16 > 17/01/2017…

Busker.

 

A battered and scarred Guitar strung tightly across his back,

faded and torn army surplus jacket beneath,

covering a tattered blue-check shirt,

all hanging loosely

on this unwashed survivor of Life.

Walking the bricks,

he turns his tricks.

 

Begging-here and Busking-there,

eyes hidden behind a scratched pair of mirrored sunglasses,

as so to hide from the charity-giver’s stare.

Wandering about, begging this and that,

weary,
he finds a spot and unsheathes his only love

… tune’s it with a tickle.

Then…he plays a song.
Caressing his guitar

All his heart suddenly cries-out,
Reaching,
surging,
urging,
yearning,

… and all the shopper’s walk on by .

Oblivious.

 

In his mind,

The rags he wears become stitched with gold,

cold brick beneath becomes a stage,
strewn with light and lasers
other musicians and roadies

and the people of his special world before him look on,
calling his name,
chanting

with adoration,

… giving the love he has never received.

 

In his hands,

this man holds his life…

 

***

Michael John Kildare

17/01/2017 (c)
Adelaide.

Summer is here…17/12/2016

Cars are rushing about, traffic is heavy. I pull up at the traffic lights with a loud hiss of air-brakes and wait for the green light to flash “go”.
It is late afternoon, mid-December and at the end of the pre-Christmas working week. Summer is here but Christmas is too and everyone appears tired, stressed, and not just a little pissed off. Most car windows are ‘up’ with air-con working flat-out, but there are those as well with air-con off (or non-existent) and are seated, perspiring, light clothing askew, sweat stains under the arms, stereos blaring out into the world either non-talented hip-hop or equally non-talented radio DJ drivel.
The smells of the traffic, car exhaust and hot bitumen, overpowers the gentle smells of summer: grass drying, eucalyptus sweating, pollen swirling about in the warm breeze. With a little concentration I wistfully note this summer breeze also carry’s the merest hint of sand, salt and surf, for this waft of warm summer air is flowing in from the west, where Adelaide’s long white sandy beaches lie. It is a good smell, an enticing smell, a collection of scents that evoke a collection of memories that highlight past happy moments, previous good times.

Being in a heavy truck, I sit well above all the vehicles stopped with me waiting for the green light, waiting to continue on with our day. I can see down into each vehicle, watching the occupants.
Some sit still, looking straight ahead, blank-eyed stare. Others are fiddling with their smart phones, checking emails or more commonly checking their social media sites.
(Oh would I rake it in for State Revenue if I were a policeman, fines handed out to all and sundry, but then, I’m not a prick).
I see too that all these tired and somewhat impatient people are not in ‘the moment’, not here and now, all “elsewhere” and not “here” and in that thought I note that I myself am “not in the moment” either.
My mind’s eye looks past this minute and down the years to happier times.
I stare at white sand, hear crashing surf, feel a woman’s caress on my hand, smile at children’s laughter, brush at the sea-salt in my hair. And I view a sunset from the sand as water splashes my feet, sun turning to orange to red as it sinks into the sea.
I flash forward in my musings to another moment upon the beach, another golden orange sunset and gentle waves lapping at the shore, another snapshot of eternal happiness. I can see the orange sun turning to red-gold as it plunges once again beneath the sea, but this time viewed from between my feet, which are propped up upon a weathered wooden rail. Shoe soles facing the sea, I am laid back, a little drunk (only a little), sipping an ice-cold pint of ale, silently listening to the gulls squawk, distant children laugh, smelling the sharp tang of salt and mouth-watering aroma of barbecuing meat…and horns honking in the distance, seeming to get louder and louder….
Horns honking??
Oh shit…the light had turned green.
I wave a “sorry” out my window.
Back to now…
back to reality.
Onward I drive…

Michael John Kildare.

7/02/2017…President Trump

A couple of days ago I was asked the question,
“Does Donald Trump think he’s a Dictator?”

The short answer…No, not in the least.
The long answer:
He is a Business man, first and foremost.
As such, President Trump is there to promote and sell his “Brand”, his “product”, and subsequent to that also to protect his “Brand” and “Product”.
President Donald Trump’s “Brand” is now the United States of America, and he has to promote all the Products of the USA, while also protecting the USA from any economic, military, or social threats that endanger America’s existence.
That is his job…full stop.
With the current provoked and distracting upheavals worldwide, adding to the fallout from previous US administrations and their very poor self-serving decisions, lack of long-term vision and arrogant displays of greed and power…President Trump has his work cut-out for him.
Which also means that there are some hard decisions ahead with equally hard repercussions.
President Trump must lead, not follow.

