8 Billion PLUS 1 (2025)

30/10/2024

A-POEM-A-DAY 2024 from

"MY BOOK OF POEMS"

31 October 2024

ANALYSIS

I analyse (verb)
By being analytic (adjective)
To come to an analysis
Looking for a needle

In a haystack

I analysed diligently
Used my analytic tool
To come an analysis
Needles are pointed, sharp

Why did I analyse
Used analytical tools
To come to an analysis?
I needed to find than needle

Before someone got hurt

Would it have been more effective
To sift through the straw
Dividing it into sections
Then, run a magnet over it?

Logical? The tools of logic
Valuable. They will influence
Your analysis. Search too shallow
Or ill-defined: it will be folly

To analyse without a focus
Would be to abuse analytical tools
Yes? Any analysis drawn from such
An exercise would be suspect

Yes?

Analysis is useful when one knows
Or does not know what one is looking for
Yes? Pardon, what are you saying?
One seeks the presence of an object

or substance. Yes?

"The unexamined life is not worth living"
Is a phrase attributed to Socrates
(at his trial for impiety and corrupting youth).
He chose poison. A message, perhaps?

Something to ponder, for certain

Leslie D. Bush
© 29 October 2024

28/10/2024

A-POEM-A-WEEK 2024 from

"MY BOOK OF POEMS"

29 October 2024

TIME TO REPAIR

All things - living or not.
need time To repair:
be it in hours
or millennia

To rearrange what was,
to fill in what is
And prepare for what will be
To re-address the balance

Tempus fugits.
Time flies
(So we are told).
Time does

what time does
I suspect the
subject
matters little

Time will do
what time will do.
As quickly or slowly
As is required

All at it's own pace
In hours or millennia
To re-address
the balance

Like a song, Yes?
A neverending song
Sweet and bitter
Only we can hear

Leslie D. Bush
© 28 October 2024

27/10/2024

A-POEM-A-DAY 2024 from

"MY BOOK OF POEMS"

28 October 2024

PAIN

A stubbed toe?
A finger (mistaken for a nail)?
A love lost, a heart broken?
A massive earthquake?

Pain comes in many forms
Bearing with it the sense of loss
of something that can't be undone
It’s pointed, it’s sharp

It can also be numbing
Leaving one bleak and empty

Pain is the cost of living
From it, we cannot hide
Each loss is a lesson
In how to cope

How to live better

Leslie D. Bush
© 27 October 2024

26/10/2024

A-POEM-A-DAY 2024 from

"MY BOOK OF POEMS"

27 October 2024

WAIT

WAIT! (The weight!)
Gotta fill it (the weight)
Gotta fill it (and leave some)
For a stormy day

WHICH is the heavier?
The future action?(It will have consequences)
OR being hung out to dry
(Sun, sun, sun; where is the sun?)

Hung out to dry
(To metaphorically die?)
Hung out to dry
To expose my lack of context

Leslie D. Bush
© 26 October 2024

25/10/2024

A-POEM-A-DAY 2024 from

"MY BOOK OF POEMS"

26 October 2024

THE CURRENCY OF TRUTH

Does TRUTH have a currency?
Is it measurable in dollars, francs
Or rubles? TRUTH it seems is measured
In a form other than its innate value

TRUTH is composed of words
Words are a tool - to the poet
To describe life; to an advertiser
Something to be mangled and deformed

A politician will find how many ways out
Whilst retaining the shape of the words
And stating the opposite: deniable plausibility
Advertising just goes for the jugular

Half-truths and part-truths are not TRUTH

We, who seek the lady, are out-gunned
and out-numbered. The simplicity is that TRUTH
Needs or requests no adornment. A broken arm
Is a broken arm; a disaster is a disaster

To describe it as an opportunity is looking
To take advantage of a situation. The rubble
And debris still needs to be tidied, people.
Taken care of. Then, and only then,

can the future be considered? During that
Re-structuring period, TRUTH in all its naked glory
Needs to be told, so that appropriate repairs are made
Who am I kidding? You’re not fooled. It’ll be the same tired story

Half-truths and part-truths are not TRUTH

Telling the truth is simple. Is that why we complicate it

Leslie D. Bush
© 2 June 2024

25/10/2024

A-POEM-A-DAY 2024 from

"MY BOOK OF POEMS"

25 October 2024

THAT’S NOT ME

“That’s not me”, I hear you exclaim
Who is it, I enquire; it looks suspiciously similar
You stammer, fumble, pause a moment,
And say, “It is my evil twin brother”

Twin brother, I repeat, consults the file
Strange, there’s no mention here
Of a brother, ‘tis true, a sister you have
You aren’t getting confused, are you?

