I have seen it all But missed so much What happened to our healthy life? Did we lose our touch? There are women out there That want to thrill ya There are men who stare That want to kill ya I'm living in a two room condo In Clownsville I think I may've died but The stubborn part is living still Love is not for wimps Or just a point of view It waivers in the wind When it doesn't ring true I've been to hell They know me there Tell 'em Frankie boy says hello If you dare Everyone I meet Is somebody's girl My dad was Jack My mother was Pearl They taught me how To survive our street And to see the beauty That comes with defeat (c) Frank Howson 2018 Painting by Frank Howson (c) 2017
You tell a story about an old cowboy's kindness And they will ask you "What was his agenda?" This reveals to you that their concept of kindness Is that it's a tool of opportunism They are bitter that they are unknown And yet they don't do anything That would warrant attention For it is too scary to tread where only the brave venture As they may well be exposed And the reality that their dream may just be an delusion Is too confronting To think about When they have the safety of resenting others And hold the weaponry to ruin what should've been Your most joyful night Anyone's triumph makes them angry But they can't admit that to anyone As that would expose them So they invent an excuse But still want to get into the exclusive party So that they can lose you and work the room How they can submerge their hypocrisy From themselves takes a lot of practice And denial They will tell those in attendance that they are not with you Unless of course that excludes them from an opportunity They are unwilling to learn where they go wrong So they are doomed to never change Living off others' kindness Taking it But then putting it down when it suits Scavengers Parasites Hawks do not share As we've been told Even changing their faith if they think that will buy Them an opportuntity So, lying in the face of God confirms Their true underlying belief in nothing And no one Other than themselves They will succeed in taking all the joy from your life And rendering you to being catatonic Sitting staring out a window Watching the birds in free flight There is no insurance for those Who allow the Lloyds to put a value on their existence And the night is long And you are so confused In this joyless space (c) 2018 Frank Howson
I was thrown up into this world Or born into it Or cast down Some time ago When everything was grey Mostly Although some things were black Or white And your skin colour Could be wrong or right Regardless of your heart And actions It made me nervous That one could so easily Cross the line And be punished For who you were So I locked myself away In my room My tomb And listened to the radio But mostly the music was grey too Like Johnny Ray And Doris Day So I dreamed in Vistavision And lived in the movies Where the hero stood up to the mob And did the right thing Regardless of the cost Sometimes getting the girl In the final reel Sometimes not For the hero was mostly a loner A man who'd seen too much And didn't want to see anymore For he too Found that the world was grey And was not above sacrificing his life So that others may live I continued on Looking forward to Christmas And my birthdays When suddenly there was kindness And laughter And glimpses of the colours Of joy And what the world could be If only we tore the walls down And embraced And displayed our brokenness And vocalised our care for others Imagine I was about eleven years of age With my mum in the Myer department store In the city When I heard a sound that changed my life It was unlike anything I'd ever heard I stopped Transfixed My mother asked me what was wrong I smiled because Suddenly Everything seemed somehow right I wandered away Toward the music Leaving my mother to follow me The singer's voice Was the most exciting and dynamic sound I'd ever heard He sounded like a caged animal That had just been set free As I had The record was "Twist And Shout" By a group called the Beatles And on the front cover of their EP They looked to this kid from St. Kilda To be from another planet Their hair, their clothes, their boots, their sound It seemed the planet they came from was called Liverpool I needed to know what the singer's name was And was told by the girl behind the record counter That he was John Lennon And he played rhythm guitar and co-wrote moat of their songs John Lennon saved my life that day And he has had my staunch loyalty ever since I grew to read much about him In fact, everything And have since met many people who knew him He was a complex, fascinating, contradictory and flawed man All of which made him even more interesting And still does to this day Scarred by the early loss of his father, then his mother And then his best friend He put up a guard to protect himself From any more hurt His singing tone sometimes snarled to hide his pain But we heard it in his soul And in the words of his songs And knew that behind the tough guy facade he was the kindest And most caring of all My friend Phil Sloan told me that John's spirit was so huge That you actually felt his presence enter a room Before you'd even seen him Another friend of John's who'd known me for some time Told me that he would've liked me I hope so Because I have spent a long time Loving him He was my liberator, my hero, my friend He made me laugh, he made me cry, he made me angry, he made me care And sometimes when I am lost or despairing I think about how Johnny Rhythm would handle things And it gives me the inspiration to go on To try and find a way I guess it was destiny That he left us after such a short time But perhaps his spirit was too big for this world As his beautiful boy Sean said to his mother when she was grieving, "Don't worry, Daddy's bigger now...Now he's part of everything." (c) Frank Howson 2017
We're like the dogs Who shy away from your touch Some of us bite When we've been hurt too much We try to forget But we never can The inhumanity And cruelty of man Some are like cats Who tend to love with reserve Dogs wag their tails While the cats just observe Dogs try to help us But cats know they can't For dogs think we are Gods While cats know that we aren't (c) Frank Howson 2017 Lantau, Hong Kong.
