Poetry of a Common Man

© 2013 by ARMIN BOKO. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/22/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-7597-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-7598-4 (e)

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction

Mega-Polis

The Oak Tree

Ford Prefect 1952 (Aust.)

City That Never Sleeps

Atheist

Unemployed 1

When Will I See You Again

Yours Truly 1.1

Lotus Eaters 2012

Homo Suburbicus (Aust.)

Returned Soldier

When There Are Two Inside Of One

Why My Lord

In Memory Of Tom Rivergaard

Day’ll Come Again

Boom Boom-Wroom Wroom (Aust.)

Writ By Whom?

Vultures Of The Apocalypse

Love 1

A New Born

What Tomorrow Brings

Merry Christmas

Lost Foot Steps In Sand

Nature’s Clock

Marmalade Joell 1

Marmalade Joel 2 (Aust.)

A Traveler

A Question

Flight Of Fancy

Poets Hall Of Fame

Filthy Lucre

Atlantis

Round And Round We Go

White Heron

Bezerkistan Bosnia

A Retiree

Romance 1

Conmasters Of The Universe

Modern Blues Gfc Style

The Bird

The Father Time

To Daria

The Voice

Anchor Song Preamble

For How Many ?

One Off Men

Time

The Cruel Beast

Epitaph To A Bard

The Story Of Readhead Jane

To My Late Friend

Marvels Of Modern Arts And Music

Worn Out Mirrors

Methamphetamine (Aust.)

Till Death Do Us Part

The Universe

She’ll Be Right Mate

The Immigrant In 2013

Tomb To The Unknown Soldier

Forty Years Too Late

The Big Yellow

The Dreamtime

Politically Correct

The Game Of Golf

The Brat

Gone Fishing

The Men Today

Ninty-Nine

Masters Of Spin

The Mediterranean

Abysmal Science

Ballad Of An Eighty Year Old

Las Ramblas

Phil The Philosopher

Statenlos (Ger.)

The Shopping Mall (Aust.)

Porsche Joe

Stockmarket Blues

At The Dogs

I Have Had Enough

Grossmuters Lament (Ger.)

Come-Uppance

Humphrey The Bear

Morungu

—Isam/—Ism

Those The Gods Love

Bush Form Guide (Aust.)

Caged Bird

Vanilla And Cinnamon

Ill Advised

Africa The Insane 2012

Chemicals Menu

Ellada

The Black Dog

Morning Prayer

The Mercenary

Marriage Bliss

Qe Ii And Australia 2012

Lead Foot Young Jim (Aust.)

All At Sea

Comet From Mars

Justice And Lawyers

Game Of Mixes Doubles

Economical Forecast

The Shaky Isles

Autumn In Croatia

The Road Kill

Alone

Second Coming

Margaret Olle

Diet Of Lies

Father’s Day

Mind Games

Wall Of Fire

Childhood Memories Of Wwii

A New Day

Confused

Flanders Autumn 1917

Rum For Sturm (Ger.)

Battle Of Britain Seventy Years On

Digereedo

Nobody Is Perfect

The Poor In The West

Unemployed 2

Pussycat

Love 2

The South Wind

Teredo The Worm

Modern Poetry

Machine Age

Lazy River

Back To Front

Work Shy

Romance 2  (Variations On A Theme) 

Heartbreak Decision

Man Vs Chimp Tribal Lore

Shiny Chrome

We Wait

Obituary

New Age Harry Kay

Love 3

Gemini

Nature’s Joker

Nowhere Left To Go

Traffic Lights

Steady As She Goes

Lament And Prelude To Divorce

Alice Spring Regatta

Dirty Money

Unwelcome News

Nightingale

Freedom

Not Thinking

Widow’s Last Son

Epitaph To Henry

Country Air

The Quiet Man

A Mere Male

Dna Is But A Brick

Con La Nostalgia

From Orphan Boy To A Man (Aust.)

Joel’s Nag(Aust.)

Judgment Day

A Farce 2

Poem Of The Common Man

The Boat People?