No, sir, confused I am not;
what do you have? The details of my life?
Pictures and interviews with people
I barely knew, and most probably have forgotten

Pictures of when I was young, ask “Is that you?”
And expect a reply. Well, damn you, sir, my reply
Yes and no! It shows the actuality and potential
Of my trying to be” me. A constant of being and not being.

Yes, I did like loud music in my youth and early adulthood
Playing Led Zeppelin 3 full blast on a battery-powered record player
(There were such things). What is this examination to prove?
As the years went by, I changed. I prefer the verb, “evolved”

I Learned to cope with increasingly complex equations and situations
I’m still learning, in my elder years; I shall continue to continue to learn
All those persons that I was, remain. My attempt at maintaining a balance
And peace among them still requires my constant awareness

“That’s not me”, I hear you exclaim. Who is it, I enquire?
“Someone, I once knew well; we are long parted”
Separated by broken dreams and disappointment
Held together by a determined will to continue

I feel like Schrodinger’s cat: I’m there, but I’m not
So, take your damned photos and your poxy folder
And shove it in a hole. Some, I am told, have paper shredders
Let me be, or not, what I want. I promise to behave

Leslie D Bush
© 12 October 2022

21/10/2024

A-POEM-A-DAY 2024 from

"MY BOOK OF POEMS"

22 October 2024

KEEPING UP?

Are You Keeping up with Us?
Or are you being left behind??
Is the burden you carry the one
You expected; are you surprised?

New?
News?
Things unresolved
Write to Sherlock

221B Baker Street
Marylebone, London,
NW1 6XE
It could be an exercise

IN FUTILITY

The Sherlock Holmes Museum
is at 221B Baker Street
opened in 1990 by the
Sherlock Holmes International Society.

Technically, however, this is not 221B Baker Street
and this number doesn't exist.

Let me know how you get on
More dis-information
More mis-information?
Poetic licence, sir

Poetic licence?
(I have to renew mine!)
To whom do I address it?
Spike Milligna

The internationally
famous typo error?

Leslie D. Bush
NZ 8062
© 21 October 2024

20/10/2024

A-POEM-A-DAY 2024 from

"MY BOOK OF POEMS"

21 October 2024

Email 20-10-2024
TELL ME, TELL ME, PLEASE

Tell me, please; is it good, is it bad
Is it too happy, or too sad? Of your response
Whatever it be, I will be glad. I don’t demand
your approval. It is your honest opinion I crave

Pause a moment, I plea.
Do you measure your honesty?
With discretion and deliver it with tact?
An admirable trait

When I ask for your assessment,
I take such sensibility into account
And amend my request,
pray, good sir,

what might your
honest assessment be?

Leslie D. Bush
© 20 October 2024

19/10/2024

A-POEM-A-DAY 2024 from

"MY BOOK OF POEMS"

20 October 2024

A THEME EMERGES

A theme emerges in the poetry of an age
An age that we all must accept and hopefully
Go past. The theme is not original; it resides
In creation. You have been born? Jolly hockey sticks.

