A BRAND NEW YOU

I was too wise to see

What everybody else knew

To spite you I outsmarted me

I fell in love with a brand new you

She talks like you

Walks like you

Does everything except

Think like you

Everything you’ve been hearing

Is true

I fell in love with a brand new you

Now what do I do?

Let’s wait and see

Will the same ending be true?

Leave it up to me…

 

(C) Frank Howson 2020

THE DAY GEORGE ROMERO MET BOOM BOOM GECKO

It was a normal day

Like any other

Knee deep in chaos

And calls from his mother

George Romero had just flown back

A big game hunter who’d gone off-track

With a reputation of some renown

He caught a taxi into town

He’d come a long way on a wing and a song

The driver took a right but something was wrong

But George was dreaming with

His eyes wide open

Without the knowledge

Of what he needed then

George Romero’s destination

A pressing office obligation

Now just a shadow of his former self

Employees worried for his health

But neither George or friends

Knew what laid in store

Within the waiting room

Just behind the door

 

The day George Romero met Boom Boom Gecko

Is still talked about in hushed tones

The gossip mongers picked the bones

Of every sincere act

The first thing that dies is fact

Hounded when push comes to shove

Hypocrites wiped their feet on their love

 

Now Boom Boom Gecko

Was a Sydney beauty

A former door girl from

The Club Tutti Fruitti

George fell headfirst for Boom Boom’s charms

Some say he landed safe in her arms

Others snigger about the lonely wife

Who George fled from to save his life

Now he has found what he’d been looking for

With a girl like Boom Boom who could want for more

 

There’s a poet spewin’ up words

He can’t pronounce

And a sweet young chicken

Hawkin’ her ass for an ounce

A religious prisoner

Gets a knife in the back

And free falls as slowly

As Jack Kerouac

 

The day George Romero met Boom Boom Gecko

Is still talked about in hushed tones

The gossip mongers picked the bones

Of every sincere act

The first thing that dies is fact

Hounded when push comes to shove

Hypocrites wiped their feet on their love

 

 

(C) Frank Howson 2020

 

HEAVENLY.

I have only a limited amount of time left to inhabit this body. But I will go on. Like we all do. As a speck of dust floating in the universe. Free, untroubled, and no more time constraints. Oh, and the music, the symphony of silence, which will move even a speck to feel whole like never before.

Having been educated for a lifetime on earth, we are acclimatised to being alone. But it won’t bother us anymore because we’ll now know that it’s at our core to be this way. On earth we lived outwardly for the enjoyment of others, whilst living our real spiritual life within our heads.

It was good preparation for this new life. Our real life. Devoid of any more death or disappointments in this void amidst the great vastness of all voids. Drifting. Weightless. Nowhere to go for there is no “where.” There is only here. And now. No time to be on time somewhere. No further commitments or responsibilities. Nothing to feel guilty about for there are no religions in this new place of real love and peace. All that belonged back in that ant-like existence when we had so little consciousness we could never comprehend the complexities, and yet simplicity, of this great vastness and freedom of being. In this new existence you can let your mind wander for a thousand years, even a million, in old time, and then snap back to a moment before that thought even occurred.

You now realise that the great artists – the writers, the painters and the composers – instinctively understood it.

Finally, we are fulfilled with a capacity to love that was once capped on earth by a ceiling we feared pushing beyond. But now, we experience it to the full which unleashes a bliss to make each of us feel like God. Because in this moment that never ends, we are God.

I was young just yesterday, and now I am older than the world will ever be.

Looking back at my earth life, I now realise that most of us were only living because we feared dying.

But there’s nothing to it.

 

(c) Frank Howson 2020

THE MAN IN QUESTION

I looked into the man’s face. It was etched with suffering. He had no doubt fallen many times in his battles with Life. It looked to me like the greatest pain had not come due to the falls, but from the effort required to rise, and rise again. I also observed the deep laugh lines that’d gathered around each eye resembling a spider’s web. Yes, this man had lived life to the full. He had triumphed many times and learnt nothing from it. That’s because the recipe for success changes frequently. No. It was from his failures he’d learnt everything. And the reason for them had been simple – he’d gone against his instinct.

