|
Details |
Andrew Scott Poem
I invite you to visit my mountain
To drink from my fountain
To feel what gives my power
To meet the actual snake with a flower
I have heard stories of my demise
Folktales given by the unwise
Storytellers with no ear
Dishing out tales to cover their own fear
Tales of a great evil
A face around me built by the devil
Escapades covered in sin
Delivered with a lust’s grin
I have heard how I have led all into temptation
The path of right and wrong always leads to confusion
Storytellers say I always will lead you down the wrong path
The pipers marching you to the devious bath
Folklore states that all souls are in my treasury
Amassed by traits of debauchery
Living in heaven, lined with sin
The tales and where they begin
Storyteller’s muse must all be true
Tales of terror that must be thought through
Fires of hell surround my throne
A kingdom built on my own
So, I do invite you to visit this mountain
Share in the gift of the ever giving fountain
Where no judgment gives the power
To this snake with a flower
March 11, 2008
©Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2008
Copyright © Andrew Scott | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Andrew Scott Poem
I heard the whispers of superiors,
saying how prepared we were walking into battle,
flashes of the combined destruction witness,
tell my young, bruised mind differently,
maybe I am too immature to understand,
someday it may make sense to me,
with every foot step, that day is not today.
Without proper rest because of impending rain,
our division was ordered into attack,
alongside our brave New Zealand warriors,
two days earlier than the organized plan.
On orders, we advanced on our objective,
to capture the Blue Line, not far beyond the crestline,
legs trembled with every silent step,
mind hoping for an easy travel to our destination.
Dreams crumbled into dark reality,
with the first heard gunfire from afar,
defences up and prepared for our arrival,
as we were ready to encounter them.
Moving forward, a few hours played like hectic minutes,
every movement was at an advanced speed of chaos,
each step forward had less than the step before,
as I watched mine and their countrymen fall,
each passing bullet always took a life away,
whether the intent was for the enemy,
or considered from the friendly.
The allies of the British Empire said it was a victory,
one more step in the Passchendaele Campaign,
but I was unsure of what constitutes victory,
we took what we were ordered too,
with thousands never waking from their eternal sleep,
countless more never moving or being the same,
lost limbs never recovered,
shrapnel that will always be there.
Images play in my mind,
in this slow walk home to Australia,
carried by a band of unknown brothers,
trying not to trip over new, torn open bodies,
that are blending with old ones.
My missing foot feels every stumble,
of the steps of boys holding my cloth stretcher,
trying to be men marching home from Broodseinde.
August 25, 2011
© Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy
Copyright © Andrew Scott | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Andrew Scott Poem
I am sitting here all alone,
not really knowing how it hit once again,
the wealth of emotions that travel here,
calm to tears in a matter of moments,
sadness that weighs heavy in my eyes,
flashes of my memories every day,
it is overwhelming, your loss, some days.
Looking over at my half empty coffee cup,
remembering our private talks of life,
the unconditional encouragement,
so freely given when others would not,
understanding the complexity of me,
loving me for just being me.
No one has ever said an unkind word,
when they pass by and share memories of you,
their memories of gentleness,
bring the eyes to tears,
and my expression to humble,
so nice to hear what I already knew.
Maybe it is guilt that everything floods back,
in never letting you know,
who you were in my eyes,
hope deep down you did,
or hear me now in my whispers and tears.
The feeling that has never left,
is the belief that you had to pass away from me,
for me to reach every goal or success,
we talked about over half empty cups of coffee,
though I know you can see every step,
grief just comes over me,
for me to grow, did you think you had to go?
October 6, 2011
© Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2011
Copyright © Andrew Scott | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Andrew Scott Poem
I can hear the shouts of celebration of joy outside my window,
people steaming the streets,
crying in happiness, holding one another,
this has been the way for hours,
since the simple message that the Great War was over,
parents, brothers and sisters lining the streets,
waving, shaking hands of neighbours,
with the news of victory and those returning home.
Trying as I may,
I am not sharing everyone’s excitement,
been laying here since I arrived home from Broodseinde,
fighting chills, fever, or infection,
never all at the same time,
that would give a day of rest,
I do not have that now.
Most of my days are spent moving from bed sores,
blisters given to my back from the sweating of fever,
not being able to move from this dirty, soiled bed,
in this warehouse called a hospital,
that has bed after bed lined one after one,
with bodies worse than mine,
the stench, at times, let us know,
when another will not be woken up,
only to be replaced the next day.
The poor nurses cannot be blamed for our conditions,
there are so many of us lined, laying here,
that losing track is common occurrence,
so we rest in our own filth,
as yelling for cleaning does not help,
many voices of high screams or low moans,
just get lost in the echoes of the high ceilings.
My leg is now gone above the knee,
because my cries were silenced by others,
tingling of gang green taking more and more,
doctors have removed these pieces twice,
I pray they find no more and the would closes.
From the outside, most would believe I am fortunate,
I am alive and not screaming towards death,
like those around me with deeper cuts and burns,
I have skin where other soldiers no longer have theirs,
they even say that one day I will be able to leave here,
not like some countrymen,
carried home from Broodseinde.
September 19, 2011
© Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2011
Copyright © Andrew Scott | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Andrew Scott Poem
Before us all was the rise of the King,
from underneath the filth of the peasant,
cleaning dirt from bloody cuts that all sting,
wiping away marks seen as unpleasant.
Stood so taller amongst us little men,
feeling the grandeur embedded in his eyes,
spoils of life hidden in the dark den,
places that would never see pure lies.
Physique became bloated with his own myth,
believing all the words of immortality,
whispers, our King drank from the troth forthwidth,
depleted with self imposed debauchery.