Now you wait to die. The time in between is called
“Living”. It’s your choice. Grab this “Life” thing and
squeeze it, drink your fill of it; sing drunken songs;
Luxuriate in it; fill it with love, laughter tears and torment

Or let it cruise by without you. That’s the recurrent theme
I see this in the poems of the poets I follow.
I’ll not embarrass you by name; you know who you are.
You might call this period the golden years, the end-game

how-long-until-I-meet-eternity? Is it sad, despairing, despondent?
No, no and no! It’s exciting in an awe-inspiring way. Will History judge us?
Will it care? Will our contemporaries do likewise? Who cares?
The days are ours to fill, however, we choose, however, we can

So come, fellow scribes of either gender; let us explore this wonder
Report what we find, feel, and discover; it’s all revelation; all a source of wonder

I wonder what the hell happened?
To quote Jethro Tull
“We’re too old to rock’n’roll
We’re too young to die”

Peace brothers and sisters
Jolly Hockey Sticks

Leslie D Bush
© 28 March 2022

18/10/2024

A-POEM-A-DAY 2024 from

"MY BOOK OF POEMS"

WHY DOES EVERYTHING END IN A QUESTION MARK?

Why does everything end in a question mark?
Are you exaggerating? Is it termed an interrogative?
No, interrogative is an adjective. It can equally refer to a noun
In which case it describes a word like the 5 W’s and 1 H

Who, what, when, where, why and how
Important words in any sentence seeking clarification
The symbol “?” Is termed, an “interrogation point,
a note of interrogation, or a question point.

I question your assertion That “everything” ends with a “?”
It is reserved for subjects or topics that require explanation,
or if that explanation Is insufficient. However, it might appear
That is so. How trusting are we of what we’re told?

It raises a pertinent point. That “we” - individually
and collectively have been lied to so often
That our trust in humanity and the information
It divulges has been tested to the limit

Still, the shrill voices of the media continue
Partisan politics, the latest must-buy mass marketing
We get conned. Correction, I get conned. with offers
Of free laptops from a New Zealand store

Facilitated by payment to someone in Europe

Does everything end in a question mark?
It might seem so; it’s a matter of perspective
It’s a question of an individual’s capacity
To have faith in humanity. I have very little
I am willing to trust individuals and groups
(until I have reason not to). I will accept what they say
(until there is evidence not to). I consider myself trusting
(until I have a reason not to).

So, does everything end with a question mark?
It may not be seen or obvious, but it’s lurking, hiding
Caveat emptor is ancient advice - worth considering.
“Let the buyer beware”

Does everything end in a question mark?

Leslie D. Bush
© 18 October 2024

17/10/2024

A-POEM-A-DAY from
"MY BOOK OF POETRY "

18 October 2024

TABULA RASA

“Tabula rasa” is Latin for “a clean slate”
An empty page of a book unwritten
A song unsung; a tear unsprung
The future awaiting our actions

Pause a moment and reflect -
Does the page expect us to fill it?
Can pages have expectations at all
Admit it. To many of us

(I count myself among you)
A blank page is a threat.
How could I leave it blank?
Your voices cry

Is a blank page a challenge
That cannot be denied or defied
Is it our future - literally or metaphorically
Will we be found to be inadequate?

That’s the trap. Don’t you see?
Planning the future is an action -
The problem remains; an empty page
A tale of past glory, perhaps could be added

It tempts and tangles the mind
Doesn’t it? This blank and naked space
Is it passively responsive
Can we do what we want?

Does it carry a quiet pride?
A form of gravitas Record on me
The truth is not as you believe it
But resourced and referenced

It might be, it could be a blank page
A tabula rasa; neither acquiescing
nor demanding; just being itself
Is it that which terrifies us?

(I count myself among you)
A blank page is a threat.
How could I leave it blank?
How could I leave it blank?

A blank page is an accusation
A blank page is a threat
It dares one to fill it
Sink or swim, but add content to it

Leslie D. Bush
© 22 July 2024
® Revised 17 October 2024

17/10/2024

A-POEM-A-DAY from
"MY BOOK OF POETRY "

17 October 2024

WHAT COLOUR (IS THE PILL)

There’s a pill for everything
For everything, there is a pill
Red ones, blue ones; some have stripes
You disbelieve me; say “I’m not the type”

Confess, we all are medicated for this
Medicated for that; pills to help one sleep
And to wake one up; pills to help one be happy
(they aren’t blue, are they); pills, pills, pills

Pills spill from bottles. Don’t they look grand?
Watch them long enough; they possibly will expand
Into a landslide of chemically enhanced aids to living
Then, what colour of pills will you be taking, or giving

