Writing from the Road/travel-poetry, 38b Shelley Drive, Byron Bay (2025)

11/07/2021

.

Image: Pouting woman taking selfie (photographer: unknown)

NARCISSISM - #35 In the series, “Writing from the Road - Poetry.

Visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

NARCISSISM

Look at me
Looking at me

It’s a call for you
Quiet, I’m looking at me

Vote for you?
What’s in it for me?
Oh, Narcissism.

Take a picture
A picture of me

It’s your friend calling;
I’m taking my picture

Give you a hand?
What’s in it for me?
Oh, Narcissism

Look in my soul
Just a reflection of me

It’s your brother calling
Quiet I’m taking my picture

Give you a dollar?
What’s in it for me?
Oh, Narcissism

Look in your eyes?
No, I’m looking at me.

It’s your Father calling
Quiet I’m taking my picture

Do I Love you?
What’s in it for me?
Oh, Narcissism

I don’t see you
I just see me

It’s the hospital calling
Quiet, I’m taking my picture

Pay my taxes?
What’s in it for me?
Oh, Narcissism

It’s your Mother calling
Quiet I’m taking my picture

It was your Mother calling
What did she want?

She called to say goodbye
She died yesterday.

© C. Harris 2021

About this Poem

Looking at Instagram feeds these days, many contain nothing other than endless selfies. Their vision is nothing other than themselves. They may be in the most beautiful places but they are focused inwards.

They are self-absorbed & that self-absorption is accentuated by the images. Some photographed in few, if any, clothes. It’s a form of soft p**n and, for teens, a form of kiddy p**n. Facial expressions reflect what people see in the beauty and fashion industry, posed and pouting.

In our society looks are more important than substance; celebrities and “influencers” have millions of followers but those who should be celebrated (nurses, teachers, ambos) work long hours, for little, in relative obscurity.

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

10/07/2021

.

Image: Person on a pedestal (creator: unknown)

THE PEDESTAL - #34 - In the series “Writing from the Road - Poetry.

To see more visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

THE PEDESTAL

The pedestal
Makes them tall
Before the fall

The pedestal
Takes the humble
And makes them vain

The pedestal
Takes the onlooker
And makes them a fool

The pedestal
Takes the writer
Makes them a flack

The pedestal
Takes the gentle soul
And makes them mean

The pedestal
Takes the mythical
Gives them feet of clay

The pedestal
Such a little step
Such a terrible thing

© 2017 Chris Harris

About this poem

Between 1982 and 1989 and again between 2010 and 2015 I worked, frequently, with politicians, those with ambition to be politicians and political staffers and party apparatchiks. One of the things I learned was that no matter the party, the people attracted to being candidates and politicians were narcissistic, egotistical and arrogant. There are exceptions, of course, but, in general, few of those people are really people we should be electing.

A part of the problem is that we frequently adulate these people, putting them on pedestals hero worshipping some. We treat them with a respect that many have neither earned nor deserve. This tends to simply bring out more of the qualities, in those people, that are least desirable. Even in the best of them it can be their downfall. Power corrupts.

But it’s not just the people on the pedestals that behave badly. We all do. We ignore their worst qualities and accept behaviour that we wouldn’t normally accept. And those who should hold them to account, such as journalists, are blinded by becoming too close to them.

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

09/07/2021

.

Image: Elderly woman behind curtain (creator: unknown)

SLIPPING AWAY (The final journey) - #33 - In the series, “Writing from the Road" - Poetry.

To see more visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/
Image archive: Flickr archive

SLIPPING AWAY (The final journey)

I see the sadness in your eyes
The final journey ahead of you lies
A final crossing of the bridge of cries
Your final days just the sound of sighs

Is it regret for a life not fulfilled?
Do you sigh for the love that was killed
For the career that marriage stilled
For all the tears that were spilled

Or perhaps you just cry for life's joy
For the memory of holding your little boy
For the feel of your very first toy
The love that nothing could destroy

Your beloved sister now long gone
All that’s left is her plaque on the lawn
An empty space in your heart at dawn
A space that leaves you sad and forlorn

The passing of friends leave you alone
Everyone gone you’ve ever known
Your children have left now they’re grown
Every birthday an empty milestone

Of your generation now it’s only you
You wait now for the last rendezvous
Nothing more left in this life to do
Soon you will slip away in the night too
© C. Harris 2021

About this Poem
I’ve observed my Mum, Aunt, Uncle & friends & other relatives getting older. As I’ve observed some of them fade away & die, I’ve wondered about the sadness this must create. The sadness of being the last of your generation of friends & family. That’s not to say that there isn’t also joy and pleasure in things they’ve always enjoyed; the next generation of family, nature, books or other things.

