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But, what did happen is I went to Woodstock as a member of the audience. I did not show up there with a road manager and a couple of guitars. I showed up with a change of clothes and a toothbrush.

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I Listened To God And Did Not Want To Die

I LISTENED TO GOD AND DID NOT WANT TO DIE


I listened to God and did not want to die
I wrote down what I felt inside-
God helped me in so many ways
God helps me now-

Without God I would not know what to be-
Without God I would not write-
Without God I would not have been born-
Without God there is no use of my ever thinking or speaking about anything or anyone-
Without God
My world just does not exist.

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When It Was Over, You Did Not Tell Me Where It Really Ended

you show me a scar
in your heart,
you assure yourself it was once the wound
of things that ended
years ago

of the wound
that i inflicted

you had anger and
now when we meet again
you are smiling
you now
have happiness beside him and your children

i look deeper inside your eyes
showing you also my scars
in my own way of telling you about
my loneliness for years
accumulating like layers of mud and
rocks

this loneliness
that never ends like doors that always open
to the night skies
without stars

on the surface of my skin
lies a wound that never heals
you caused it too
but i did not tell you

let them believe that i am the guilty party
the fault of your earth
the murderer convicted but was never heard

i smile at you this day
i am happy on this casual meeting

it will be the last
i am dressed but i am not prepared to go anywhere
on the surface
how can you see what is on this deep
sinking eyes?

the sharks, the pointed rock, the deaths on the ocean floors
the corpses there rotting
unearthed unnamed.

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I Wished It

You neither came forward
Nor looked backward
To reassure me of sweet words
That was spoken in presence of lord

It was total surprise
But that did not cut much ice
I was well prepared
And almost dared

I wished it to happen
But not all of sudden
You were to come in open
Declare your resolve and assert it even

Oh, you did not look at me
As if I was bonded lover but let free
That I had all the options open
I could miss and go even

This attitude puzzled me even long before
You were unique and liked you therefore
You were to come and say nothing
Just to look at and assure for something

'Dear can you not speak word in my ears'? I whispered
I have waited to hear it for all these years, I murmured
You are still silent and remain unmoved
Your commitment to me is still not proved

I was shaken from half asleep stage
You just slipped near and managed
'My eyes are not closed to neglect' you finally said
You were heard saying 'It is my humble act'

It is not surprise but well thought over
Balance act and impregnable shield or cover
I was with you forever and would remain so
You venture into lovely world and surely go

If that was the love he intended
Why was I all the time offended?
I shamed and downed the eyes
What was I for all these years to ask why?

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What Did Neil Armstrong Find?

‘Hey diddle diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon, ...’

What did Neil Armstrong find?
When he became the first man to
Walk upon the surface of the moon?

Cow bones. Asphyxiation. No oxygen.
To jump so high so high to die lonely alone.
Dreamers must always chase impossible dreams.
Dreams like pie in the sky gold at end of rainbow.


To jump to the moon
is easier than
climbing to the starry sun.

We burned in the climb
burned when getting
close to the starry sun.

We did not use feathers
attached with wax
wax did not melt
releasing feather by feather.

We did not fall from
flying to close to the sun
we did not crash and burn
plummeting downward to die.


We climbed so close to the sun
we burned burned into spontaneous
combustion body engulfed inflamed
ash pyre rain rebirth as new phoenix.

Dreams dreams are mirror of immortality
dreams dreams of aspiring impossibility
dreams refusing to die perpetually renewing
dream spun eventually into impossible attainment.

God inspired dreams mirror origin creator
flesh bound woven in clay seeks original origin.
God the great eternal scientist, humanity studies
your creation, mimics discoveries written observed.


The little dog laughed to see such sport, ...’
Dogs often laugh at dreamers bite their heels
thinking it fun to worry upon bones of impossibility
never learning from past lessons time ultimately taught.

The impossible of yesterday so common place today
dogs enjoy flights in the sky forgetting this giant
bone of contention for centuries could not in sky fly
dogs sit yapping in plush seats poking fun at new bones.

And the dish ran away with the spoon.’
Such an impossible marriage not condoned
by society they are so unsuited impossible match
unity of dream purpose makes for strange bed mates.

Knowledge inventions so often produce impossible
marriages of ideas thoughts creativity technology
that cannot attain harmony unity completion defy laws
of gravity bumblebee flies on tiny wings using back-draft.


Copyright © Terence George Craddock
See also ‘Reality Check’.

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I wrote for a weekly magazine and then edited a literary magazine, but I did not really feel comfortable with the profession of journalism itself.

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More Time

It was like a typical day of love but,
You did not have much time with me;
For the people around you were under pressure!
And you could not have more time to share your love with me.