The King, sore with boils at his own death,
uttering defiance with his last breath.
August 31, 2011
© Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2011
Copyright © Andrew Scott | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Andrew Scott Poem
Marching together, instep, one by one,
heeding our country's call of duty.
Sixteen of us following the beaten trail,
one traveled by many of our band of brothers.
Three divisions of us are already there,
feeling, seeing, the horror of the front line.
Not sure of the rest of the boys right here,
but I have never seen with my eyes,
the chaos that exists on the front line.
All being seen right now,
are the bodies being brought back,
mangled, bloodied, pieces of our countrymen.
They say two out of three of us boys,
will never make it back home.
I think, on this walk, of my parents.
I am their second boy here,
and the only one that is alive.
Thankfully the youngest is too young,
as I know I maybe another one,
who does not make it.
Our country, Australia, has been part of this,
since the British Empire declared war,
serving the world from a relentless barrage.
After over three years, there are finally chinks,
we are hearing whispers that the front is weaker,
Have been told not to look into our enemies eyes,
so we do not see their fear,
and so they do not see ours.
This is suppose to make the mission earlier,
to take the lives of boys following orders,
to conquer and take what is ours.
Broodseinde is getting closer,
you can feel the bullets and the screams.
My body is starting to quiver,
has to stop and get ready.
The rain hitting us does not make it easier,
it is so wet and cold.
Corpses we are marching by,
are getting covered with rotten debris.
My eyes are just trying to look forward,
not pay attention to lifeless countrymen,
so I can march out of Broodseinde tomorrow.
June 11, 2011
© Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2011
Copyright © Andrew Scott | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Andrew Scott Poem
I am never to be the same again,
finding I am living a hypocrite’s lie,
my open mind is a closed, boxed in brain.
Now my sight gives me a blurred stain,
complexity in everything trying to filter in the mind’s eye,
I am never to be the same again.
Thought there as control over the whole domain,
hidden, vicious teeth, crawling, waiting for the untie,
my open mind is a closed, boxed in brain.
Sipping on the phony champagne,
preaching patience that I do not live gives a black eye,
I am never to be the same again.
Am I taking from or giving to the strain?
Understanding of all people is starting to run dry,
my open mind is a closed, boxed in brain.
When did that piece of me die?
Not even sure if I will take the time again to try,
I am never to be the same again,
my open mind is a closed, boxed in brain.
May 19, 2011
© Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2011
Copyright © Andrew Scott | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Andrew Scott Poem
The weight being carried,
on this never ending, twisted path,
is breaking the small of my back,
feels every bumps from the pedalling ties.
Eyes wincing, trying to keep the sweat out,
the pain throbbing through my head,
thoughts making it pound,
in ways that will not stop,
feeling the mind’s pictures,
making its way in every flowing piece,
of my brain.
The hills are getting steeper,
climbing, always climbing,
makes my knees feel like exploding,
every spin of the pedal hurts more,
takes so much energy to move upward,
continuously losing breath with every strain,
every time the summit is reached,
coasting down to the bottom again is pain free,
finding another climb in waiting.
Am I ever going to finish this ride?
Be relieved when the pavement becomes smoother,
instead of hitting every hidden, hole and crack,
knowing if struck at a speed too fast,
that a slip will happen,
and anything could be broken,
will never heal properly over time,
aches giving reminders of misplaced healing,
every muscle ends up aching and sore,
pounding in the sun’s heat,
but moving towards an unseen end,
where my body can rejuvenate,
without the full weight on my bulging back.
August 2, 2011
© Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2011
Copyright © Andrew Scott | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Andrew Scott Poem
Mary walks, silently, down the street,
ignoring all the distractions,
she has a single, focused mission in mind,
to enjoy and straighten out her own thoughts,
that are wondering back and forth.
Mary picks up what she is looking for,
pays for it from the allowance the boyfriend has given,
same amount each week without change,
to buy what she believes is necessary for them to live,
when Mary asks for an increase, Adam stares,
he very calmly states that it is more than enough.
Mary heads back slower than before,
knowing she will have to explain where she went,
if the man, Adam, is home before he should be,
this will cause a lengthy nervous explanation,
step by step details that should not have to be.
Mary reaches the stairs of her apartment,
each step slower than the one before,
sweat starting in her palms,
soon, if it all goes to plan, this will be no more,
escaping out, finding a job for herself,
explore the world of being just a twenty-two year old.
The key goes into the lock,
relief comes over Mary’s face,
because Adam is no where to be found,
she moves quickly to the washroom,
pulls her new package out of its bag,
carefully reads and reads again the instructions,
nothing will be missed.
Mary waits the proper time recommended,
so much of the future thought of at this moment,
she picks up the strip and reads the given colour,
Mary closes her eyes, lets out a breath,
wonders aloud, “What now?”.
September 21, 2011
© Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy
Copyright © Andrew Scott | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Andrew Scott Poem
Feeling so helpless,
in what my swollen eyes are watching,
a special person, to me, slowly wasting away,
a friend that was so vibrant, just dying,
an alive body, now just sore and full of aches,
inside decay making it all melt away.
Murmurs and whispers,
are all that comes out of her mouth now,
numbed pain taking away,
a once strong voice, standing still
Watching, speechless,
there are no hands of healing comfort,
that can be given,
no broken promises of better days.
Withered face, staring, stuck in her own thoughts,
knowing, sometime soon or far, when sleep comes,
there will be no tomorrow.
July 7, 2011
© Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2011
Copyright © Andrew Scott | Year Posted 2011
|
|