Relationship advice

[Dedicated to the wankers who give relationship advice.]

I used to change partners,
Or else change accommodation,
Every five years or so,
Until I realised it was just as good to change toilet seats.
I bought and installed a new one today –
Very excited about our impending intimacy.

The last one was a bitch –
She teased me with potentiality,
Which was never realised.
Her brass fittings were impractical,
One good coating of piss and they began to corrode.
Her wood veneer was cold to the touch,
She was heavy,
Which doesn’t help when dropped in the night.
She teased me in the shop,
Promising things she could never deliver.
I put her on the rubbish heap today,
With a chuckle.

So many shapes and materials from which to choose,
So many possibilities,
Limited to but one partner,
Until society accepts the idea,
Of polygamous toilet seat love.

I still shudder at that trip to Mexico,
Where late at night,
Checking into a room in Acapulco,
There was no seat,
But only a rim on which to sit.
The suffering of these people became clear,
As I straddled the bowl.

I will wake in the night,
Seeing it anew,
Sharing those first moments –
How will we fit?
Will it be as good as imagined?

Thinking of a new partner?
They are all the same after a few weeks.
Try a new toilet seat instead,
It will be the change you longed for –
and more.

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
27 February 2013

The slide

That first trip down a slide,
The fear,
Heart racing,
Will they catch me?
Hands gripping the rail.
So afraid to let go.
It seems so far to the bottom,
and the river –
although far enough away –
looks so close to young eyes.

Listening to them prodding on,
Promising to catch at the bottom.
What if what is me ends here?

White knuckles begin to loosen,
Focusing on the act,
Seeing them at the bottom,
Believing that they will catch me.

This moment repeated again through life,
Many times.

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
27 February 2013

The Religionist

Walks past a half constructed puzzle and is still not convinced,
that this might actually be a puzzle.
More bones are needed he claims,
But won’t be convinced,
Even if he sees the completed puzzle before his eyes.

Sees jagged peaks and old, worn down mountains,
Claims both are the same age.
When queried about this,
Tries to come up up with an excuse,
“Perhaps the gods made one look older to fool you.”
At the time his creation myth begins,
His deities were trying to create with the intent to confuse.
Those he creates and tries to look up to,
Have his same confused and dishonest views.

Shown dinosaurs and other bones,
Claims that they are of recent origin.
Others laugh, when they try to imagine his dinosaurs recently interacting with man.

Shown layers of earth in a canyon,
Signs of soil and ash being deposited over millions of years,
Imagines this another recent creation.

Humanity will not progress with such primitive superstition common.
When these people have gone their way,
This race can begin the task of our mental evolution.
Some have already begun to evolve and look at this sub-species,
as our ancestors looked on the Homo neanderthalensis.
Were they sad to watch the Neanderthal disappear?
Perhaps they watched with satisfaction,
As we watch the religionists diminish in numbers.

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
26 February 2013

Just enough

We will give them just enough education,
So they can do the job.

We will give them just enough salary,
To keep them needing more.

We will give them just enough of a mortgage,
That they can painfully service.

We will give them just enough health care,
Immunisations and basis necessities,
To keep them on the job.

We will give them just enough mental health,
To keep them able to perform their duties.
Symptom relief with only a few sessions.
We have to see a return on investment.

We will give them all the Jesus they want,
As he is free and will keep them from focusing on what little we share.

We will give them just enough,
To be the labourers who keep us rich.
Just enough is just enough.

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
24 February 2013

Big Jack

His father beat him,
With anything around,
Preferring doubled over and rusty barbed wire.
Jack would grit his teeth and take it,
He wasn’t giving in.

At twenty-one,
While working on a power pole,
He received a shock which would kill any man,
Which killed him –
Until being dropped while carried down the pole,
Started his heart again.
He wasn’t giving in.

At hospital they removed a charred arm and leg.
Photos show him lying in bed,
With a smile that went from ear to ear.
He wasn’t giving in.

Working through the week and helping others on weekends,
He never complained and never asked for help.
Early mornings he could be seen,
Beads of sweat on his brow,
As he tied his shoelace,
A challenge with one hand.
He wasn’t giving in.

He raised children,
Then raised grandchildren too.
Worried that he might not make it until those who needed him were grown.
He wasn’t giving in.

