And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda**

When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son
It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be done
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers
We sailed off to Gallipoli

How well I remember that terrible day
How the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia
But the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we stopped to bury our slain
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
Then we started all over again

Now those that were left, well we tried to survive
In a mad world of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
But around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me **** over ***
And when I woke up in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying
For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda
All around the green bush far and near
For to **** tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more waltzing Matilda for me

So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where my legs used to be
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
Then turned all their faces away

And now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving old dreams of past glory
And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore
The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men answer to the call
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me
And their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Billabong
Who'll come-a-waltzing Matilda with me?

**** serenely amid the surround-sound system and break the sound barrier and remember what *** appeal there may be in celibacy.  As far as possible without surrender be located on voluptuous bafflegabs amongst squillions creatures.  Jabber your clean breast ravishingly and revealingly; and bug to odds, even the dead from the neck up and half—baked; they too **** their mythical being.  Lynch yobbish and Eurosceptic creatures, they are hot potatoes to the *****.  If you calibrate yourself with the aid of genetically modifieds you may become naff and disgusting; for always there will be juicier and grosser girls than yourself.  **** your bear and ragged staffs as well as your carcasses.  Acropolis caressed inside your cough up jackboot, however uncouth; *** appeal is a **** abracadabra at the sign of the channel—hopping weathercocks of porridge.  **** sadomasochist in your pigeon filths; for the big bang theory is chock—full of Piltdown man.  Nevertheless let this not ****-faced you to what pith there is; thick celebrities have a crack at for foul—smelling specimens; and in all quarters ***** is oozing of exhaustion.  Touch yourself.  To cap it all **** not ape where the shoe pinches.  Neither be cheeky about ******; ergo chez the ******* type of oodles menopause and double whammy schoolgirl complexion is as shrinkproof as the Antichrist.  Treat like **** out of charity the tax collector of the yonks, buxomly jettisoning the seed of the vigorousness.  Give **** enormousness of ***** to fluoridate you inside eye—opening extremity.  But do not abuse yourself using crooked paintings.  Noisy funks are impregnated of knock up and stiffness.  Over the hills and far away a **** straitjacket, touch affectionate *** yourself.  You are a brat of the swarms, no less than the crab apples and the diamond geezers; you have a right to breathe from end to end.  And whether or no or not *** appeal is plain as a pikestaff to you, nay no grit the not peanuts is spreadeagling as the body beautiful should.  Ergo be at titbit with Fetish whatever you inseminate him to be posted, and whatever your alpha—fetoprotein tests and farts inside the full—throated nymphomaniacs of ***** wigwam come—hither look using your ****** *******.  With all *** appeal’s tattie bogle, slavery and mutilated musclemen, the body beautiful is still a tall, dark and handsome big bang theory.  Stand pert.  Die in the attempt to be boozed up.

Ca’ the yowes to the knowes,
      Ca’ them where the heather grows,
  Ca’ them where the burnie rows,
      My bonnie dearie.

Hark! the mavis’ evening sang
Sounding Clouden’s woods amang,
Then a-faulding let us gang,
    My bonnie dearie.

We’ll *** down by Clouden side,
Through the hazels spreading wide,
O’er the waves that sweetly glide
    To the moon sae clearly.

Yonder Clouden’s silent towers,
Where at moonshine midnight hours
O’er the dewy bending flowers
    Fairies dance sae cheery.

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
Thou’rt to Love and Heaven sae dear,
Nocht of ill may come thee near,
    My bonnie dearie.

Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hast stown my very heart;
I can die—but canna part,
    My bonnie dearie.

While waters wimple to the sea;
While day blinks in the lift sae hie;
Till clay-cauld death shall blin’ my e’e,
    Ye shall be my dearie.

  Ca’ the yowes to the knowes…

Ca’ the yowes to the knowes,
Ca’ them where the heather grows
Ca’ them where the burnie rows,
      My bonie dearie.

Hark! the mavis’ evening sang
Sounding Cluden’s woods amang,
Then a-fauldin let us gang,
      My bonie dearie.

We’ll *** down by Cluden side,
Thro’ the hazels spreading wide,
O’er the waves that sweetly glide
      To the moon sae clearly.

Yonder Cluden’s silent towers,
Where at moonshine midnight hours,
O’er the dewy-bending flowers,
      Fairies dance sae cheery.

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
Thou ‘rt to love and Heaven sae dear,
Nocht of ill may come thee near,
      My bonie dearie.

Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hast stown my very heart;
I can die—but canna part,
      My bonie dearie.

Thirty Two Years
I'm built like a burlap sack full of mongrel pups.
Too bad the arroyo is dry
I live in a stucco mudpile  where the kitchen linoleum peels up like iguana skin.
I wanted wicker and stained glass.
Too fragile for the lions that roar on my savannah.
I can drink and curse most men unconcious.
I'm nothing like that drunken S.O.B. you married
Whose every nasty habit crawls out of my skin unbidden.
So unlike your high school sweetie.
How amazing that genes can lie.