He’d survived many things in his life. Wars, plagues, floods, marriages, injury, slander, lawsuits, success, failure, gambling, death threats, betrayals, great wealth, poverty, love, broken hearts, rejection, addiction, vicious dogs, adultery, asthma, poisoning, tightrope walking, gangsters, drive-by shooters, merchant bankers, and long debates with actors. As such, these days, it was difficult to get him excited much, or fearful at all.

He’d beaten his demons, and was proud of it. But it’d been some of his friends who’d done him the most damage. They’d posed as friends but were really opportunistic spiritual vampires, sucking off his life force in order to live through him. And when they’d been found out and cut like a cancer out of his life, they had flayed about like dying sharks biting at his reputation with lies, exaggerations and groundless accusations. Most of what they accused him of were acts they’d done. The fact that they were so blatantly hypocritical was what hurt most of all. And from then on, he’d rationed his loyalty to those who’d proved theirs to him.

Now, he spent much of his time looking for things he hadn’t found. It made him as expectant as Jungle Jim on a safari.

He’d once stopped a cab and gotten out to wander through a desolate, ravaged field that beheld the remains of what’d once been a theatre. The taxi driver was bewildered as to what his frantic passenger was looking for. Whatever had been here was long gone, he thought, as his meter ticked away. But his forlorn travelling companion was searching for something only he could see. His youth.

Sometimes, late at night, he wished he was dead. But there was a safety net in knowing God never granted his wishes. This knowledge scared him with the recurring nightmare that he may live forever. And that’d be his punishment for having lived too well for a few years at the peak of his success, when he was too young and too busy to have enjoyed it. He’d once had immense power and never abused it. He’d also held the key to many vulnerable hearts and never used it. The facts, as opposed to the gossip, would show that his integrity was never bought. So God took these opportunities away and seduced someone else with them.

In exchange, the man in question, was given a rented studio apartment and enough food to get by. He was also granted the solitude to reflect on the follies of life, and write about them with a rich appreciation of God’s sense of humour.

He’d figured out the secret to God – He is passive. Having granted us free will he sits back and watches what we do with it. If you wanted action, you had to consult his competitive estranged brother, Satan. But that loan shark had interest rates that’d severely cripple your life, and could never be repaid due to the compounding penalties given only passing mention in the very small print.

And if you accepted that deal, you’d end up worse than alone.

The man who sat in front of me, felt many things. But he’d given up feeling what didn’t matter anymore. He told himself that he had enough heart left for one more great love. But she’d have to be an extraordinary woman, and he now suspected that such a perfect match only existed in dreams. Or delusions. He wasn’t sure what the correct word was anymore. All he knew was that God loved to tease him with possibilities that went nowhere that only foolish younger men or, those older bodies on the brink of madness, pursued. 

He laughed out loud at how younger women now delighted in taunting him. They took so much but gave very little in return. They knew the art of getting away Scott free, and would only be able to get away with it a few more years before they too ended up alone. It was all about the promise and how much could be taken in the shadow of that. While one could. He knew all their tricks now and that rendered the game too predictable to hold his attention long. They hadn’t known him in his prime, nor would they’ve had the opportunity to. But these were different times. There were very few who could see past surface layers to find true love. Soul to soul.

How much do you have to hurt before you feel nothing anymore?

How much do you have to love before it means nothing anymore?

This man hasn’t aged from living. He’d aged from giving. And now all those who’d taken from him could celebrate the fact that there was nothing left.

They’d conquered something that felt important to them, but they couldn’t analyse what it was, or why they’d felt such compulsion to deplete it.

After all, they were good people, weren’t they? I mean, they wouldn’t hurt a fly.

The man now, each day, felt his spirit leaving his body and wondered what kind of life his shell would have. He thought, perhaps, he might be more socially accepted in this zombie-like state.

But who knew such things? And who the hell would even think about it? Other than a man with too much time on his hands, who’d stopped momentarily at the crossroads.

That was when I realised I’d been observing myself and the extraction had been successful.

 

(C) Frank Howson 2020.