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You Laughed and Laughed and Laughed

I told you I was in love,
But you laughed and
Laughed and laughed.
.
I gave you my love,
But you did not give me yours,
Instead you kept mine, and
Gave yours to another.
.
You laughed at my song,
You laughed at my walk,
Then I danced my magic dance
to the rhythm of the talking
drums pleading.
.
But you shot your eyes, and laughed
And laughed and laughed.

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Hope Did Not Die

It was a sad day
Lights dim
Moon without shine
Face dull
In deep gloom
As if dying
Darkness all around
Sorrow
In the turbulent mind
Thoughts
Came like waves
Why she has not come
Is everything fine?
When she will come
Was the question in mind?
But she did not come
The agony did not end
Life became worthless
But in some corner
Of the heart and mind
Hope did not die

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A big child crying

At my child
Time...
my urine...
My motion...

Pass with
Your body
Spoil your dresses...
But...

You did not woory
You clean...
With me...
You kiss

With me...
With your eye and eyes...
Today
Your olde age day's...

I did not love to you...
I did not serve to you...
I did not obea with your word...
Without of love my dear mother...

Why...?
I don't the answer of words...!
Sorry...
This is one big child crying...!

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Quarterly Review (Revised)

Did not sing in key, made so many mistakes, changed
the wrong things, did not find musical tonality required,
missed references, inserted others that should have
been left out

In spite of a new system inhibitor to prevent too much
adrenaline in my central nervous system, I still lost the
plot, can't continue translating, feeling bad with a
headache, my mind confused

I want so much to be an asset to our team but my dream
is in abeyance - ‘Wanting is a good thing' my guru says,
but it did not help me to do my work well and present a
neatly finished assessment document

The worst is the feeling of being a criminal

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It Was Just A Job

Today I lost my job, but what did I really lose?
I can get another one, and I can pick and choose
A job is only work you do to earn a buck or two
Get up early, punch the clock and work the whole day through

Someone else will get the glory and the bonus you worked for
And this goes on for years til you can’t do it anymore.
If you are lucky you can make it til retirement age
Or then again you could be like me and be escorted off the stage

But what I took with me was something they can’t take away
And I can use it anytime I want on any given day
For what I took with me was a lifetime of memories
Of sharing life with friends I made and the comradery

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The Loner

Hes a perfect stranger,
Like a cross of himself and a fox.
Hes a feeling arranger
And a changer of the ways he talks.
Hes the unforeseen danger
The keeper of the key to the locks.
Know when you see him,
Nothing can free him.
Step aside, open wide,
Its the loner.
If you see him in the subway,
Hell be down at the end of the car.
Watching you move
Until he knows he knows who you are.
When you get off at your station alone,
Hell know that you are.
Know when you see him,
Nothing can free him.
Step aside, open wide,
Its the loner.
There was a woman he knew
About a year or so ago.
She had something that he needed
And he pleaded with her not to go.
On the day that she left,
He died, but it did not show.
Know when you see him,
Nothing can free him.
Step aside, open wide,
Its the loner.

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Loner

He's a perfect stranger,
Like a cross
of himself and a fox.
He's a feeling arranger
And a changer
of the ways he talks.
He's the unforeseen danger
The keeper of
the key to the locks.
Know when you see him,
Nothing can free him.
Step aside, open wide,
It's the loner.
If you see him in the subway,
He'll be down
at the end of the car.
Watching you move
Until he knows
he knows who you are.
When you get off
at your station alone,
He'll know that you are.
Know when you see him,
Nothing can free him.
Step aside, open wide,
It's the loner.
There was a woman he knew
About a year or so ago.
She had something
that he needed
And he pleaded
with her not to go.
On the day that she left,
He died,
but it did not show.
Know when you see him,
Nothing can free him.
Step aside, open wide,
It's the loner.

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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not

The poet I am, and the poet I am not


The poet I am’ says
Tothe poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
Andthe poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
Andthe poet I am’ begins to cry,
Andthe poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
Andthe poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
Andthe poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
Andthe poet I am’ is silent.
Andthe poet I am notis somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.

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Former and Latter

If I Weep,
I want
it to be Torrents;

if I Cry, ,
make it Tsunami;

if I Lust
have me be Ravenous;

If Sad,
have my eyes
Glow in the Dark.

Empathy for me
must be Complete;

Love All Consuming;
Pity must be
the Heights of Grief;

Death must be
Really Dead.

No half way measures;
they are the Necro-Nibbles of Life.

The Greeks counseled
Moderation in all things

but they did not;
Democracy is an extreme
form of Individualism
and Sexually they
did not
cease at the Moderation Crease.

The Truth here
is that Creativity
only comes at the extremes
but not without its price;
one that I will pay
for an Extreme Life
rather than the alternative-
Slow Moderate Death.

