NO MORE WARS

There is much disenchantment with the wars in the Middle East. Some of this discontent is based on miscalculated strategies, rather than with the travesty of war itself. Nonetheless, many people have become aware that the aggressions found their justification on widely publicized lies. Many more people have come to realize how horrific wars are. Both victims and perpetrators suffer, immediately and in the long term. For the conscientious person there is only one stance he should take. He must oppose wars, all wars. What war hopes to achieve can be done better through thoughtful negotiation and mutually beneficial trade and commerce. NO MORE WARS Refrain: No more wars, no more pain, no more shame. Never again will I feel the same. All around, destruction, violent change. Let good deeds, instead of evil, range. Watch those planes, high up in the sky. They swiftly to their targets fly. From thousand feet they drop their bombs Upon innocents without qualms. Screams are rent from searing pain. Search is made for the maimed and slain. Women, children ,the aged, lie there With horrific wounds and deathly stare. Soldiers break through reinforced door, Intent on settling wrathful score. Buddies, killed by a roadside bomb, Are painfully missed, but are gone. In a corner, writhing in awful pain, Lies a man in sorrow, he can’t contain. His wife and children, they are dead. Now he faces troops, with much dread. With rifle butts smashed on his head They cuss with words that can’ t be said. “Dog, who killed our men on that road? We’ll squeeze your neck, you slimy toad.” “I’m a teacher. How would I know? Let me mourn. I’ve been brought so low.” They kicked, and shot him full of lead. And felt content that he was dead. The blackened smoke trails in the sky. Symbol of death, to those drawn nigh. Burned out homes, a silent witness To dubious war’s dirty business. We’ve been baited too long by lies Camouflaged in patriot guise. Surging truth has opened our eyes. No longer will we fall for lies. Refrain No more wars. No more pain. No more shame. Never again will I feel the same. All around, destruction, violent change. Let good deeds, instead of evil, range. VP March 24, 2008 -All rights reserved

THE GREAT MEN OF EARTH

The war in the Middle East has surpassed the Second World War in time. It has become almost as devastating as well. Almost 4,000 young Americans have died. Many more have been wounded, many of these with lifelong handicaps. It has been estimated that more than a million Iraqi people also have died, among them many women and children. The cost of this war has surpassed a half a trillion dollars. The long term cost may reach 3 trillion or more. A question must be asked. In view of those tremendous losses what then is the point of waging war? It seems that profits are being made, at least by a privileged clique. For one, the military industrial complex profits. So do those who control and own the world’s natural resources. Here I have tried to put in words some of my feelings about that business of war. For some it is a business where they stand to make obscene amounts of profit.
The Great Men of Earth

O how the great men of earth,
Received their money’s worth.
Sending our sons to war,
Profiting billions more.

Our sons invading distant lands,
chasing foes across the sands.
Corpulent barons pumping oil,
Gathering all the world’s spoil,

Compliant generals plot attacks,
Raining bombs on people’s backs.
Great men rubbing hands together,
For them, there is no finer weather.

Scanning horizon far and wide,
Our sons, intent to fight with might.
Coming upon the fallen foes,
Discover innocents in death’s throes.

Sons, running, stalking through the streets,
See no more than vanished feet.
Suddenly hit by great explosion,
Leave burnt bodies, great commotion.

Sons are packed in flag-draped caskets,
Lost limbs? False ones sure to mask it.
Mother weeping: He joined in haste.
Father seething: What terrible waste.

Sons reflecting. What have we done?
What destruction! Call that fun?
What loss! What suffering! We are pained.
For all our courage, nothing gained.

Mere collateral damage done!
True democracy will be won!
Such democracy is a sham.
This fight is fought, for the earth’s great men.

Theo. J. de Koning – March 25, 2006

SAGA OF THE CHILD POTATO PICKERS

Childhood memories remain with us always. Some of these we share with other people. Others are uniquely our own. Here is a poem that relates my family experiences shortly after world war 11. My sisters and I still vividly recall these even though they happened some 60 years ago. In spite of the aches and pains at the time we were happy to share a vital part in the wellbeing of our family. In the midst of poverty we experienced a sense of self worth that defies explanation.

EARLY CHILDHOOD MEMORIES
(Saga of the child potato pickers)

Was the eldest of siblings, seven,
A scrawny lad, barely eleven.
Who by fate was poverty- born,
Had felt already the wealthy’s scorn.

War was dangerous, food was scarce,
Giving survival troubling cares.
Father’s paltry wage was not enough,
Children must help. Life was so tough.

Farmer came to my mother’s door,
Saying: Give me three kids, or more.
Need more workers in my field.
This year’s potatoes bear much yield.