HOPE, LOVE & LIFE

As long as there’s hope
We can still see the light
It’s shinin’ there
In the darkest of night
As long as there’s hope
As long as there’s hope
We’ll be fine

As long as there’s love
We got nothin’ to fear
In the drivin’ rain
Our road will be clear
As long as there’s love
As long as there’s love
We’ll get there

Life’s always tempting you
One thing or another
Betraying your friend
Your sister or brother
But don’t you dare
No, don’t you dare
What do we have
If not ourself?
And the will to care?
As long as there’s life
I will not feel alone
These times are tough
When you’re all on your own
But you’ve got hope
And as long as there’s hope
You’re not alone….

Hope, love and life
You’re not alone…

 

by Frank Howson. 2020

FROM THE NEW UNDERGROUND

The emptiness of night followed me through a maze of situations that could’ve only been conceived by a drunk. 

There were rivers of regret that sprang from my life. But they were not things one could’ve sensed at the time would turn to swamp. Having crocodiles biting at my heels from an early age readied me for what would become my life. Once my parents were gone I felt like an orphan on the run. Perhaps, from myself. Sometimes heading here. Sometimes heading there. Sometimes resting my head on your breast for comfort until the dawn called me on, to face another confrontation. Another battle. Another disappointment in the human condition. Shedding skin after skin, always evolving into the person you see here today.

It’s painful when one realises that today the only truth is found in TV commercials. Everything else is a lie. At least the advertisements are honest about what they are. And what they want. We now have a Scared New World where material possessions are becoming less and less important as we’re forced to look inward for our satisfaction(s). For some of us, perhaps a first time visit to the inner world. It will be a confronting experience for quite a few who’ve filled their outer lives up with frivolous people and trinkets to distract from the reality of who they are. The bullies will discover that they’re actually scared little boys who’ve, for some time, avoided responsibility by targeting the lives of others. Some will hit a brick wall with the harsh reality that they’re not the nice, kind, giving people they have publicly projected without any actions that live up to their invented persona. This will irreparably break many and they’ll never be the same. Some will suicide rather than living with the hell of who they really are. Leaders will realise their old tried and true ways do not work, and become followers. Out of the flock will rise real leaders who’ll command not from ego, but from a true inherent spiritual wisdom.

Some will grow through adversity. It has been that way throughout history. Plagues and wars and disasters have thrown up heroes from the ranks of the ordinary.

Some will die. But this was already written, as all deaths are. Lives come to an end. It’s just a matter of when and how. Others will live on, because it was not their time.

My whole life as a creative person has prepared me for this seclusion. As a boy I’d withdraw from the world into my room to write, draw, play records and dream. I’d been born with the affliction of feeling things too deeply. A curse for my personal life, although a great bonus for my work. Where others saw beauty, I saw horror. Where others saw ugliness I saw splendour. Where some saw only desolation, I saw possibilities.

In my times of moral dilemma when one is confused as to what is the right decision, not only for you but taking into account its effect on those around you, I have sometimes thought of my literary heroes, both real and fictional, and wondered what decision they would’ve made. I’ve also thought of my historical heroes both political and spiritual for guidance. There are some decisions that are right at that moment but time eats their skin and fat away like a vulture and leaves only ugly bones that do not tell the whole picture. Yes, to fully understand, you had to be there. In that lonely moment. Yet, other decisions, thought foolish at the time, grow in rightfulness through the years, like a fine wine ripens to reveal its many magical textures until it reaches its optimum year to be savoured and appreciated.

I wonder what went through the minds of the passengers on the Titanic on that fateful, icy night when they realised there were not enough lifeboats. No doubt amongst many there’d have been panic, anger, frustration  and fear. Yet, in others I believe there would’ve been that silent resolution, and acceptance,  that this was it. The great mystery solved, and their ending revealed, as they stood motionless amidst the fanfare of screams and cries that encircled them. I imagine that quite a few would’ve looked around at the manic hysterical scene being performed all around them, and its contrast of the band calmly playing their scheduled after dinner musical programme, then, perhaps, noticing the moon and stars and night for the very first time. I mean, really seeing them. Sometimes we have to be shaken awake by tragedy to see things right under our nose that we’d never fully comprehended before. Sadly, we go through life in a half-dream state, following our standard daily motions and emotions like a blind person seeks the darkness as a level playing ground.