It’s a generation that doesn’t talk of their feelings whether it be joy, grief, sadness, loneliness, love or any other emotion. Do they regret missed opportunities? Lost loves? Abandoned or foregone careers? Much remains unspoken, unexplored.

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

08/07/2021

.

VENEER - #32 - In the series, “Writing from the Road" - Poetry.

To see more visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

VENEER

I laugh and I smile
But my heart aches

My mouth forms a joke
But my heart breaks

I smile at the crowd
But feel only pain

Surrounded by friends
But absolutely alone

My successes are many
But I see only failure

With everything I want
I have nothing I need

My life is so totally full
But so completely empty

Life so very sweet
And oh so very bitter

© C. Harris 2021

About this Poem

This is about the masks we all wear. The appearances we put on even when we are feeling uncertain, depressed or lonely. How we seek to appear happy when we are not. The sense of being an imposter in a room fool of people who are more successful and who can see right through our own veneer of success and confidence. This is the veneer all of us will wear or have worn at one time (and, incidentally, is a big part of toxic masculinity)

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

07/07/2021

.

THE GOLDEN YEARS - #31 - In the series, “Writing from the Road; Travel Poetry.

To see more visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

THE GOLDEN YEARS

I see your golden hair fly
I hear your golden laugh
I touch your golden skin
You smile your golden smile

We walked the desert lands
We rode the canyons rivers
We paddled the icy seas
And strode the high plains

We laughed and fought together.
Loved and cried and danced
Shared the best, the worst of times
Watched the red and silver sunsets

Down the never ending miles
Sharing the endless road
I was careless of your love
I took your heart and emptied it

Until it was just an empty shell
Then filled it with bitter tears
And, when you were gone
I discovered what I had lost.

© 2020 C. Harris

About this Poem:

There are few people to whom I have talked about their past relationships for whom there are not aspects that they regret. Something they have said or done that they regret. Unrequited love or desire. Affairs. This is about one of those possible regrets which is that of not recognising what someone offered to you.

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

06/07/2021

.

Dream Obsession - #30 - In the series, “Writing from the Road - Travel Poetry.

To see more visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

Dream Obsession

A dream, two women, a blurred vision
My dream a moment of indecision
One woman, smaller, walks up the hill.
She turns, looks, her face and eyes still
That look, they say, that could kill

She appears to me as a faint image
A memory of some past damage

The second woman calls a name
Awakening past memories of pain
Hidden, deep, below some shame
Moments past and tears came
Emotions, feelings, suddenly aflame

In my mind forgotten images rise
Of hope crushed among the lies

I seem them still through the mist
I follow, then, I cannot resist
Like the first time we kissed
A primal force pulls me, insists
But they’re gone, nothing exists

© C. Harris 1985

About this Poem
This was a recollection of a recurrent dream. not always identical but always featuring these same two women (whom I never recognised) and always in an unknown beach location. It has no specific meaning or significance, so far as I can tell

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

06/07/2021

BLACK (The curse cannot be ended) - #29 - In the series, “Writing from the Road" - Travel Poetry

To see more visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

BLACK (The curse cannot be ended)

Black below
Grey above
Like river's flow
Devoid of love

Follow the line
Where it leads
To endless time
Where death feeds

No matter who tries
Black comes back
Hope never flies
The mirror cracks

The wounded soul
Cannot be healed
A bleeding hole
Love congealed

So stumble on
Through life's rain
To a futile end
Of hurt and pain

© 2017 Chris Harris.

About this Poem

Life is full of ups and downs which we all experience. But for some life is a misery, a dominant feature of their life….and the black dog a dominant feature of that misery and something from which they never escape.