These are sometimes
choices we make;
giddy Risky Risk
or Slow Suffocation;

or being mugged in life
slow frame
by slow frame.

Put me down
for the former
you can take the latter.

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Night In The City

Standin at the airport lookin down the strip,
She was cryin her eyes, she was bitin her lip.
Seven-four-seven just left from gate eleven
And theres no turnin round cos its just leavin the ground
And gettin higher higher.
Standin at the dock-side lookin out to sea
When I saw her but she did not see me.
There she stood with no hope because shed missed the boat
And as her dreams sailed away she headed back for the day,
Back to the city city.
Night in the city, o-o-oh,
Madness at mid-mid-mid-midnight,
Night in the city drivin you insane.
In the city city
Night in the city, o-o-oh,
Madness at mid-mid-mid-midnight,
Night in the city drivin you insane.
I was runnin kinda lonely at the city place.
I waited for an hour, I never saw her face.
Crazy ladies that wait and slide around like a snake.
I just cant take anymore, Im going in through the door
Into the city city.
Ill get you, yes, Im gonna get you,
Ill get you, yes, Im gonna get you,
Ill get you, yes, Im gonna get you,
Ill get you, yes, Im gonna get you,
Ill get you, yes, Im gonna get you,
Ill get you, yes, Im gonna get you,
Drivin you insane.
Night in the city, o-o-oh,
Madness at mid-mid-mid-midnight,
Night in the city drivin you insane,
Drivin you insane,
Drivin you insane.

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On A Blank Page

i remember that entrance
examination at law school
trying to measure my aptitude
whether i can be a good student
of law in the university
they were asking legal questions
and i gave the answers
with all the brick arrangements of
my reason,
i know what logical minds ask for,
it is like building up and emotion
and then burst at the end
of the line, give a punch, and
don't bother, i mean, do not be
intimidated by all these fools,
Gibran i remember, says that
they all destroy every castle in
the sand that they are making
every minute, very much like
the routine of the waves crumbling
every sand
castle of the mind,
the Dean (modesty aside)
was impressed and ask what
my name is, from what school
did i finish my Philosophy,
i pocketed a smile,
repressed my conceit and
stared at him, gracious,
she did not feel that i am
sort of discourteous
buffalo from the marshlands.

and then she handed a blank
paper, and ask me to draw
an image of myself, of course,
i know what to draw immediately,
i always have in mind the three
monkeys: no hear, no speak,
no see

my favorite Dean, oh, she loves it.
until then, i became a lawyer
but she did not see me anymore
with my (lousy practice) .

she died untimely.

I speak, i hear,
i see no evil.

That is my secret
for being alive, till date.
Do you like it?
Will you love me for it?
Do you like the three monkeys?

Sometimes, i want to be
a great monkey. Not one of those
three that i once drew on that blank page.

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My Lovely Sister

Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister
I read somewhere and I think to myself how fate was so kind
The experience I have had in the years of my life untold and unsaid
But I would like her to know she is always on my mind

A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost
For I will lose all the luxuries and tranquility of life in time
I will not lose the warming comfort in your aura that reminds me
That I may lose the hope and dreams but my sister will always be mine

What's the good of news if you haven't a sister to share it?
And I have shared it all, the faults and mistakes that I have done
But one thing that remains unshared is the special bond between us
There would be no one except you in my heart, there would be none

How do people make it through life without a sister?
I wonder the pain left inside, I have pain on the inside too
But they are soothed by your presence and heavenly light
For I have to get out of darkness, there is no place but you

In the cookies of life, sisters are the chocolate chips
You have added sweetness in my life that is unending and blissful
We have shared some arguments, some fists, and some laughs
We have live the life but I haven't shared the love that is the glue
Through these words I hope the feel reaches you and you would know
I love you my sister but but I did not show.

Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister
I read somewhere and I think to myself how fate was so kind
The experience I have had in the years of my life untold and unsaid
But I would like her to know she is always on my mind

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From A Happening At The Bayswater

Were I a bard or storyteller some great stories I could tell
Of the happenings at Bayswater in the Bayswater Hotel
You don't have to buy a ticket if you want to watch a fight
Just call to Hotel Bayswater there's one there most every night.

If you hate the sight of brawling Basy pub is not for you
Fellows disagree and fight there beat each other black and blue
They don't fight in there for purses not one half penny at stake
They just fight for love of fighting just for fight and fighting sake.

Last week's big fight was a ripper it turned out a super show
Hugh Murdoch and Jim 'Tiger' Ellis slugged it out hard toe to toe
Hughie Murdoch came out winning he laid Jimmy's colours low
But he failed to knockout Tiger the decision t.k.o.

