A single one in a binary code (poem)

(Pronunciation: ones and ohs)

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I’m a single one in a binary code;

Life is such, while I am flat

All others are curved.

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How I envy the other Os

So uniform in their rows,

Stood together, all very neat

While I’m a blemish on the sheet

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Wherever I’m put, I become a divide

Unless they push me to the side

Then it’s obvious I’m an odd one

While the sea of Os goes on and on

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If only I could take their shape

And never look so out of place;

Or they could all change into ones

So any difference will have gone.

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There surely must be reason for me

To suffer this indignity,

Because it’s dreadfully sad to be alone

Being a single one in a binary code.

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©Please do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

The ghastly Edwardian Corny County election affair (definitely a fictional Poem)

It was the year of nineteen and four

When Corny County gathered to score

Between Liberal and a Tory vote

In what soon became a political joke

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It started as a humble affair

The hopefuls took stand to declare

To help the poor, be not so poor

Both raising hands to accept applause:

‘But they can never be rich’, the Tory quipped,

‘However, we can never be sure’, the Liberal called.

The crowd acknowledged each in different parts

‘Twas then the fun did really start

As Liberal looked with hint of envy

At his counterpart, unfairly wealthy

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‘Don’t vote for him… he doesn’t wash his feet!’

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A silence fell upon the faces,

looking up at whence it came from

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‘Well, he doesn’t’ continued the voice

‘And if he takes off his shoes, you’d better hurry up and move,

Else you’ll be looking awful pink, when you’re caught in his noxious stink!’

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The sniggers sniggered, and laughter spluttered

As the Tory raged and began to utter

‘It’s better than being a hot balloon

Under bedsheets at night, piping out a tune!’

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Back and forth the insults came

Like rally in a tennis game

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‘Well the fungus found between his toes,

Is what’s thought offed the dinosaurs!’

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‘Beware of him at dinner time

He never goes to wash his hands

Along with all the tasty treats

He tops it off with finger grime!’

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‘See him, it is well known

When no-one looks he picks his nose,

And if that isn’t quite enough

He eats the bogies that he’s poked!’

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‘You should all go check your facts,

They make fat candles with his ear wax!’

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‘Without hand or hanky, when this fellow sneezes

Snot flies out, wherever it pleases!’

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‘And when he takes his wife to bed

He wears his socks and nothing else!’

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‘Enough!’ called the judge, not sure if this was allowed

A blazing, public, private row.

He looked across to check the clock

And said ‘It’s time to put this to the vote’

The crowd still stood – all open mouthed

Having listened to all that had come out

Judge said ‘gentlemen, last words please,

On why the folks should vote for thee’

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‘You simply cannot vote for him,

You can’t be sure just where he’s been!’

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‘This position you cannot entrust,

To a man, who licks the mould off crusts!’

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And so the debate there did end

And politics shown as a dirty game

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Eagerly dispersed the crowd

Off to make their voices count.

And when all was said and done

Nobody could contest result

Not one ballot marked for either side

Because the town could not decide

After candidates brought into public view

Things we all pretend to never do;

So, it ended in a draw

As nobody wanted either/or

And why the County Corny vote

Became a ghastly political joke!

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Just a bit of fun after I saw how Belloc’s opponent in Salford 1906 had a slogan ‘Don’t Vote for a Frenchman and a Catholic!’ I then just imagined a ridiculous personal degradation scenario, something slightly similar to the idea of Newman and Baddiel History Today.

©Please do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

Haunted Highway Sixty Five (poem/lyrics)

It happened on a Sunday, when my father was just a young man

He’d arranged to meet, in a rustic town, a new business associate;

He stopped at a gas station, to admit that he was lost

An old man behind the counter pointed, today’s October thirty first

If you must head up that way, don’t you dare go there alone

For if the devil catch you, he’ll surely take your soul

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My father thanked the man for his advice, but set off upon his way

That boy naively thinking, he’s too tough to be delayed,

But he soon grew weary, and thoughts had turned to bed

He hoped that he could find a place, where he could stop and rest

So, he slipped onto a side road off

that Highway Sixty Five

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The road was rather winding, visibility almost nil

As a fog had swamped upon the earth, numbing with a chill,

That’s when he saw it, the warning of hazard lights

Flashing in the surrounding air, daring him to check it out

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He walked over rather slowly, to a vehicle in a ditch

Driver and passenger, stuck in a nasty fix

And in all his living years, he never did get such a fright

As he leaned up to the windscreen, unprepared for that sight

This happened on a side road off

that Highway Sixty Five

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The driver’s neck was limp, two fang marks on his throat

A stake rammed into his heart, blood seeping through his coat,

And in the seat beside him, a female face green of mould

Insects crawling out and in, she looked a century old

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Then he heard a haunting voice, that chilled him to the bone

Calling from the shadows on, the other side of the road,

That faceless figure didn’t move, a devil’s torch shone from his mouth

So Father told he only came, to see if he could help out

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He said “Son, you seem an honest boy, I may just let you be;

Just turn around, don’t travel alone, and forget everything you’ve seen

Or I shall have to find you, and by waking up the dead

I’ll make them sure to haunt you, so you’ll never be lonely in bed”

And this all happened on a side road off

that Highway Sixty Five

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Next day at that meeting, my father was awful pale

He didn’t say what’d happened, only the place he’d been delayed

The associate said “Son I’ve lived here sixty years, and there is one thing I am sure;

Off the Six and Five Highway, there ain’t never been no side road”

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Before my father died last year, he told me to never be afraid

To sing, live, laugh and love, and play these lyrics if I dare;

And every time I voice them, I know that faceless stranger may appear…,

But I figure now you’ve heard them too, he’ll just as likely come for you!