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

30/06/2021

Image: Broken Heart (creator: unknown)

BROKEN HEART - #26 - In the series, “Writing from the Road" - Poetry

To see more visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

BROKEN HEART

You taught me so much my love
You came like an innocent in the night
I saw your beauty then as others didn’t
I gave you everything then I could
But you followed head not heart
The tears ran wet across empty miles
You held my heart in your hands
And crushed it with a single cruel blow

© C. Harris 2020

About this Poem: This is simply about the common experience many of us have, in life, of being rejected, for any number of possible reasons, by someone or something we love (in this case romantic love). Normally it is a rejection by a lover but, more broadly, the same sort of crushing emotional experience can come from being rejected by family, friends or even employers and can lead to depression and worse. We see this not just in personal relationships but in people being sacked by employers, at the end of careers (e.g. sports people). Generally we are very bad at recognising the damage done and providing support.

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

24/05/2021

.

JUDGEMENT DAY WILL COME #28 - In the series, “Writing from the Road; poems, prose and images from 65 years on the Road”

Flickr archive https://tinyurl.com/3j5utzm3

To see more visit my blog:

Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/

Poetry: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

JUDGEMENT DAY WILL COME

I see the fires’s dull dangerous glow
It flickers like the anger in my soul
A burning rage at the failed leaders
The tentacles of grief grasp our hearts
For the destruction of our olive land
Like the wreathes of smoke curling up
Each fire the death of a thousand animals
Murdered on the killing fields of climate
A bloody plain of lies, greed and deceit

Thirty years of our hopes denied
By the grasping men in grey suits
Their souls stained with blood coal
Their pockets lined by fossil bribes.
The rising water and drowning islands
Just small talk for men with no morals
Each meaningless marketing mantra
Every empty slogan, a death warrant

How good does it get for the dead?
Victims of Morrison’s moral vacuum
Everywhere the skeletons of houses
Like some warning of apocalypse
Scar the blackened smoking hills
Each one a mark on someone’s soul
Seared by an uncaring Government

In the graveyards the families gather
To farewell the needlessly dead
Murdered by the Captains of industry
Condemned by Murdoch’s mendacity
Abandoned by a cabinet of criminals

In the minds of the bitter people
A vision of the judgement day
When the guilt of the climate criminals
Burdened by the souls of a million dead
Drags them down to a hell of torment
As the flames of a thousand fires
Sears their empty blackened souls
And the screams of burning victims
Asking, for them, the never ending eternity
Promised by their vacuous religions

ABOUT THIS POEM: Written in early 2020 after the bushfires of that black summer. It's a memorial to millions of dead animals, people & trees.

As well it's a call for a reckoning for climate criminals such as Morrison, Taylor, Canavan & multiple other politicians, along with the purveyors of shock jock & media lies (Murdoch et al), the propagandists of the IPA & the captains of industry to finally face judgement for those they have killed.

, ,

23/05/2021

.

Image: Woman with grey hair (photographer: unknown):

YOUR LOVE #27 - In the series, “Writing from the Road; poems, prose and images from 65 years on the Road”

Flickr archive https://tinyurl.com/3j5utzm3

To see more visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

YOUR LOVE

Your auburn hair has turned grey
I see the pain in your soft brown eyes
The hurt in your damaged soul

I’m sorry, my love, for all the pain
I treated you so carelessly each day
Pushing you away every day

I did not understand my cruelty
I did not see your bleeding wounds
Arms at length are not arms at all

All you asked was a gentle embrace
Some help to soothe the lifelong pain
Where words are not enough

You gave me your skin, your soul
Getting in return a hard heart
Cutting you with only lust and logic

Two years of longing cruelly denied
Two years of loving harshly replied
Nothing but rejection and pain

No apology can soothe the wounds
No penance can bind the damaged soul
Maybe time will heal the endless hurt

I wish I could undo the bitter words
If only I could unmake the careless acts
So many years, so many regrets

© C. Harris 2020

About this poem: It took me a long time to realise that there was a big difference between rejection & indifference (one being in a sharp pain & the other a prolonged cruelty).

It may seem obvious but there came a point when, talking to others, I realised that thinking that it was ethical to withhold from a relationship to which your partner is committed, simply because you are not confident of its longevity, was wrong & very hurtful.