How he does it, is up to him, but most likely he will run America as the business it is: the largest and greatest business in the world. President Trump will run the USA in the most efficient cost-effective way possible, while still trying to protect [its] workforce, institutions, traditions, customs and culture.
President Trump will run the USA like it is “USA incorporated”, which really, is precisely what it is.
The interesting thing to note: once you sift through all the media lies, disinformation and miss-truths, you will notice that President Trump is one of America’s most successful businessmen.
The man knows his Job.

But everyone assumes he does NOT know his job, that he is seriously flawed, a failure, a walking nuclear time-bomb, a misogynist (sigh), etc, etc…(you no-doubt get the picture).
If [you] do believe all the relentless and continual negative propaganda, there are some questions [you] need to seriously ask yourself and those like-minded on the Left of the political sphere…

By what argument(s) do [you] base [your] assumptions?
What are [your] sources of relevant information?
Do [you] assume disaster because he has not previously served or stood for an elected position?
Or do [you] just simply believe without question all the Corporate Media left-wing Democrat sourced propaganda? (All of which had been brought to light during Hillary Clinton’s disastrous run for the Presidency)
If [you] so believe the vitriol aimed at him, President Trump, why do you?
What facts, what arguments convinced you without a doubt that the Corporate Mainstream Media is telling the truth?

An observation from afar…
For years the average (Western) citizen-voter has cried out for “someone different”, someone who can effect change, someone who will ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING, instead of simply maintaining the western lop-sided status-quo.
Well, as the truism states: “Watch what you wish for…you just might get it”

President Trump is that “Truth” America currently and desperately needs at this moment in her history, at this threshold fork-in-the-road of her future. And if it wasn’t Donald Trump, it would have to be someone very like him. A Leader of Nations, not a caretaker of “business as usual”
No, President Trump is not a smooth-tongued politically wind-blown icon of diplomacy, “The professional career politician”. No, he is not that in the least, and thank God for that small mercy.
President Trump is a billionaire business man who earned his stripes and fortune in the cut-throat high-stakes real-estate market of Manhattan. [He] has written the sales book, “The Art of the Deal”, arguably the best selling sales book of all time, and his election campaign was pure genius in the way it was produced and presented.
The perfect ‘whole story’ redemption arc. A Hollywood movie script designed to tell a fictional story of a Presidential “against-all-odds” election in similar vein to what has actually happened could not have been better written and presented.
The subtlety of genius and masterful public engagement was evident every step of the way throughout the entire Presidential election cycle. The weaving of [his] vision in a narrative always portraying a clear overarching goal leaves no-doubt the man knew what his job must entail and what he must do, and what he must get the people of the Nation to do for “change” to exist, for “change” to thrive, for “change” to benefit everyone.

To change America and its unbalanced status-quo, burgeoning class-war and declining world leadership, President Trump MUST “Make America Great Again”. It is the only way to stop the repeat of History, mirroring of the fall of the Rome, in and of itself a tragic creeping sequence of events that led to the dissolution of The Roman Empire and subsequent horror of the Dark ages. This civilization-destroying tragedy is replaying in real-time, in our time.  It is an age-old abyss whose crumbled edge was long ago left behind.
In modern parlance: an incident-pit within which America has fallen into. An incident-pit has deceptively shallow edges, at first..but the further into it you circle, the steeper the sides become, until there is no possible way to climb out. America has been circling around the pit for some decades now, slowly getting deeper within, slowly falling, the pit’s sides becoming ever steeper, ever more difficult to reverse course.  Imitating in ignorance the historic lessons of Rome, the ever-deepening mire of corruption and bureaucratic malfeasance, America is speeding up the process by the incremental abandonment of its Constitutional core principles.
Until now.
Until President Trump.
This man, this Leader recognized the decline and fall has to stop, and the nations course reversed before it cannot be reversed, cannot be saved.
I see no-other person even remotely capable of doing that, nor do I see or hear any valid well researched and truthful, factual, argument against President Trump and his vision.
But with all pivotal moments in history, those who live through the moment rarely realize the depth and breadth of that moment’s importance, or the core characters within that moment who shape the future to come.
Personally I have hope, I see a bright, if distant, future.