The Immigrant 3

Easy Does It

The Mork

The Heart Of Stone

Ballad Of An Oldie

Ukraine Cossack Ballad

Don Quixote The Second

The One

Intemezzo

Boy Soldier

Hollow Ground

Green As Chlorophyll 2

All Clerks Now

Hey Ares

Modern Slavery

Peace To End All Peace

Forty Years Too Late

INTRODUCTION

Included in the anthology are previously published poems contained within SECTOR#7 & of Ares and Men, also Sketches and Reflections of 2012. This covers in full the poetic output of the author since 2009.

The overall design is a deliberate step away from the abstract modern poetry pre-occupied with syllabic dissection and abstract notions to the intentional exclusion of tangible subjects. Modern poetry isn’t supposed to make sense, we’re told, and it is more a play with words and sounds. The free flowing style, here whilst of variable meter does no more than serve the purpose. Substance rules over style first and last. It is how it used be before modernists turned it on the head.

In this book pre-occupation is with here and now; real people in all kinds of predicament and life like situations. It will be instantly recognized. It comes down on sham democracy, war mongers, banksters and other vermin. Spared is none, least of all the author himself. His sporting inadequacies exposed for one should tickle the funny bone. Above all the book is an anti-war crusade. On second level it is on side of those creating the wealth, not those cashing in on the fat spoils. It is poetry of the common man in the street. Enough for young and old, and young at heart.

The author Joseph Tomasevic (Pen Name Armin Boko) is a retired scientist resident just outside of Sydney.

Lake Heights, 17-04-2013.

Also by Armin Boko:

The Monsoon Drifter

The Fortune Seekers

SECTOR#7 & of Ares and Men

Sketches and Reflections of 2012

The Bitter Harvest

The Borneo Desert

ALL RIGHTS PROTECTED

MEGA-POLIS

re-bars* for sinew

muscles of concrete

glassy bones

the beast without heart

throws Maker

sand in the eye

gravity defiant

all colors but grey

in retreat the beast

clamors for height

drunk on clouds

and higher still

it gobbles

everything in sight

it grows like cancer

sucks rivers dry

by three phase AC

modern mega-polis

spews out garbage

belching foul air for thanks

bitumen for skin

money for hemoglobin

red rim ball of fire

in the East already

headless ants on wheels

frantically mill

in search

of their missing queen

*re-bars for reinforcing steel bars

THE OAK TREE

Sweetest of words you whispered way back,

how can your laughter still resound?

Light that lived on your skin and shone so brightly

in hair shoulder long, curled back in time space,

can all this be but a preservative canned dream?

That oak tree partner in crime asked for an answer:

‘You’d have seen it old timer perched on the hill

overlooking the bay, how many Atlantic Ocean waves

had rolled in since smashed to smithereens,

your roots can tell, can it be she is back?’

Puff of wind rustles the leaves,

a man in shadow of an oak tree crown

struggles to hear the messenger:

‘Oh you fickle discontented creature on the ground,

why always ask for that you have cannot an’ more;

threaten me with chainsaw, blight, drought and tempest,

just look at me content to be where I stand.’

As if invited violent gust of wind pipes in the branches:

‘Don’t ever let go of what’s dear to your heart

lonely pilgrim, and dare ask for it back.’

The wind died. Sun rose higher. In tune with the oak tree

I began to count the waves thundering on basalt ramparts

serving time keeper of a different kind and different clock.

Just me and the oak tree.

FORD PREFECT 1952 (AUST.)

Ol’ granny at 95 can drive new auto Mercedes Benz;

just for fun try driving my old crate,

jumping out of second and no hand brake.

I manage her all right, see how far you get.

On the flat she chugalugs along all right, just fine,

come a hill side climb it’s a different story.

Double clutch all the way down to first

rev her up till tacho shifts off scale.

She grew on me, like one of the family,

the old girl sticks out in a crowd somewhat

of distinct character. Spares mighty hard to find

forced to improvise. Holden clutch and Jap’electrics

well done none can tell the difference.