I will pay them twelve cents per hour,
They must work through sun and shower.
And work at least nine hours or more
Those potatoes must go in store.

Mother uncertain, losing poise,
Then consented. She had no choice.
They will work, but don’t be rough.
They’re children. Know when it’s enough.

Woman, there’s no need for worry.
Summer will be gone in a hurry.
Besides, idleness is the devil’s tool.
Keep them busy, or you’re just a fool.

Son, of your sisters take good care.
Of lunch they too must get good share.
Watch out for them. Make sure you see,
That they drink enough of their tea.

Listen kids, this is what you do,
One basket each to two of you.
Sticks in the ground every thirty feet.
Pick up all potatoes until you meet.

Once you’re done, I’ll dig some more.
Those potatoes must go in store.
Keep picking spuds, and that real fast. Summer is here, and that won’t last.

Backs bent low felt the stinging sun.
We picked potatoes on the run,
We picked, stick to stick, row on row.
Whew! How much further can we go?

Our legs too long – or arms too short?
Our aching backs couldn’t find support.
With our noses close to the ground,
We picked , picked spuds, till none were found.

Needed relief for aching back.
Couldn’t stretch for the boss gave flack.
You think I pay you for nothing?
Keep picking till it’s time for quitting.

The endless day did finally end.
We washed up, ate, and were content.
We went to bed and fell asleep.
Too tired to ask God our soul to keep.

Early morning came all too soon.
Children get up! It’ll soon be noon!
Got up as tired as the night before,
To start the day to pick some more.

Backs bent low felt pouring rain.
We picked the spuds, ignored the pain.
We picked stick to stick, row on row.
We’re soaked! Boss, when can we go?

You can’t quit now. Pick some more.
Those potatoes must go in store.
Want to get paid? Keep on working!
Don’t give every excuse for shirking.

The endless week did finally end.
We got paid and we were content.
Our aches and pains were still much there,
But felt our pay for work quite fair.

Mother dear, can you close your eyes?
We want to give you big surprise.
Hold up your apron big and wide.
In dropped our pay like a mighty tide.

It felt good to help mom and dad.
Together, we overcame the bad.
In the end, summer’s work was done.
We were content that good had won.

Theo. J. de Koning – June 21 2006 All rights reserved

OUR CAT THE CARPENTER

Shortly after we were married we worked one summer in a Saskatchewan hamlet.Sometimes we still reminisce about our experiences there. One such experience is set out in the poem here below. We still have fond memories about our carpenter cat. In his own way he could be affectionate, but he was definitely an outdoors cat. As things turned out we were all winners.He had good care while he had a chance to grow up. We had an interesting friend we thoroughly enjoyed, in spite of the mishaps that occurred at the beginning.

OUR CAT THE CARPENTER

My good wife wanted a little pet.
Said: “Why don’t we get ourselves a cat?
So much better than a fish, ferret or frog.
Nor do I fancy sleeping, with a barking dog.

One day to a farmer friend we went.
To my wife she was a true God sent.
Her mouser barn cat, had a baby litter.
My ecstatic wife slid into joyous dither.

“Come here, dear. Look at those cute kittens.
That one, on her feet, has white mittens.
Over there, that one, on her chest has a star.
Even from here, you see how different they are.”

“They are so cute. Look, how they scamper.
I must take one home, just to pamper.
Let’s take the grey one, with white on her head.
She is feisty and will make an excellent pet.”

Home we went with a bundle of joy,
Never crossed our minds, “she” could annoy.
“She” turned out to be a most perky fellow.
We found out, nothing he did was ever mellow.

Kittens, it’s said, are easy to train.
Our efforts were largely in vain.
A few piddles here and some odd jobs there,
Grew our patience thin from exhaustive wear.

We bought him a fancy litter box.
Was he dumb, or clever, like a fox?
He did his piddles here and odd jobs there,
And left the box pristine, as if he did not dare.

Since it was summer, I threw him out.
He happily roamed the streets about.
When supper time came, he would stand at the door.
We fed him again, as we had done before.

Such an arrangement turned out quite well.
The house smelled fresh and the box looked swell.
Tom, our carpenter cat, did his jobs elsewhere.
We had reached that stage, where we didn’t worry or care.

Sadly, one day Tom did not come home.
Already we’d spent some evenings alone.
Some said, they had seen him in a farmer’s yard
Chasing birds and rodents as the newly assigned guard.

We felt betrayed. We questioned as well.
Changing jobs is lawful, as far as we can tell.
Changing affections, that’s a more serious thing.
That he had seen a feline lady, did much sting.