Jimmy had a painful evening he was often on the floor
But he did not let his fans down he rose up and fought some more
He was cut his nose was bleeding 'next day he must have felt sore'
You can whip and cage a Tiger but you can't stop that tiger roar.

Jimmy took his beating sporting and that's not hard to understand
He's a man he doesn't hold grudges he shook Hughie Murdoch's hand
And that's why we like Jimmy Ellis we admire the man a lot
When he's finished with his fighting all forgiven and forgot.

Hughie is bigger than Jimmy and outweighed him pound for pound
But small Jimmy kept on battling did not yield an inch of ground
And though this time he lost the battle Jim did not let his fans down
Little Tiger Jimmy Ellis he has carved his own renown.

He's some character Jim Ellis he's been there and he's done that
And he is known throughout Australia from Queensland to Ballarat
When he's sober he's a top bloke good as one could wish to meet
But when he's drunk he turns to Tiger booze it changes him complete.

This one story from Bayswater from the Bayswater Hotel
And were I a bard or story writer I'd have many more to tell
But I am just a common drainer just an old fart my workmates say
And I push shovel for a living just to earn a living pay.

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The Escape of the Old Grey Squirrel

Old Grey Squirrel might have been
Almost anything -
Might have been a soldier, sailor,
Tinker, tailor
(Never a beggar-man, though, nor thief).
Might have been, perhaps, a king,
Or an Indian chief.

He remained a City clerk
Doubled on a great high stool,
Totting up, from dawn to dark,
Figures, figures, figures, figures,
Red ink, black ink, double rule,
Tot-tot-totting with his pen,
Up and down and round again -
Curious Old Grey Squirrel.

No one ever really knew
What he did at night,
In his room so near the roof,
Up those steep and narrow stairs.
Old Grey Squirrel wasn't quite
The same as other men.
What he said was always true;
He was like a little child
In a thousand things.
Something shy and delicate,
Cold and grave and undefiled,
Seemed to keep him quite aloof.
You could never call him lonely,
Though he lived with memory there.

When he knelt beside his bed
He had nothing much to say
But the simplest little prayer
Learned in childhood, long ago,
And he didn't know or care
Whether Calvinists might call it
Praying for the dead.

Father, mother, sister, brother -
Memories clear as evening bells;
Yes, the very sort of thing
All your clever little scribblers
Love to satirize and sting,
So let's talk of something else.
He collected stamps, you know,
Commonplace Old Squirrel.

Ah, but could you see him there,
When the day's grey work was done,
Poring over his new stamps
With that wise old air;
Looking up the curious places
In his tattered atlas, too
Lands of jungle and of sun,
Ivory tusks and dusky faces,
Whence his latest treasure flew
Like a tropic moth, he thought,
To flutter round his dying lamp. . . .

Visions are not bought and sold;
But, when the foreign mail came in
Bringing his employers news
Of copper, sulphide, zinc and tin
(And the red resultant gold),
Envelopes were thrown away,
So, of course, one clearly sees
He could pick, and he could choose,
Having, as he used to say,
'Very great advantages.'
Rarities could not be bought.
Bus fares don't leave much for spending
On a flight to Zipangu.

All the same, one never knew.
All things come to those who wait -
Isles of palm in rose and blue,
India, China and Peru,
And the Golden Gate.

So he'd turn his treasures over -
Mauve and crimson, buff and cream -
Every stamp an elfin window
Opening on a boy's lost dream.
'Curious, curious, that's Jamaica,
That's Hong Kong (the twopenny red),
I've no doubt they are well worth seeing,
Well worth seeing,' Old Squirrel said.

'Curious' - curious was his word -
Old Grey Squirrel remembered a day
Sitting alone in a whispering fir-wood
(This was in boyhood before they caught him)
Writing a story of far Cathay,
A tale that his friends would think absurd
But would make him famous when he was dead.
'Curious' - thinking of all those years,
All those dreams that had drifted away -
Once, he had thought - but the years had taught him,
Taught him better, and bowed his head.

'Curious' - memory clings and lingers -
Clings - the smell of the fir wood - clings . . .
Through his wrinkled ink-stained fingers,
'Curious, curious,' trickled the tears,
Curious Old Grey Squirrel.

No, you'd hardly call it weeping.
Old Grey Squirrel could not weep.
Head on arm, he might have been
Sleeping; but he did not know.
Most of us are sound asleep;
And, that Christmas Eve, it seems,
He awoke, at last, from dreams.
Gently, as a woman's hand
Something touched him on the brow,
And he woke, in that strange land -
Where he lives for ever now.

All things come to those who wait -
Palms against a deeper blue,
Far Cathay and Zipangu,
And the Golden Gate.

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