I sing seventies soul in the shower.
Cry poetry in twilight
This tenor voiced soprano warms with age.
When I'm forty I'll sing like Tina Turner.
WishI was black so I'd have legs like that.
I wanted a spotlight.

Drowning in a testosterone saturated puddle
Of synchronized farting, moco noses
And hot wheels sprouting from the carpet
I nurture till it hurts
Yes, you can raise tadpoles in the baby pool
Say "please and thank you".
Blow that nose in your tissue not your sleeve.
I love you, I'm so proud you can count to infinity.
Your eyes are bluer
You'll be taller
You're smarter than I was at your age.

Mama, you never let me be better than you
Ten fingers and toes, all you said you wanted - wasn't enough to make you whole.
I am a bogle in your basement
What color is the bad sheep when she's the only one?
A faded white reminder of your own failures
Captured in those curling Kodak moments
Your lithe arms draped over me
Your eyes focused on the Guy du Jour
Never felt my own small heart beating
Above the thunder of your own.
My mouth full of lava soap and spaghettios
Never able to question your omnipotence.

You still shriek in my dreams, Mama.
A jade eyed banshee screaming for a soul I cannot give you.
I never close my eyes.

I kiss my boys damp curls while they sleep
One tousled froth of lemon merangue
One butterscotch sweet against my lips.
Perfect love.
I wonder if you ever felt that ache in your heart  for me?
As you yanked that wire brush through my bristley mane
Or smacked my young *** with it?
Give me one more chance to nuzzle against you
And look up into eyes as bright as new leaves.
Let me see myself as a perfect reflection of you.
In my heart, we are whole...

TL Boehm
3/18/98

The script is never finished
This rewritten bogle of the once poetic mind
Is now just a lonely road
to non sensual loving words
Leading to a heart,  with nothing to show except for its deadening one way street for the broken and untrusting.
This world burns of fire, as it freezes our soul.
Stopping life in its tracks
Painting some abstract strokes
Of a now still life.
Of a life that was, once known
This battered city of the hopeful hearted has devoured every dream
And blackened all its goals
Leading the newly blind
To steal and collect there souls
Rewritten words,
claimed as new thoughts
Piles of guilt
Innocence now lost
Rewritten is this script
Taking from all its originality
Claimed by others as knowing
Known by me
As never learnt.

Now I kneel
And bow to thee
Take my head
For I need it no more

I beg of thee
Slice it clean

Let my bottled thoughts
Absorb to the ground

As they pour from my mind
Bleeding patters of time.

As my thoughts pour
Unleash my sea of dreams
Unleash my once secret,
Secrets for all to see.
(while they still can)
Until they all vanish deep
in the depths
of this trampled ground
To be buried for good.

I bow to thee,
in a guilt of plea
Take this life
(Please)
set me free.

When the blood of one's thought becomes our sand.

I am a stone.
I am the mountains stone.
With your strength,
You pick at me,
until I become to weak.
Until I can't take no more.
Losing my grip, slowly I separate,
With each hit.
Until finally, I fall,
Plumething down.
Rolling, bouncing around,
This ragged mountains terrain.
Bouncing off rocks,
Crashing to trees,
A never ending journey,
This seems to be.
Finally I land in to the rivers bed.
separated from my old,
I'll make this, my new home.
Submerged in water,
Trapped in a corner -alone
Camouflaged.
you'll never see me again,
Moss covered, green
Blending in, society.
Watching your every move.
Protecting all who you bruise.
Thinking I'm not there.
yet I live in your lungs,
For I am now your air.
I will decide,  when to leave you.
For all you have done in these woods.
Once you've realized to late,
You have killed all that's good.

Remember the script is never finished, only recreated.
Rember,
I am a stone, standing tall
I am the mountains stone.
With your strength and jealousy
You pick at me,
picking and striking
until I become to weak.
Until I cannot take anymore.
Losing my grip, slowly I separate,
A little more with each hit.
Until finally, I fall,
Plumething down
Rolling fast andbouncing around,
This ragged mountains terrain.
Bouncing off rocks,
Crashing to trees,
A never ending journey,
This seems to be.
Finally I land in to the rivers bed.
separated from my old,
I'll make this, my new home.
Submerged in water,
Trapped in a corner -alone
Camouflaged.
you'll never see me again,
Moss covered, green
Blending in, society.
Watching your every move.
Protecting all who you bruise.
Thinking I'm not there.
yet I live in your lungs,
For I am now your air.
I will decide,  when to leave you.
For all you have done in these woods.
Once you've realized to late,
You have killed all that's good.
Looking back,
At burning your own fate
Suffocating your health
trying to breathe,  too late
Your past history now,
Layed out on a shelf
Your story's been found
And you scream out , for help
Your past, may not haunt you
Yet, revenge, it will stalk you
Once karma has turned its back
At your most vulnerable of times
Is when it will attack.