Sometimes we don’t even see the ones who truly love us. Such is our desperate rush to and fro seeking love in all the wrong people, as if purposely inviting disappointment to await us at each schedule stop upon our runaway train.

So, back to our time of solitary confinement. A time of soul searching (for some that won’t take long) and re-evaluation as to what we really need (now that the opium of bullshit in the material world has been stripped from us), to go forward into a new world. Hopefully. Now that the present Scared New World is ebbing, let’s hope it will be replaced by a Kind New World.

We can only hope.

In the meantime, we pass each other on the street wearing masks to protect us from the invisible enemy. We can’t tell whether the person approaching us is smiling behind their mask, or grumpy. To define that, we have to look into their eyes for the truth. But I guess that was always the case. Anyone can fool you with a smile. It’s hidden many broken hearts in the past. So, it’s the eyes that tell the real story.

“Ah, look at all the lonely people.” Yes Paul, look at them. Perhaps you’re one of them tonight. Ain’t life strange?

 

(C) Frank Howson 2020.

OBITUARY TO A WORLD

Everyone will get lauded

And betrayed by a kiss

I’ll call that Life, said God

It is what it is

And so it was

And the story was told

Till a man called Paul

Rewrote it to be sold

They buried the truth

Like they buried the light

A few shadowy figures

In the secret dead of night

They took women who were righteous

And reduced them to whores

The rest were dismissed

To do menial chores

But the rock has been rolled away

And the light let back in

On the land of two suns

And the disciples of sin

Where the weather ravages

The new Babylon

That houses the murderers

Who thought all witnesses were gone

Johnny, we hardly knew ya

But your truth is marchin’ on

Ain’t it sad how one’s never valued

Till we turnaround and they’re gone

A beautiful woman named Mia

From Canada she came

She left a husband there

So she could make herself a name

She was blonde and naive

And believed in romance

But the wolves descended

And made her dance

They took pretty Mia

And turned her into a whore

She’s been walked over now

More times than a floor

They said, “Welcome to Hollywood,

My dear

We’re gonna feed you delusion

Baffle you with power and fill you with fear

Now take off your clothes

And show us what you got

You’ll be an attractive addition

To our crowded backlot

She was used and abused

And caught the Stockholm Syndrome

From those granted absolution

From the exulted in Rome

She fell in love with her captors

And thought they were her friends

But in a cold water shack

Her story ends

I’ve lived in one rooms

And I have lived on the street

I’ve lived in mansions

That weren’t complete

Didn’t I fall?

Do you remember when?

Carrying your cross

Again and again

Blind Boy Grunt knows what it means

He’s had his ear to the tracks

And can now detect the line 

Between truth and the facts

The joker, it’s foretold

Whom everyone laughed at

Will be the one who’ll conquer

The disease of the bat

Hatched by evil men

And their New World Order

Who want the world vulnerable

Without morality or border

It’s only the madmen

Who’ll see with their hearts

The coming of the Lord

When the fighting starts

Between men and children

And women and themselves

The signs are blinding

The deeper one delves

Tyrants will hijack the world

In exchange for their souls

They’ll force feed you on fake news

And phoney polls

Everything you believe

Will be exposed as a lie

And your heroes will be exposed

And as traitors will die

Dark clouds are gathering

And we know what that brings

That slow train comin’

Carries a scorpion that stings

And the highest of high

Will appear to end the mystery 

That the meaning of life was to simply love

and to love  simply

 

(c) Frank Howson  2020

 

photograph by Vanessa Allan

NOBODY

My name is Nobody
The world don’t know my face
When I was young
My family moved from place to place
Never done much schoolin’
Other kids called me dumb
It made me kinda shy
And damaged me some

I’ve tried to be a good man
And fought in the war
But God has rained bad luck on me
With a fear I can’t ignore
Every asian face
Of every kid I killed
At night comes back to haunt me
With the beat of each heart I stilled

God forgive this soldier
Lord forgive me what I’ve done
I killed to protect my country
This fucking country
That betrayed this foolish son…

My dad was Nobody
He named me after him
He beat me some
For no cause but a drunkard’s whim
Seen him hurt my mother
Like a fool I stood there
He took away my pride
And my will to care