There’s a pill for everything
For everything, there is a pill
Red ones, blue ones; some make you laugh
Some make you cry. Others make you think

Multi-million dollar industries are playing with us
Convincing us we need their product.
They’ve been doing it for decades
The pill manufacturers, probably already have us hooked

Advertising Agencies create the myth and demand
For happiness in a bottle, or a pack of pills
Yes, medication has its value and its use
I think we are experiencing its abuse

Leslie D. Bush
© 15 October 2024

14/10/2024

15 October 2024

CIVIL, CIVILISED, CIVILISATION

Positive words, aren’t they?
Words to use with pride. Yes?
Words enriched with achievement
Yes? No? Words able to be abused!

The message is, to use these words with care
And respect; and humility; with the modesty
Of one learning. Take the stories of empires gone
With a critical lens. Test assertions against the evidence

A civilised people, are we
One could say, representing
The collective; could say
Citing anecdotal evidence

A question. Can “civilisation” be
Attached to any group claiming it
Did they earn it, did they deserve it

How is the label, “civilised”, “Civilised”
“Civilisation” and “civilisation” earned?

Is “Civilisation” a thing to be achieved
Through diligence and hard work;
Are its lessons equally hard and ruthless?
Can a person or people get a passing grade?

Succeed or fail?

Leslie D. Bush
© 14 October 2024

13/10/2024

14 October 2024

WHO WANTS TO REPRESENT HUMANITY?

Who wants to represent Humanity
In the Great Cosmic Court of Law;
Indicted of charges of cruelty, stupidity
Malice, lying, blindness and simplicity

I’m not sure who will or could pay
For the defence. Many will call you false
And deny being in the dock; others
Wil simply deny, deny and mock

I feel it to be true. There will come a time
When the Cosmos says “Enough!”
“Enough cruelty, stupidity, Malice,
lying, blindness and simplicity!”

I can imagine hearing a song, being sung
In a weary, mournful tone, beginning with “When
Will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?”
No one, through the ages, has answered that.

Another question remains.
Who wants to represent Humanity
In the Great Cosmic Court of Law;
Who wants to argue their defence?

Me? I’m ambivalent
Please don’t call me as a witness

Leslie D. Bush
© 13 October 2024

12/10/2024

13 October 2024

MY CHILD'S MISSING

My child's missing
He ran away
Is he hiding, from who?
Yes, I got angry

Surely, he can understand
And not use that as a reason
This poem is in the form of a polyphony
Of two or more voices, two or more conversations

Two or more narratives

‘Tis true, parenting is difficult
A road scattered with rocks
(I don’t mean rock’n’roll)
Every decision takes its toll

From bad to worse; yes, I do get terse
And short-tempered from the continuous conflict
with myself; questioning every action
Is it enough? Is it too much?

Does it address the problem or the symptom?
Being an adult is demanding. So much to do
Assembling with other adults can be valuable
Until it’s not. Support is good; excessive criticism is not

Sobriety is good as a rule. Keeping control of oneself is advisable
Of course, we learn by default, by doing and suffering from
Having done the opposite. It’s the way we learn
By making fools of ourselves

Do you consider my period of inaction as uncaring?
You are so wrong (how nice it would be to put it into a song)
Would that make you feel validated? My child’s missing
Has been for decades. Hidden behind a barrier

Of Could haves, Should haves
Of acts not taken, of problems not understood
Why? You might ask. Were you not listening?
Were you shutting me out? You did that a lot

So it might seem. Appearances can be misleading
The absence of a person has a sense of loss
Whether that loss in internal (of experiences unexperienced)
Or the space that a living person once filled; it feels similar

Father of mine, I hear you; I do. Yes, I can imagine
That things are difficult; grant me some understanding
I cannot understand how you confuse my actions with demands
When I want your time, your recognition of my pain and confusion

A hug could be sufficient; but probably not
A moment’s silence to absorb what I’ve said
Allow my anger to subside, for me to catch a breath
Slow my heart rate. That too could be helpful