It’s a behaviour that many, not least myself, justify on the basis of “well, my lover will be hurt less when I leave if I hold them at arms length, if I withhold my affection”. I realised that it was quite cruel because not only will they be hurt, anyway, when the relationship does end but, in the meantime, they have been deprived of their emotional needs for the entire period of the relationship. Mostly, indifference is worse than rejection.

, , ,

22/05/2021

.

Image: Leopard, Chobe National Park, Botswana (Photographer - C. Harris)

LEOPARD LEOPARD #25 - In the series, “Writing from the Road; poems, prose and images from 65 years on the Road”

This is a project to publish all my finished writing and a selection of images from a back catalogue of 35,000 images - see my Flickr archive https://tinyurl.com/3j5utzm3

To see more visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry from the Road: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

LEOPARD LEOPARD

Leopard, Leopard moving light
Grassland shadow ever slight
Slipping away from hand and eye,
Your path marked by distant cries

Your faint shadow in the distance lies
We see only the fire of your eyes
What a vision of beauty you inspire
Even as the world around you dies

Leopard, oh Leopard a vision right
Of a world renewed with light
Where hopes of better times still fly
And animals, for humans, do not die

© C. Harris 2020

About this poem: In 2020, immediately before the COVID pandemic, I took a 21 day trip through the Western Cape of South Africa, Namibia, Botswana and Namibia. It’s rare to see a Leopard in the wild but we had a fortunate trip, seeing a both a wide variety of animals and, in most cases, many of them. Nevertheless it’s difficult not to be conscious of the disappearance of many species or, at least, their increasing rarity, with the risk that, for future generations that they may never see, at least in the wild, many of the magnificent animals we were privileged to see

© C. Harris

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

22/05/2021

.

Images: Egypt (photography: Lynette Harris)

Lament for a Lost Home #24 - In the series, “Writing from the Road" - Travel Poetry

Flickr archive https://tinyurl.com/3j5utzm3 .
Visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

LAMENT FOR A LOST HOME

I crossed the dry dusty street
Following behind my feet
I touched down yesterday
I walked the old roadway

Landing then from overseas
Took the bus past old Ramses
Living by a six lane highway
Must be his last indignity

It’s been fifteen years this year
Since we last lived and played
When we all were then just children
In the Pharaoh's city of legend

Passing the old Baron’s Palace
Provides some small passing solace
For broken memories of home
For the broken stones of Fayoum

Only the corner flat still stands
Of our precious childish heartlands
Where our games we fought and played
The street where our family stayed

I hear the cicadas frenzy
The wailing of the muezzins plea
The bougainvilleas colour
Smell the rich Cairean odour

I walk down the street where we ran
Crossing the road past the old tram
Standing by the first mango stand
With juice running all down my hand

Past my favourite pastry shop
In the shade where we’d always stop
For a millefeuille each all round
With the teeming street’s raucous sound

Every bit has all gone now
Sent to oblivion somehow
They’ve taken all my memories
Buried the place of my stories

The distant pyramids still stand
In this ancient mystical land
But the place I now can recall
Is just a faded print on a wall

ABOUT THIS POEM: The 5 years I spent in Cairo between ages 5 & 10 (1960-65) were some of my most formative. A time of indolence with endless days spent running in the streets.

Memories of heat, sand, street life, the welcome of local people, mango juice & pastries. We lived on the ground level of a magnificent old 3 story, cool characterful stone building, where we spent nights playing cards on the verandah.

The imprint of Cairo was so great that, 20 yrs later, with no maps I could find my way around the streets to old houses & haunts.

20/05/2021

.

Image: At Eternity's Gate (Van Gogh):

FORGOTTEN SOUL #23 - In the series, “Writing from the Road; poems, prose and images from 65 years on the Road” which I started posting on January 1, 2021.

This is a project to publish all my finished writing and a selection of images from a back catalogue of 35,000 images - see my Flickr archive https://tinyurl.com/3j5utzm3 - taken on every continent except Antarctica.