One he treated like a second son,
Would think of no other name for his own child,
Than the only man who inspired him,
The one who wouldn’t give in.

Swelling in the spine,
Confined to a chair,
He still works from sun up.
Worried that time off for surgery,
Will mean that his granddaughter who lives with him will do without.

Big Jack –
He isn’t giving in.

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
24 February 2013

Comfort

Old people will tell you,
the most comfort comes not from love,
comes not from companionship,
but emanates from the cold,
consistent,
methodical drone of routine.

Keep your excitement,
your thrills,
your desire for the unknown.
These do not compare to a hot coffee,
followed by toast,
each and every uneventful day.

Knowing where your feet fall from the bed,
into your old slippers there,
where you carefully left them the night before.

Going to the same diner,
where the same cook,
who knows your name,
gets your meal  –
right or wrong –
just the same,
every time.

Consistency can be depended upon,
unlike people.
Anticipated,
Appreciated.

In a world of chaos,
routine provides some semblance of order,
of structure,
of meaning,
of purpose.

You will understand,
given enough time –
and chaos.

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
22 February 2013

The Brothel

She looked in the mirror,
Noticing with regret,
That her breasts continued to sag,
Her stomach dropped over her knickers.
Having children is hard on the body,
She thought.

We must keep them from putting a brothel in our town,
Referring back to a conversation of the day before.
It could be too great a challenge for our men,
For my man.

She grasped for excuses,
But few could be found.
“This is a ‘family-oriented’ community” was one angle,
She was too intelligent to believe this herself,
As she knew that many families,
many relationships,
were started in brothels.
That excuse might do for the less enlightened,
She thought,
Smiling.

“Brothels will increase crime”,
She thought with a grin.
She had no proof for this statement,
But what did it matter?
Some would buy into it.
Fortunately,
A similar argument had not been made when the casino came to town,
As she herself loved gambling.

“There is no history of brothels in our town” –
This one she liked.
It had the weight of history,
And the most simple-minded fall back on the status quo.
It didn’t matter if she had researched the matter or not,
For she knew they would not either.

So much fear that her husband would be tempted,
She did not consider those without partners,
With no one for physical contact.
She did not consider their difficulties in having to go to another town,
To satiate the desire for contact with another person.
Her needs were paramount,
Theirs were irrelevant.

She feared what she saw as a threat,
She did not consider the possibility,
That any of these people could be compassionate,
That any of these people might be driven by the same motivation,
Which led her to counsel others all those years ago.

Her disgust for her own body,
Was projected onto them.
Her insecurities about her sexual abilities,
Were channelled into her trumped up sense of a good cause.

She looked in the mirror,
Noticing with regret,
That her breasts continued to sag . . .

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
21 February 2013

Madhouse

Andrew is in the corner,
Trying to hump a visitor.

John is standing at the front of the room,
Shouting at everyone,
Telling them they are worthless,
Spittle coming down his chin.

Mary and Rebecca are sitting together,
Gossiping about those around.

James is trying to reach into pockets,
To see what shiny coins he can take from the unsuspecting.

Matthew is looking around the room in disgust,
Feeling superior to all others.

Luke looks out the window,
At the families going past.
His thoughts are not suitable for mention here.

Paul is pulling the wings off bugs,
With a pocket full of victims.

Mark is hitting those in nearby seats,
Swinging his feet at them as well.

Only the most sick and demented are kept here,
Whose leader is a vicar, a priest or a minister.
At first glance it may seem that his job is to sedate,
But it is rather to promote the madness which has them confined here.

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
19 February 2013

The Greatest Freedom

The greatest freedom is yours and mine,
They do not want you to know it,
They do not want to realise it themselves.

They imagine that freedom is bullshit like speaking words,
So much meaninglessness.
They do not truly value their freedom,
Because they realise these acts are of themselves without value.

The greatest freedom,
The greatest choice,
The greatest power,
It is in your hands,
It is in mine.

Exercising this freedom,
This most precious of choices,
Can only be practiced once,
But is also practiced daily.

Try to appease yourself with speech,
Voting,
Residence,
Similar irrelevancies.

Some realise true freedom is in their own hands,
Always has been,
And –
Remains their greatest choice.

Gerald Lee Jordan
Diamond Harbour NZ
18 February 2013