Much older, and a lot wiser now,
We’ve learned to cope, without pets somehow.
Cats, and toms in particular, need to roam
In the great outdoors, and make the old barn their home.

Theo. J. de Koning March 15, 2007 -All rights reserved

A PUZZLED PATIENT

Pity the elderly. Retirement should give them the opportunity to pursue interests for which they had scant time during their working years. Unfortunately , much of that time is being spent waiting, waiting on the phone to make their various appointments, waiting at the doctors office, waiting at the pharmacy, waiting at the optometrist, waiting for their flue shots and so on. Even more annoying is that much of that waiting time is spent while that time could be more profitably spent in bed. Here is such an episode that inspired the following poem.

ONE PUZZLED PATIENT

I face a puzzling mystery.
It dawned on me in the midst of misery.
Beset with a virulent flu,
My lungs gurgled with a nasty brew.
A week went by. I still was ill.
It was time to see the doc to get that pill.

I entered the clinic in good time
Sadly, there was very a long line.
Took ticket number forty -six.
When could I expect to get my fix?
Two docs on hand. Fifteen minutes each case.
A five and half hour wait I could not face.

My head ached. My ribs were sore
From the coughing, I could take no more.
My fever rose. Then changed to a chill.
I just wouldn’t last to get that pill.
Turning for home, I felt half dead.
I changed the clinic’s chair for my bed instead.

I had a good sleep, but still had that cough.
To the evening clinic I took off.
What luck. There were only seven there.
An hour and a half wait I could well bear.
What did I know? Proved no good at math.
It took more than two before I saw doc Pad.

To the pharmacy I went.
Efficient help was at hand.
“Give us fifteen for your prescription fill.
You can browse the store, if you will.”
Fifteen minutes turned to be an hour’s wait.
I left the store and felt like bait.

Once home and again in bed,
I thought of my youth and the life we led.
A fell on some harrows, turned upside down
Prevented me from going to the doc in town.
A message sent to the good old doc
Assured me, he would see me at two o’clock.

On his motorcycle he did come.
Through his glasses he assessed my bum.
From his satchel he took some iodine
And applied it to the wound. I did not whine.
“You need to heal, but you’ll be just fine.
Take this elixir to hold that pain in line.”

I was not the mayor’s, nor the banker’s son.
Just a poor farm worker’s one.
And yet the good doc had time to come.
As he, for those in need, had always done.
Physician, pharmacist, manager, all in one,
Most efficient his practice was run.

Another seven days have now gone by.
My cough is still there and quite dry.
Fifty bucks for fourteen pills
Got me barely over my chills.
Doctor Pad did impress to tell:
“Come back, if this doesn’t make you well.”

What strides our modern way has made.
Receptionists, physicians, nurses, aids,
Pharmacists, pill counters, file clerks,
Counter help, computers with all the works.
And none are as efficient as that country doc.
You could count on him to come, and beat that clock.

VP      Dec. 6, 2007 -All rights reserved

P.S. I am not a belligerent man. Just a puzzled one.

IN SEARCH OF HAPPINESS

Happiness does not need to be sought in far off places. Nor do we need to be rich or famous to experience it. It can be found very close to home and enjoyed with those we love.

IN SEARCH OF HAPPINESS

In a dream I sailed the seven seas
Through forceful gale and gentle breeze.
I visited many a distant shore
To quench my heart that asked for more.
What possibly could help console
The unhappy state of my soul?

I dreamed for riches to unfold
Greedily to possess Yukon gold.
Saw mud-rakers with golden coins
Losing all like fools, to booze in joints.
All gold landed in bankers’ vault
To join the dead. I was appalled.

Joy I sought in acclaim and fame.
I was misguided, to my shame.
Fame is built on beauty, perhaps success.
Few withstand fawning or such stress.
Pleasures, addictions and affairs
Bring tears, strife and sorrowful cares.

I searched for love and true romance
Portrayed on stage in song and dance.
As I searched around, I sadly found
Picture perfect partners don’t abound.
My own complexion, warts and all
No fair haired princess did enthrall.

I sailed the oceans, east and west.
Yet failed to find, true happiness.
So I made my way, homeward bound
To sleep a bit more, safe and sound.
I woke up, with my wife in bed.
Looked at her, as if we first had met.

“You seem alarmed. Are you not well?”
“I’m alright, as far as I can tell.
I sailed the seas to seek joy in life.
Forgot I had joy, in you my wife.
I do not need to sail the ocean blue.
Happiness is here at home with you.”

Theo. J. de Koning Jan. 21, 2007 – All rights reserved