I tried to build some things like
A life without pain
But somehow I just don’t fit in
I’ve been branded like Cain
Each night a nightmare
For me the war goes on
All these ghosts come back to haunt me
Then I wake to find them gone

God forgive this soldier
Lord forgive me what I’ve done
I killed to protect my country
This fucking country
That betrayed this foolish son…

I only followed orders
God this has got to stop
Spreadin’ like a fire
Through my harvest crop
I went to mass each Sunday
And prayed to you upstairs
But you must’ve been sleeping
All the way through my prayers

My name is Nobody
The world don’t know my face
When I was young
My family moved from place to place
Never done much schoolin’
Other kids called me dumb
It made me kinda shy
And damaged me some…

(c) Frank Howson 2020

 

Photograph by Bruce Woodley.

BERLIN IN RUBBLE

I remember raindrops
I remember a child
I remember that look of yours
When we were young and wild
I drink to forget these days
And sing songs without hooks
As I search for my shirt
And go to burn some books

I remember outrage
I remember the shock
We stupidly thought we were free
As we danced 'round the clock
You made a beautiful bride
While I made a mess of things
We could not be enslaved
By the confines of rings

And yet I get sentimental
Every time I stumble
And in every reflection
I see Berlin in rubble

I remember lamb chops
I remember a road
I remember how much I loved
Before the teardrops flowed
I drove to Hollywood
While you drove me insane
Nowadays I'll be found
Among mementos of pain

And yet I get sentimental
Every time I stumble
And in every reflection
I see Berlin in rubble

I had a winning regime
Before Russia in the fall
In case you were wondering
In case I missed your call

And yet I get sentimental
Every time I stumble
And in every reflection
I see Berlin in rubble


(c) Frank Howson 2020





DEAR WORLD

Dear World,

It has been quite an interesting stay here, but I feel I must be on my way.
I've always been quite anxious about overstaying my welcome. An overthrow
of too many years on the boards.

Whilst here I have met some truly beautiful people, by beautiful I mean in 
spirit, who have inspired me and been kind to me. Most are dead now and I
miss them deeply. 

Unfortunately, I have also met an abundance of cunts who have left me broken 
in spirit and in pocket. Horrendous people whom not even Mr. J. Christ,
formerly of Nazareth, could find it in his heart to forgive. Their actions 
discredit everyone and they think the human race is some perverse sporting 
event where someone has to win by any means necessary and every other
person has to lose. When I discovered this truth I sold my running shoes
and took a seat in the bleachers. The only thing those deluded competitive
bastards have won is a place in hell. Their names are on the doorlist. 

And what's with the fucking weather? Earthquakes, tidal waves, volcanic 
eruptions, tornadoes, torrential storms and bullshit vomiting from my TV 
set every night?

You can also stick your cooking shows, and your expert political analysts 
explaining the politics of the day to me via their own fucking bias agendas,
up your arse! If you have one?

It's enough to send a person mad. 

And how come after many thousands of years some people still judge others on
the shade of their skin? Are you kidding me? Evolution? Zip. The other day 
I saw a prejudiced old cunt walking a black dog that he called "Sweetie"! 
So, racism doesn't apply to the shade of animals, only people? Well let's 
look at each other as animals and we might learn to be kinder. 

Beam me up, Scotty. There's very little intelligent life down here. The 
proof of that is aliens may fly past us but there's no way they
want to make contact with barbaric rednecks. They've seen what we do to 
each other. What the hell would we do to little green aliens?

But don't get me wrong, dear World. I have enjoyed some aspects of my stay
here. Mainly the simple things. Coming home to a warm meal and a happy
family; an open fire; being able to help a friend in need; the blissful
ignorance of youth; the look in someone's eyes when they believe in you; the
beautiful lies of lovers; and the true love of parents who allowed me to be
me, even though they must've known the price that would eventually cost. 

I walk through crowds every day on city streets and all I see are the long
faces of the disappointed. As though each face is one big teardrop.

The world has certainly been an interesting place to visit. Just not sure
I can live here. 


(c) Frank Howson 2019

Photograph by Vanessa Allan.