All too often, it seems - my anger arouses your anger
(it wasn't my intent); voices rise and we’re in conflict
I apologise. I didn’t want that. I wanted you to recognise me
As a person, a person who gets things wrong and occasionally right

As time passes, each unresolved hurt becomes a brick
To hit me with or build a wall Have you not heard that album?
An experience as yet inexperienced, I suppose
My child’s missing. He might never be found

As callous as that might sound
I cannot magically create characters
Of my coming or becoming what I am
I would like to. To explain to them

Why I did this, didn’t do that
Married their mother
Put up with her moods
While she fought her battle

That’s the way life is
You win. You lose
You’re left staring into space
Thinking is this a race

Why am I losing?
Surely, it is not of my choosing
(or, is it) So many questions
So few answers

Oh, by the way
My child’s missing
He’s probably hiding
In fear of what he fears

You might have seen him
He had good intentions
I’ve often heard him say
Of going to the gym

OR

There’s a memory in my head
Of people living or dead
Things they said
In the heavy of the moment

Or at the end of a demanding day

There’s so much I never said

Leslie D. Bush
© 6 October 2024

11/10/2024

12 October 2024

RHYMIN’ TIME Part three
(& MORE POEMS ABOUT TIME)

7.

Does Time rhyme?
(or has a sort of rhyme?)

Let’s take the first question, first
Does time rhyme? ‘Twould be a simple task
Take each letter of the alphabet
And add “-ime”. Yes, is it worth a shot?

Let’s go! A, e, i, o, u The vowels)
Do they work? No! Let’s try the consonants
B, c, d? Stop. A match, dime (add to the list)
F, g, h, j, l? Lime, another match.

M? Yes, mime. N, o, p, q, r? Wait!
Rime! An older spelling; immortalised im
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”
Written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

It was published in 1798, in “Lyrical Ballads”
There is a definite connection between time and poetry
Shall we continue?S, v, w,x. Y, z? No.
To summarise, what do we have?

Dime, lime, mime and rime; a good start
Add to the list - sublime, prime, chime
Crime, grime, slime, bedtime, daytime
Pastime and sublime

There we are,
all is clear
Does Time rime
Yes. Prime; sublime!

Leslie D. Bush
© 10 October 2024

10/10/2024

11 October 2024

(A "time" poem)

RHYMIN’ TIME Part One
(THREE POEMS ABOUT TIME)

3.

UNITS OF TIME
(Seeking & needing a purpose)

Minutes
Composed of
Seconds
Together compose
Hours
Of a day
A week
A month
A year

Year. Year. Year.

Minus
Of a meeting
Need
A secretary
Or minute taker
Records what happened
Who did what? Who said what
Who decided what
Was it unanimous

Year. Year. Year.

Meetings
Take minutes
To take minutes
To record
What happened

It all
Takes time

Year. Year. Year.

Time made up
Of seconds composing minutes
Minutes composing hours
Hours composing a lifetime

Why is coming first
Elevated, when a second
is the component of time?
and can not be bet

Speaking of records
and recording -

Ladies and gentlemen
Needing no introduction
The one, the only
THE BEATLES

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah!

Leslie D. Bush
© 7 October 2024

09/10/2024

10 October 2024

RHYMIN’ TIME Part One
(POEMS ABOUT TIME)

2.

Can you fool time?
(or, Does time fool you?)

DUNE (and other distractions)

Is it not strange
To fill in time
With idle, passive
Entertainment?

One might call it
Entertainment
I call it
Feeding the mind

The mind is forever
Hungry. Mine is.
Demanding words
and visuals

To keep it full

The human consciousness
Is voracious always seeking
To acquire information
On which to help

The building blocks of perception
And understanding of the world
And its workings, using knowledge
As a measure, it is never enough

Never enough!?
When “enough”
Ever enough?
Ever! Never!

Entertainment? I choose my own
I filter that which goes into the brain
Call it discernment. Call it snobbery
A damn, I do not care

It is my consciousness
I seek to protect
And my right to
Ignore and reject

That which is not valid
Or of the truth

Leslie D. Bush
© 6 October 2024

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