘never no more’
While sporadically throw up from the night before,
From the bathroom comes an occasional moan,
As I talk to God on the great white phone,
With a headache so strong I’m really in pain,
I can’t wait for the weekend to come round again.
What's the point
Of Galaxies and Black holes,
Man’s search for knowledge is bold,
But what’s the point of traveling so far,
If we can’t even cure the common cold.
Of Cruise, Tomahawk and invisible Stealth,
Man knows no limit for war,
But what’s the point of this technology so new,
When there are people who are homeless and poor.
Of Prime minister, Presidents, and politicians all,
Man lies on his election run,
But what’s the use of voting for them,
If nothing changes or ever gets done.
Of Islam, Christian and Buddhist faith,
Man’s spiritual ways have strict laws,
But what’s the point of praying for peace,
When religion brings divisions and wars,
Of sportsman, sponsors and satellite TV,
Billions enter into their purse,
But what’s the point of valuing jobs,
When a footballer is worth more than a nurse.
But what’s the point of giving up,
I find I can’t just stand by,
I’m not saying I can change the world,
But I’ll give it a damned good try.
Why
Why are old people as miserable as sin?
Why does my lottery ticket never ever win?
Why do fat people wear such tight clothes?
Why is my garden longer than my hose?
Why, when I shouldn’t I touch wet paint?
Why is it only women ever seem to faint?
Why does everybody have a better car than me?
Why do I constantly lose my front door key?
Why do old men have their hair in ponytails?
Why am I last to queue at the sales?
Why do shopping trolleys never run straight?
Why is it that my bus always runs late?
Why do Italian operas last for hours and hours?
Why do garage forecourts sell bunches of dead flowers?
Why does my toast fall jam side down?
Why do traffic wardens always have a frown?
Why does my Orange always have the pips?
Why does fish always go best with chips?
Why does it rain when I forget my overcoat?
Why do garages charge far more than they ever quote?
Why do these things always happen to me?
Why is it the humour I always fail to see?
Why, I will tell you its because God plays with man?
And why does he do that….simple because he can!
DNA
L