Time will tell

Michael John Kildare
7/02/2017

27/12/2016…

So once again, the fifty-first time for me, Christmas has come…and Christmas has gone.
The mad panic of “must get this-must get that time-be there at this time-be at the other place at that time…”, blended roughly with the social political correctness of, “Don’t offend ‘him’-don’t offend ‘her’-watch what you say-kiss that ‘aunt’-don’t kiss the other one…” etc, etc…is over once again.
Thank God…”Ohh Joy to the world, for Christmas is gone!”
…>sigh<
It is now almost midnight on the twenty-seventh day of December and I’ve just arrived home from working my night job packing fresh produce for wholesale distribution to institutions (Hospitals, Prisons, etc), restaurants and supermarkets. People still need to eat,
I feel old, beaten-down, stuffed, sore and crotchety.
Everyone at work had been asking me if I’d had a Christmas.
A Merry Fucking Christmas, indeed.
Hmm, yeah…bah, humbug!
And sadly, I am not alone in that feeling.

I miss that time of my childhood when the build up to Christmas was both exciting and special. When stories of Father Christmas both captured your attention and fired the imagination.
Passed and gone is the ‘especial’ feeling that Christmas engendered deep within, creating a magical vision of wonders never seen, laughter never heard, and an empathy with everyone you met. An empathy which shouted friendship, communion, cooperation, and love. A love which was for everyone, by everyone.

Now drifting painfully into my senior years I yearn for that ‘specialness’.

Yeah

17/12/2016

Now.

 

Our Age

Our moment

Blank Page

Herd movement.

 

New Sage

New Figment

Fake Cage

Serve entrapment.

 

Walls made

Walls limit

Hate laid

Observe encroachment.

 

Personally afraid

Personally resonate

Fate caved

Conserve rapprochement.
Future…?

***
Michael John Kildare
(c)

07/08/2016

After reading several of my News Feeds, a broad selection of mainstream and alternative News and Current affairs sites, (having been culled somewhat since the recent revelations of favoured Democratic collusion), I find myself deeply saddened and pessimistic for the future of the West in general.

America, you’re breaking my heart, you’re killing me, you’re killing all hope. You are going places I and the majority of other Western bred people do not want to go.

You have tried since World War Two to lead the world, be “The Example”, fight for what is morally, ethically, right. Often this goal of moral and ethical freedom, of decency and fairness, seemed very distant, murky and obscure. But with sleeves rolled-up and a little extra effort and due diligence, compassion and empathy, these goals were still attainable….still worthy of the struggle, the effort.

Still worthy of the rest of the world’s belief and faith in you.

Sadly, heartbreakingly, this reality is no more.

No, I’m not for Trump, and most definitely neither am I for Hillary, (who I think should be in jail), but I am disgusted how all talk, conjecture, and “thinking” for this Presidential election has become farcical, ludicrous, degenerate, and outright bullshit.

From both sides.

It saddens me very deeply at how little these two parties, these two candidates, and the main culprit: The Media,…how little they think of the intelligence of the average American, and by default the rest of the Western world.

Simply put: You are dumb. You are stupid. You cannot ask critical questions for an American future. You must believe what we tell you.

 

America, >sigh< you really need to take stock and look at yourself, because you’re rapidly sinking into blood-soaked obscurity….and bringing the rest of the West (that which you claim to still lead) down into the bottomless pit with you.

 

We stand upon the edge,

looking down upon suicidal oblivion.

 

The Bear,

07/08/2016.

31/07/2016

The Grove

 

Clover sodden with dew crushes flat beneath my boots
as I slowly walk the rows of Olive trees all around me.

Behind follows my son, I smile

He is trying to place his tiny feet in my grassy steps.

 

I shorten my stride,

For the boy is all of eighteen months old.

He walks with the confidence of one whose known no fall.

With ears pricked all my attention is directed behind…just in case.

 

Soon he is by my side talking the talk we adults fail miserably to understand.

His tone tells it all though, as it rises with each discovery made.

His baby talk sounding suspiciously like a running commentary on the grove.

I stop to look at a tree with lightly eaten leaves…as does he.

 

“Curculio beetle for sure” I say down to my son and to myself.

“…Car!” my nodding son replies, (a current standard-all-sweeping reply).

Nodding in agreement, I hold an upper-lateral in my hand, turning it over in inspection.

My son holds a lower lateral and rip’s it off to inspect it…Hmm, strong lad.

 

Both sighing, we turn as one and continue our walk.

I flatten the clover, clearing a path so little legs can step easier.

Little things mean the most,

The most is made from little things.

 

I now hold my boy, arms enfolding him next to my heart.

He is asleep.

He asked to be picked up with arms outstretched, so I did.

In one short moment and a deep sigh,…sound asleep.

 

His little body is tucked-in tight on my chest.
I still walk the Grove, My boy and I,

In his sleep his arms tighten around my neck

Wishing with all my heart…this be an endless moment.

 

…And so we still walk our Grove.

***

Michael John Kildare

Adelaide.