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And if you ever travel, in a car alone

You know exactly the location, of where you shouldn’t go,

Cause this whole thing started on one creepy Halloween 

On the supposed side road off

that Highway Sixty Five

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Apparently nobody read my last post. Not one person in the whole world was even the slightest bit bored or curious. It’s sad to be so dull.

©Please do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

In the killing field (poem)

I heard about a blind eye

That said it hadn’t seen

A dark path it had walked along

To a place it’d never been

Ignoring all the shadows

Behind the empty shapes

Victims of forgotten crimes –

In the killing field

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How? did it feel

To lose all belief

In the killing field

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Houses not for living

Became homes to those not there

Food not distributed meant

None were properly fed,

All those not listening

Were doing as were told

And the blind eye couldn’t see for spirit –

In the killing field

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How? did it feel

To lose all belief

In the killing field

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But some choose to learn

And awaken the sight

No longer ignoring

All the vicious crimes

Preferring instead

To encourage life

In the place where

you pretended it hadn’t been

During that fateful year –

In the killing field.

When the work is not viewed and shared, the artist loses hope, and the birth of new art ceases to be imagined)

©Please do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

Understanding lullaby © (poem)

Don’t be afraid, my angel

Don’t be scared tonight

The stork doesn’t want to hurt you

He’s the bird that brought you to life

Each step you alone have taken

Sent you down a wider path

Which stretches the whole horizon

No-one knowing how long it lasts

 

Don’t be afraid, my angel

Don’t be scared tonight

Mistakes happen when we are mistaken

The trick is to put them right

Each choice can always be doubted

Each delay can make things worse

But believe in what you are doing

And don’t let greed control your thirst

 

Don’t be afraid, my angel

Don’t be scared tonight

I’ll always be with you

Even if I’m out of sight

Your decisions I may not agree with

Your judgement we may not share

But your life is yours for living

The destiny of which I care

 

So don’t be afraid, my angel

Don’t be scared tonight

Close your eyes and sleep carefree

I wish for you on the winning side.

 

©Do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

Proxy © (Poem)

Is the Proxy really server

Or un-authorised usurper?

Come to take control away;

Independence slowly fades.

 

Who are you to take decisions

From free will and ambition?

To harm a soul is not right

Even in absence of might.

 

And after all is said and done

Processors will add the ones,

But figures they will not compute,

Then they’ll see you as – poor substitute.

 

©Do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

https://abeliamayblog.wordpress.com/2019/09/05/proxy-poem/

The lonely mouse © (Poem)

Hunger bites, and gnaws away,

Leading to an endless search

For grains and scraps that lie about

The frosty morning earth

The clear black sky pitted with stars

That shine and sparkle and look about

Eyes that watch and stars that stare

But taste of hunger fills the air

Heart that beats, legs that run

To nothing empty stomach will succumb

The nervous twitch, the drop of dew

Danger lurks among the few

Who venture out to grab a grain

And say to themselves, over and again:

I want to live, I want to eat.

 

Sit in fear and torment,

They watch and listen, then hear screech

The flash of shadow, the beat of wing

Hear the echoes of a sin

I want to eat, I want to live

What a wrong, what a right

What kind of demon lurks in the night

To perch all high, judge, then use might

And give us all a mighty fright.

 

©Do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

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Whose is right? © (Poem)

Besieged tower from within

Creeping soldiers armed with sin

To rip and punish then tear down

The mighty structure to the ground

 

But whose is right, we cannot know

When face to face with internal blows

The sword is sharp, the heart is weak

And thus our future remains bleak.

 

Who casts the stones that hurt the most

Only the holder, the pretending ghost.

And who can stop sweet self destruction?

Love and hope and resurrection.

 

©Do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

https://abeliamayblog.wordpress.com/2019/09/05/whose-is-right-poem/

Mistaken Reality © (Poem)

Rotten thoughts and withered memories

Distorts blurred reality’s whole

Relived not once, but again over

To become imprinted on the soul

 

Blurred innocence looks guilty

And guilt must be blamed

The fault, the pain and punishment

Its owner’s is to claim

 

Shocking is the present, which lives another day

Silent is the past, ghosts don’t come out to play,

While wrinkles on weary faces; to everyone must say

Conscience is a burden and heavy price to pay.

 

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Broken Dreams © (Poem)

A shattered mirror on the ground

Reflects our broken dreams

Scattered and tossed about

We abandon our beliefs

 

Regrets are invisible

Denial hides the truth

We all are broken images

Repairs can only smooth

 

Memories don’t reflect

Yet still they can be seen

In sleep and hopeful pondering

We shall forever dream.

 

©Do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

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