To see more visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry from the Road: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

FORGOTTEN SOUL

Was it really so long ago?
17 years now since you left
Not a soul seemed bereft
Your memory now a shadow

To resurface sometimes

But on your birthday
I did think of you
Existing like a shadow
In my unconscious mind

To resurface sometimes

I wonder at your life
A life so unknown
Was there loneliness?
Was there pain?

No one asked

Did you long for love?
The love you pushed away
Did you hope for touch?
Touch you could not give

No one asked

I feel for you now
Alone in your soul
Alone for 90 years
Alone with your fears

The fears no one knew

About this poem: My Dad died in 2004, 17 years ago, at the age of 90. He was a man that scarcely anyone knew in any real sense; like many of his generation he rarely spoke of his feelings, showed little emotion and was uncomfortable with any expression of emotions, either is own or others. No one asked him about his life or his feelings. He died a man unknown. No one in our family talks about him and, I suspect few think about him. He’s like a shadow that exists only in our sub conscious like, I suspect, many men (and some women) of that generation.

© C. Harris

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

19/05/2021

.

Image: Belongil Creek, Byron Bay (C. Harris)

THE ABANDONED GOD #22 - In the series, “Writing from the Road; poems, prose and images from 65 years on the Road”

To see more visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

THE ABANDONED GOD

You worship your fictional Trinity
And ask that we respect your God
But each day you are killing mine
The real God beneath our feet

So close you cannot see it
The God of forests, of oceans
The God of abandoned places
That feeds your body and soul

I feel the anger come quicker
Seeing the destruction you wrought
Killing the places of my childhood
Leaving just my dusty memories

I crave the touch of the fallen trees
The swell of ocean on living reef
The ride of the dolphin in the waves
The free and clear flowing river

The sight of the albatross on the wind
The howl of the wolf at the luminous moon
The dance of the Brolga on the plain
The song of the frog in its swamp

Instead hot sand blows to the end of time
I hear the forlorn call of the boo book owl
Alone now out on its endless range
Looking for the last of its dying prey

Long across the ocean the blue whale calls
A haunting cry to the last of its kind
In it’s cry a message to humankind
Of the coming of the end of the world

Of the death of our common God
The abandoned God of abandoned places.

About this poem: I dislike conventional religions for two reasons. First, they are one of the great causes of conflict, hatred & division. These are cults that preach poverty but hoard great wealth. Many of their adherents behave in ways which the absolute opposite of their claimed beliefs. If there is anything Godlike in our existence it’s the beauty, intricacy & diversity of the planet we walk on. Some religions seem intend on destroying with the biblical messages of human dominion.

© C. Harris

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

18/05/2021

.

IMAGE: Morrison as Gollum

THE EVIL DOERS # 21 In the series, “Writing from the Road; poems, prose and images from 65 years on the Road”
Flickr archive https://tinyurl.com/3j5utzm3 - taken on every continent except Antarctica.

Visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

You have poisoned our land with lies
Taking their money and selling our soil
Our beaches swept before your rising seas
The forests laid waste by your mines

The farmlands poisoned by gas wells
Our rivers become ditches of brown
Lifeless channels devoid of great fish
The water sold to friends for a fee

You talk of freedom and of values
But you give us a brave new world
Places of razor wire, damaged souls
Whose hearts blows away on the wind

Hope crushed like refugees on our shore
Smashed in the face of lust for power
Far from the guns from which they fled
Dreams lie broken, scattered on the wire

Your corruption seeps like acid on skin
Burning up the people we wished to be
Eating the very soul of this sacred place
So that the red heart has but a faint beat

Art is pillaged and culture condemned
We are blackened by your casual evil
The fair go lies broken on the ground
Your fires char our peoples’s birthright

The ghost of the 1940s walks this land
First peoples abandoned, ignored, cheated
Everything you touch sickens like the plague
Greed like gangrene eats our country’s flesh

You speak of the bush but steal its life
A billion dead creatures your legacy
Their dying screams scars our soul
Innocence destroyed by your half truths

You talk of God but worship Mammon
Know the cost of all but value of nothing
You talk of family with serpent tongue
Hypocrisy so thick God would choke

We await the day of final retribution
Where powerful will meet judgement
Where the deniers and climate criminals
Will burn for their sins in the fires of hell

About this poem: Written after the 2019 fires which were exacerbated by the Morrison Govt in its refusal to lead on climate or to listen to fire management experts. This government is undeniably evil with its actions deliberately & consciously contributing to the death of millions globally.

