Colin F. Jones



Fly into the wind for much strength is gained from it,
In learning the way you’ll leave a trail to follow,
Walk through the nettles and discover the flowers,
Confront every boulder be it solid or hollow.
The entrance is narrow that leads to the truth,
Beyond envy and greed, and competition of might,
Blame not the other in absolving self guilt,
Let us love and be kind for we know it is right.
Think not that harsh words are words said in anger,
Think not that provocation is fertilized in hate,
Judge if you will, but by the principles of the stranger,
That you understand what it is you choose to debate.
For not everyone believes the child in the manger,
Was the creator of Earth to which some may relate.


Is the coat that you wear clean cut and so elegant?
Worn to hide the defects residing under your skin,
Or yet is your manner intent on expressing,
An impression to brighten what really is dim.
Are you what you consider to another compared?
Superior or better, thus more favourably placed,
To make damning judgments publically declared,
Claiming the right another’s form to elegantly deface.
Does your coffin so fitted with brass and gold handles,
Mean your body won’t rot, like mine and decay,
Or that the fire that burns you or when the rope dangles,
You’ll not vanish from life in the usual way.
Trespass not, you deceivers you spinners of angles
For tis wasted your breath and all that you say.


It is the condemnation of others that you disagree with
That stains the lush clothing that the skin is revealed,
For when you throw it aside the coat you’re now loathing,
We see the core of the apple now it has been peeled.
Shall we compare the inside, to the skin of the outside?
Perhaps combine the two to see what we get,
Is the horse now a donkey or is there some pride,
In the deceitful portrayal that still stands arrogant yet.
Oh we are so subservient to hypocrite and teacher,
To the guiles of the prophet the sweet talker and law,
Students of ego soon becoming the preacher,
Brandishing the gun and glorifying war,
This is the nature of this cruel human creature,
Who hasn’t a clue what he was born to live for.


He is black he is white, and yes he is yellow,
She is pink she is brown she is all shades of the Earth;
He is cultured he is poor, he is savage and mellow,
She is sexy and lovely and responsible for birth.
Warriors all for they will all fight with each other,
For by design they were made just to survive,
By defeating their foe, their competitors and brothers,
To ensure that it’s their own kin who are still left alive.
They all hide behind laws that are designed to divide them,
For to chain up the Tiger is to acknowledge it is free,
Thus they direct the traffic where the roadways provide them,
With the avenues, through warfare, to be what they must be.
Servants of a particle of a land mass and an administrator,
Who claims to own part of the sky and part of the sea.


Separate the horse from the plough no fields are furrowed
If no fields are furrowed then no new seeds will be sown,
The door is ajar but the margin has narrowed,
For the life that you have you only temporarily own.
The faint cry of the great Eagle is pitifully calling;
The print of the Australian Tiger has already gone
Across the great wastes the old warriors are falling,
Empty quivers crumpling to the belligerent gun.
None wait to be kissed old customs have vanished,
Respect for each other have diminished and waned,
Mothers spite daughters and daughters spite mothers,
Liberty is won but no freedom is gained.
Yet soldiers keep killing and soldiers keep dying,
The same victories repetitively by each generation claimed.


They sing their anthems everyday through childhood,
They are raised to believe in the Christian God,
They are taught the difference between bad and good,
And to defend with their lives their sacred sod.
Yet they live on the lands of downtrodden people,
And seek greater expansion of influence and gain,
They continue to seek to build the highest steeple,
But its affluent shadow shares its comfort with pain.
The mixed tribes of America are united and strong,
They own what they have and what they can keep
Their greenback sub-God often stumbles along,
And by way of the gun the servants oft weep.
Yet they claim from the ashes a passion for justice
That those with the courage will eventually reap.


They ride into battle through the Afghan desert,
With religious quotations on the side of their tanks,
Inciting reactions that can never be pleasant,
While the enemy propagandist’s express their thanks.
It is another crusade – says the fundamentalist faction –
That has overtaken the military to express their view
That it is the Christian soldier who is conducting the action
Against the Islamic forces and it is nothing new.
Thus the seasons come and the seasons go,
And the wheel keeps turning as it was designed to do,
We bake in sunshine and freeze in the snow,
As we follow the path that is straight and true.
For despite the camouflage the world’s the same,
As it always has bean and will always remain.


We build our mansions along the oceans beaches,
Because we like the scene the panoramic view,
But when the tidal wave to our doorstep reaches,
We realize the foolish things human beings do.
We continue to repeat our mistakes and our errors,
We continue to want more despite what we possess,
We worry and argue over demons and terrors,
That we invite into our lives to be treated as stress,
Caused by another for we like offloading blame,
Rather than facing the truth and admitting our wrongs,
For what is not subservient to personal gain,
Is an unacceptable fault that to another belongs.
High are our standards and low is our shame,
Yet our balloon is too small to hold the air it contains.


Where I am born my personal seed is sewn
Where I can build my shelter and light my fire,
It is the only place on this Earth I own,
And no other place do I desire.
Yet I must pay a fee or be forced to leave,
Conform to another’s way of life,
Yet I lose much more than I receive,
And I’m beset with otherwise unknown strife.
Why must I believe the things they do,
Accept their rules and love their God,
When what they teach is not always true,
And they did not purchase my personal sod?
It is not a right; that I cannot defend,
For on the lenience of others I must depend.


A bill of rights is a list of humane laws,
That removes the right to choose to be free,
That can only exist by fighting wars,
To determine you are you and I am me.
The right to life is lost in death,
Free speech is lost due to change of rule,
The right to be or not to be,
Depends on the ruler of the school.
Rights are not compliant with the facts,
What can’t be enforced cannot apply,
Borne out by the history of such acts,
That take away life because you die.
For what we are we cannot be,
Without the right to pretend that we are free.

This section (13.10) inspired the response, “Thou Shalt Wear Fig Leaves
©Copyright July 11, 2009 by Nancy L. Meek


Some soldiers died; some saw no fire,
Some mended wounds some fed the tired,
But all of them shared one desire,
To do their duty for what they’d been hired.
Some fought the battles; fired the shots,
Some died back at base camp from the bombs,
Some sat at desks and some lay in cots,
Disease does not announce from whence it comes.
Don died in a brawl in a Saigon café,
His throat was slashed by a friendly foe,
Bill was killed by a rocket in his safe base;
He didn’t want to serve but had the guts to go.
We veterans, well, we don’t compare,
For you see, every one of us were there.