Collected Poems...& Philosophical Essays

By Paul Mathews

Fifteen heartfelt poems and several essays/reflections on profound philosophical life and controversial issues: Images of Public Servitude, Land Rights for Gay Whales, and Lost in (Third) Space [How I Lost My Ethnic Identity].

• Language: English
• Publisher: Warrior Publishers
• Release date: Mar 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310395543

Paul Mathews

Dr. Paul Mathews is an anthropologist and sociologist who has worked on Philippine issues for 25 years, and also spent 2 years in Taiwan. He has written extensively about Philippine society and culture in such areas as health, gender relations and sexuality, values, and economic development. He is currently freelancing, following a Research Fellowship at the Australian National University. He is Secretary of the Philippine Studies Association of Australasia, and former Managing Editor of Pilipinas, A Journal of Philippine Studies.

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Collected Poems

… &

Philosophical Essays

Copyright © 2016 by Dr. Paul W. Mathews

Published in Australia in 2016 by Warrior Publishers at Smashwords

[e-mail]

ePub version ISBN 9781310395543

The moral right of the author/s has been asserted.

This work is fiction. All characters, events and places in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, have been altered and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to any place, event or thing is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher or author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

NON-FICTION

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First published in 1976 by Arthur H. Stockwell Ltd, Great Britain

ISBN 72230735-7

My Heart Aches: ISBN: 0 7223 0906-6

Table of Contents

My Heart Aches…

The War Machine

True

Love Is…

136284

EVOL…EVOL…EVOL…EVOL…

Tomorrow ?

Tug-O’-War

ASSOCIATION

I Think It’s Beautiful

Why ?

The End

Anthem to Australia

For Those Left Behind…

A Day in the Ward

Images of Public Servitude

—A Reflection

Land Rights for Gay Whales

Political Correctness or Ideology Under the Mat ?

—An Essay

Lost in (Third) Space

How I Lost My Ethnic Identity

—An Essay

About Paul Mathews

Other work by Paul Mathews

About Warrior Publishers

Why Warrior ?

My Heart Aches…

Like a winter stream

O'erflowed my love.

I have loved,

and will love no more:

as a summer stream

cease to flow.

My heart aches,

a numbness pains;

my chest,

a vacant spot

hollow

like a coffee pot

pours forth till drained,

like tears turned solid,

I grow to stone.

The War Machine

A flick of the switch and the thing is on,

Spewing out hatred as it hobbles along,

Wringing life of its peace and joy;

So vain is the course of this ludicrous toy.

The still steaming jungle brings up what it’s fed,

As the war machine’s fathers look down at the dead;

And they stand there in silence, transfixed as they stare,

And ponder the price of their little toy’s fare.

As the tinny wheels creak, the sand dunes reek

With the stench of heaped bodies at the foot of the sea.

And the tide of all life is drawn out at dawn

To the sound of the Red man’s glee.

The thronging crowds mill, there to condemn

The pretty machine’s despatchment of men.

The trespassing’s wrong, how can they condone?

Won’t they please take their little toy home?

Where next will it go, one might wish to know:

To bleach high frozen summits dark with read snow;

To the land of tall palms, to sap oil’s fill;

To the paddies of waste, fear, hunger, despair;

Or the centre of culture, to strip life bare?

True

When I was a kid

we used to play,

in the sand,

and in the hay.

When I was a youth

we used to play,

all through the night,

and into the day.

And now I’m grown-up,

and I sit down to sup,

and think of the days gone by:

of days of sand and grit,

And the present—

A bloody hypocrite !

Love Is…

Love is a many splendoured thing;

It’s signified by a wedding ring.

Love is what makes the world go ’round;

It’s emotioned by sight and sound.

Love is the key to the Pearly Gate—

It’s better than Blood, War or Hate.

Love is patient;

Love is kind.

Love is not jealous;

Love leaves Hate behind.

Love is not careless.

It does not put on airs;

It is not snobbish;

Love is when someone cares;

Love is not polish.

Love that wanders

Is not Love at all;

Love that is still

Will never fall.

Love is never rude;

It is not self-seeking.

Not love of food,

But Love of helping.

It is not prone to anger;

Nor does it brood over injuries.

It defies danger.

Love is the birds and bees.

Love does not rejoice in what is wrong,

But rejoices in the truth.

Love, expressed by a song,

Results in youth.

There is no limit to Love’s forbearance,

(Love your parents);

To its trust,

(It defies lust);

Its hope,

(It does not mope);

Its power to endure,

(Its power to cure).

Love is the password to the Golden Gate.

Love, how do you rate?

Love is not Hate,

As Early is not Late;

Love unlocks the Pearly Gate,

Through which love comes to without—

Let us dance and sing and shout !

The Love from God

The Love to earth

The Love of death

The Love of birth.

Love is Light

As Hate is Dark;

Inflame or extinguish

That faint, distant spark !

136284

I once knew a man—his number, one-three-six-two-eight-four,

Who lay on his bed and locked the bedroom door

When not employed at his work

As a Government bespectacled clerk.

From nine to five he worked steadily on

Without a mistake, doing nothing wrong.

Home to tea, to an indifferent wife;

Watched TV—the story of his life.

For twenty-five years he did he same

At two dollars an hour—

To shy a raise to gain.

He was no Bonaparte, no Richard Burton,

(Nor a carpet, nor a curtain !)

He was a man, like all men—of flesh and blood,

Yet he was treated like dirt, or mud.

Why ?

Give a sigh.

It does not matter…

He was embroiled in Man-mass batter.

He who follows— one-three-six-two-eight-five,

He might survive.

EVOL…EVOL…EVOL…EVOL…

Man will not live by bread alone.

Nor shall water quench his thirst.

What man has, and what man wants,

He considers last and first.

All the thoughts of all the men

Of all the times everywhere

Have not succeeded—

And now are rare.

Success of what !? my good man asks.

Of life, I say, of life itself !

What in life do you have ?

And what in life do you want ?

What you want is what you have;

Yet, what you have is what you want !

You have a house — you have a job —

You have your clothes — you’re in a mob —

You have a car — you have your food —

You have some money — and you have your mood.

But few men have

My wife and home.

Tomorrow ?

The end is nigh !

I heard him cry:

"Take heed of what I say,

For thou hast sinned, and sinners die;

By Hell’s fire you will pay !"

This world of ours is doomed for sure,

No longer shall we have peace or war.

The end is nigh; and nigh the end is;

With atom-bombs and Vietnam—

Each getting theirs and his.

We live in fear all our life,

Fear of only them—

For they have the power:

Power to us condemn.

And we, the children of all mankind,

Humble at the sight of greater mind,

Do the work of our defender:

For the service we die and render

We receive nothing fair,

For our elders do not care.

Revolt ! I say, against war and sin;

Save this world for our next of kin.

Continue in peace and save this race;

To destroy this world we are in no haste.

Give us a chance to live a life;

We only fight and die for you.

We don’t make the wars and hate;

Let us show what we can do !

We do not condemn those who grow old,

We are young but understand;

We condemn those who grow bold—

Those greedy for more land !

We’re not scared to fight for our land;

We’ll fight on water and on the sand.

But we won’t fight without a cause,

Because we still believe in Santa Claus.

Our generation