Pride of the place, hard to part with

grown onto you just like one of the family,

some question why care and money more be spent

on her not without vices. She likes to run hot,

capricious at other times, smokes a fair bit

and is hard to start, not to mention awful fuel economy,

so what,—the veteran old beauty Ford Prefect 1952.

CITY THAT NEVER SLEEPS

Expelled from Eden, torched in Sodom;

tossed into caldron to stem molten iron;

wars ad infinitum and back damaged goods;

uprooted from Carthage and Troy

bruised Adam builds a den of sin.

A city that never sleeps, where anything goes.

With craving of a drug addict a beast is born.

Morals of a hyena, looks and polish to deceive;

love for no other than easy money.

Visitors call in from far and wide.

Curious by-standers for most part

walk the streets paved with fools’ gold.

In a city that never sleeps, and anything goes.

Waiters, cabbies good workers all

mill around the table for crumbs that fall.

A market place has flesh for sale

perfumed in deodorant;

drunks and junkies staggering about;

arm of the Law on remote control out of sight.

Commerce rules, pimps and whores

in place of grocery stalls.

In a city that never sleeps, and anything goes.

.

Bright neon lights flash on and off,

giant magnets drawing men like moths

with equal outcomes. Suddenly the master switch

trips off on transformer failure unexpected;

power to drive the beast no longer on tap.

Magic of city that never sleeps but a delusion.

Glow in dark night at 2 AM

that of the whites in scared men’s eyes,

jumping queue calling taxi, taxi (!)

In a city that never sleeps, and anything goes.

ATHEIST

By mere chance we’re here,

is that what you like to believe?

That what you see just so happens:

the world spinning like a roulette;

win some lose some,

and who cares.

Billions of living cells

functioning in perfect unison

so horribly complex

it can never be half understood,

much less duplicated.

If all this by mere chance,

then what glue

holds the fabric together?

If it is as you proclaim,

how can one cell gone off,

see you in palliative care,

and defeat a billion?

Which statistics

you care to name explains that?

Where ignorance,

and arrogance

walk hand in hand,

give yourself a re-think.

Without a Master

and ways

we may never know,

how can this world

function at all?

Or is that like the rest

of your credo,

nothing out of nothing,

for nothing,

into nothing, and who cares?

UNEMPLOYED 1

Black and white faded pictures of 1929

stare at you again, men regulation dressed

crawl snake like around our city blocks.

Centuplicate job applications mailed

in all directions, few if any replies;

no mail today just swallow hard.

Subdued queue inches forward some;

wrapped in body deodorant clean shaven men

for something to do shuffle the feet.

Credit cards screaming red, savings history,

welfare knows them no longer, pockets

all empty, but they still want to eat.

‘Shush off to another planet just disappear,

we don’t want you on statistics here!’

‘Don’t ring up us we’ll ring you’, ditto and ditto.

Years later, if nothing much has changed, I fear

in the land to hold angry mob from barricades,

before long, there won’t be jails big enough.

WHEN WILL I SEE YOU AGAIN

Airbus 320 gains altitude

doing just fine

it’s me out of control

heart left behind

on the ground

of my old homeland

Mljet island pearl

in the Adriatic

loves of innocent youth

those who shared

my smile and bread

when will I see you again

YOURS TRULY 1.1

From Mark to Jennifer

Jennifer to Henry

Henry to Carmen

Carmen to Josh

Josh to Martha

Adam to Steve

round and round

some names are

clearly left out

for update 1.2

thanks a heap for

warm hospitality

it’s been good

to know you and

see you around

in social media

Yours truly,

Bacillus Gonorrhea.

LOTUS EATERS 2012

It occurred to me to test my friends

play God for a day — what would you decrees be

Communicate by ESP only

abolish gibberish or cure malaria

find parents for the orphaned

make young ones obey

arts and poetry bloom

shame the rich into paying taxes

or let it just be and leave it

to HM the Queen to