17/05/2021

.

Image: Aboriginal man being shot (creator: unknown):

A NATION'S LAMENT #20- In the series, “Writing from the Road; poems, prose and images from 65 years on the Road” which I started posting on January 1, 2021.

This is a project to publish all my finished writing and a selection of images from a back catalogue of 35,000 images - see my Flickr archive https://tinyurl.com/3j5utzm3 - taken on every continent except Antarctica.

To see more visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry from the Road: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/A

A NATION'S LAMENT

My heart lies heavy on this day
Crushed by ignorant, hate and fear
The blood of centuries past still celebrated
Its colour reflected in the foreigners' flag
The poisoned waters now still and deserted
A land devoid of a thousand stilled tongues
The shouts of the r***d and killed now silent
The survivors voices still mocked and scorned
I cry for the unconfessed nation's shame
And for the leaders' ignorant blindness
For the celebration of nation on such a day
When all should repent the darkened past
But more still the ignorance weighs heavy
Blind to theft, poison, death and pain
The spitting tongues and pens of hate
Against those who raise their voices in protest
Twisting like a knife in the soul of the nation

© 2017 C.H
About this poem: Written, originally, on Australia Day, 2017, this is simply a rejection of the inherent racism & nationalism of Australia day. Prejudices that lead to incidents such as the Cronulla riots and to na**sm.

Certainly we should not be celebrating Australia Day on a day that led to wholesale murder and attempted genocide of the Aboriginal people of Australia and we should not be celebrating any day based on the nation state but instead should substitute it with a day that celebrates our multicultural diversity.

16/05/2021

.

Image: Australian flag with bloodstain (creator: unknown):

THE BLOOD FLAG #19 - In the series, “Writing from the Road; poems, prose and images from 65 years on the Road”which I started posting on January 1, 2021.

This is a project to publish all my finished writing and a selection of images from a back catalogue of 35,000 images - see my Flickr archive https://tinyurl.com/3j5utzm3 - taken on every continent except Antarctica.

To see more visit my blog:
Home Page: https://www.idiottraveller.com/
Poetry from the Road: https://www.idiottraveller.com/travel-poetry/

THE BLOOD FLAG

Blood spilt
For an idea

Lines on a map
Drawn in blood

Blood of Indigenes
Parading their hatred

Hatred of others
Wrapped in a cloth

The flag of Empire
Symbol of oppression

In the corner
Like a stain

Australia Day
Parading like goons

Patriotism, loyalty
Shouting their myths

Clinging to the tribe
Grasping at the past

Like a cult
The Nation
The Party
The Flag

A twisted love
Of a twisted idea

My country
Wrong or Right

My Party
Wrong or Right

Simplistic rhetoric
Thoughtless allegiance

Red, Blue or Green
I Detest you
You are the seeds of war

© CH 2017

About this poem: I detest nationalism in all its forms, be it the nation state, the flag, the national anthem or national days (eg Australian Day). Contrary to the views of some that is not the same as rejecting, or not loving, ones land.

But loving the land you live in, (which is a real physical entity) and the people that inhabit it, is very different from liking the mythical and dangerous symbols of the nation state. In fact like religion I view these all as a form of devotion to a cult (in this case the cult of the nation state). They are all part of a power system designed to maintain the rich and powerful (read sociopaths) in power. Rejecting the nation state is is not the same as rejecting the need to belong to a “tribe” or “community” or rejecting “identity” (identity politics).

We can have community and identity without these dangerous symbols to which people attach and which have been a principle driver of global conflict. In essence I believe in “culturalism” instead of “nationalism; noting that the latter is often a principal force in destroying cultures and languages.

Writing from the Road/travel-poetry

11/07/2021

10/07/2021

09/07/2021

08/07/2021

07/07/2021

06/07/2021

06/07/2021

30/06/2021

24/05/2021

23/05/2021

22/05/2021

22/05/2021

20/05/2021

19/05/2021

18/05/2021

17/05/2021

16/05/2021

Address

Telephone

Website

Alerts

Contact The Business

Shortcuts

Share