The great actors know What it's like To stand naked in front of strangers Your vulnerability exposed And on show for all to see No secrets No guards No veils No safety net No second takes You're on and this is the moment To learn to not cover yourself For the sake of modesty There is no such thing Anymore So you relax And savour it Burn Don't run It's thrilling that they now Know you more intimately Than you know yourself The monster with a thousand eyes Hidden in the dark Breathing as one Committing every part of you to memory And reducing you to a one line review To be discussed amongst friends At dinner parties Laughing at how far you were Prepared to go For that moment of truth That intimidated the audience Reminding them how timid their lives were In comparison Exposing their cowardice To walk the high wire And to be seen in anything less Than designer labels and tags While you are free To soar Experience Feel Fail And show The real you 8 shows a week They will never be able to hold Eye contact with you again Without flinching For your eyes are way too honest And brave And can see into The darkest places of the soul It has made you strong Undefeated Self-reliant And lonely (c) Frank Howson 2017
So many battles I've had to fight alone. Betrayed by those I loved the most, they were also the ones I had been fighting for. The weariness of this realisation makes you weak at the knees and yet you must continue to fight or else the duplicity of their motives will win the day. You become hollow inside, not by cancer, but by the fact that something deep and magical and life enhancing has closed down never again to be reignited. You feel lighter as you inch closer to death. All that remains on most days is a shell. This is when you are called upon to become an actor and give 'em what they want. A performance. A great performance because it is so convincing most people think you still function and have risen above the hurt and damage of the shadow people. But then again, your life, or what's left of it, hangs on the thread of your ability to push on through the small talk and darkness of "What if...?" without puking on someone's expensive shoes. So many amongst us are asleep at the wheel and do not understand or care about what is at stake. Love is a distraction. Pain is the only honest constant and it has become your friend. You cannot be hurt anymore, which is disappointing to a lot of women. You cannot be brought down any further, which is crushing to many men. You cannot be bought, because there is nothing you need. You cannot be humiliated anymore, which is pleasing to God. For now all layers of bullshit and make-believe have been ripped away. You are free now. God almighty, free at last! You once had a dream too. But now you have awakened to see the game for what it is. Nothing can scare you now. You are impenetrable. This makes you frightening to those who only operate by spreading fear amongst us. And at the dawn of our demise you are noticeably at peace. And powerful again. (c) Frank Howson 2017 Painting by Frank Howson (c) 2017
I sometimes love to sit on my second storey apartment balcony on a sunny day and look up at the sky or below to the people passing by, some I know, some I never will. Closing my eyes and tilting my head so I feel the warmth of the sun on my face. A warm that seems to melt away the years and renews by reminding one of the inner warmth that was felt during those perfect brief moments in your life.
One day I stood after being renewed, and was about to go back inside and resume some work when I heard a bird chirping away. I leaned over the balcony and looked down to the branch of a tree below and saw a bird building a nest. Transfixed I watched for some time as this little bird would fly away and return some moments later with the perfect twig to fit into this complex jigsaw puzzle of what only she could see would eventually be a nest for her forthcoming child. If anyone wants to gaze upon the wonder and effort of love, check out this painstaking ritual if, like me, you get the chance.
I stood there for hours that first day and watched this bird’s tireless solitary vigil. Occasionally she would sense my presence and look up at me, and I would smile back and gave encouragement even though I knew she had no idea what I was saying but hoped that in my tone she sensed my appreciation and respect.
This went on for about a week until the nest was perfection. Utter perfection, so cleverly and intuitively constructed, strong and sturdy, resting safely on a well protected branch. My eyes teared up from the astounding accomplishment of her love.
Sometimes she would fly back to rest in the nest and look up at me and we’d have our one sided conversations.
One sunny morning I went out onto the balcony and looked down to see two faces looking up at me. If there is a feeling of magic it was in that moment. I went back inside and returned with some food I thought was small enough to feed this new hungry family. I softened it in my mouth and then dropped it down to them. And so this ritual went on for some days until one morning they were gone. Leaving only that perfect empty nest. I wish I had gone and retrieved it and taken it somewhere to be bronzed as a keepsake forevermore. A symbol of pure love. But being only human I didn’t get around to it. Or perhaps I had too much respect to touch it with human hands. As a species we tend to destroy or damage the most perfect things in order to own them.
Some time passed, and one day I was sitting on the balcony in the sun, daydreaming, when two birds swooped down and landed on the balcony handrail and calmly stood there looking at me. I smiled at them and said “Hello” and got up to walk into the interior darkness of my rented nest when I had a realisation that stopped me in my tracks. I turned but they were gone never to be seen again. My instinct tells me that it was actually the mother and child returning to say “Thanks and farewell.” I’d like to believe that. Somehow I need to.
(c) Frank Howson 2017