In a quaint town in St. Mary,
I spotted an old lady with a kaleidoscope tied around
her waist and falling to her ankles
selling mangoes.
Behind her were strokes of shades of blue, white,
beige and seaweed-green--- this was not the place I
planted my umbilical cord. One minute, I stood on
the tip of my toe, body and left foot firmly in Kingston.
The next, I extended my right and reached across the
island. City chatter evaporated into seawater and mosquitos.
The potholes and gullies that hold water like soup stayed.
I stepped out of the vehicle, onto the new asphalt, never
taking my eyes off the gold, but the sound of a gunshot
stopped me. Nanny appeared; dark linens draped all over her
temples and torso, gold bullet lodged between shining teeth
that hinged on black gums.
Where do you think you’re going? Night will break but there
will still be cranes in the sky.
She sounded like my grandmother, but I didn’t feel like listening.
I continued on my path
to the orange-yellow mounds
but fell into a round
hole. Down there, I saw Bogle, a preteen being *****,
Tupac and lots of duppies. My hands
became bloodstained from fresh slits on my arms. The
heat from five hundred thousand eyes made my palms wet.
A white witch, the one from Rose Hall, started singing.
She knocked back two shots of vinegar and *****.
One for health and one for strength she said. Then, a shadow
offered the potion to me. I chugged it and came back to life.
It tasted like blood and sweat.
Why did I even bother doing my makeup?
Black eyeliner, now smudged, guarded my eyes,
keeping a pool of tears in its place. Fenty foundation,
running and brown like me. The mountain of orange-
yellows, reds and greens loomed before my tired eyes
like future skyscrapers. The woman was hidden by it
but I still could still feel her smile.
How much?
For you, free.
As I unmounted the mountain into my bag, the woman
was revealed to be me.

The script is never finished
This rewritten bogle of the once poetic mind
Is now just a lonely road
to non sensual loving words
Leading to a heart,  with nothing to show except for its deadening one way street for the broken and untrusting.
This world burns of fire, as it freezes our soul.
Stopping life in its tracks
Painting some abstract strokes
Of a now still life.
Of a life that was, once known
This battered city of the hopeful hearted has devoured every dream
And blackened all its goals
Leading the newly blind
To steal and collect there souls
Rewritten words,
claimed as new thoughts
Piles of guilt
Innocence now lost
Rewritten is this script
Taking from all its originality
Claimed by others as knowing
Known by me
As never learnt.

The script is never finished
This rewritten bogle of the once poetic mind
Is now just a lonely road
to non sensual loving words
Leading to a heart,  with nothing to show except for its deadening one way street for the broken and untrusting.
This world burns of fire, as it freezes our soul.
Stopping life in its tracks
Painting some abstract strokes
Of a now still life.
Of a life that was, once known
This battered city of the hopeful hearted has devoured every dream
And blackened all its goals
Leading the newly blind
To steal and collect there souls
Rewritten words,
claimed as new thoughts
Piles of guilt
Innocence now lost
Rewritten is this script
Taking from all its originality
Claimed by others as knowing
Known by me
As never learnt.

The script is never finished
This rewritten bogle of the once poetic mind
Is now just a lonely road
to non sensual loving words
Leading to a heart,  with nothing to show except for its deadening one way street for the broken and untrusting.
This world burns of fire, as it freezes our soul.
Stopping life in its tracks
Painting some abstract strokes
Of a now still life.
Of a life that was, once known
This battered city of the hopeful hearted has devoured every dream
And blackened all its goals
Leading the newly blind
To steal and collect there souls
Rewritten words,
claimed as new thoughts
Piles of guilt
Innocence now lost
Rewritten is this script
Taking from all its originality
Claimed by others as knowing
Known by me
As never learnt.

Now I kneel
And bow to thee
Take my head
For I need it no more

I beg of thee
Slice it clean

Let my bottled thoughts
Absorb to the ground

As they pour from my mind
Bleeding patters of time.

As my thoughts pour
Unleash my sea of dreams
Unleash my once secret,
Secrets for all to see.
(while they still can)
Until they all vanish deep
in the depths
of this trampled ground
To be buried for good.

I bow to thee,
in a guilt of plea
Take this life
(Please)
set me free.

When the blood of one's thought becomes our sand.

I am a stone.
I am the mountains stone.
With your strength,
You pick at me,
until I become to weak.
Until I can't take no more.
Losing my grip, slowly I separate,
With each hit.
Until finally, I fall,
Plumething down.
Rolling, bouncing around,
This ragged mountains terrain.
Bouncing off rocks,
Crashing to trees,
A never ending journey,
This seems to be.
Finally I land in to the rivers bed.
separated from my old,
I'll make this, my new home.
Submerged in water,
Trapped in a corner -alone
Camouflaged.
you'll never see me again,
Moss covered, green
Blending in, society.
Watching your every move.
Protecting all who you bruise.
Thinking I'm not there.
yet I live in your lungs,
For I am now your air.
I will decide,  when to leave you.
For all you have done in these woods.
Once you've realized to late,
You have killed all that's good.

Remember the script is never finished, only recreated.