Escape

I choke inside your malls

The food courts stink 

Of the relents of cheap junk food

I'm out of breath in your  busy streets 

The grey or blue sky is too far

The roaring traffic noise is deafening

One cannot think properly

A walk turns into a cacophony

The town is booming

Holes are filled with metal 

Flowing concrete is poured

From an endless line of beeping trucks

All around new developments 

Are eating at every crumb of space 

Higher always higher

I have only one idea

That keeps me going

Escape to the trees 

The vast paddocks

The swift river

Where the air is fresh

And the galahs can be heard

Home where my heart beats

And my mind is at rest.

Lucette C. Bailliet 

All rights reserved

But a child

What crimes he committed, I ignore

He was tried, found guilty, 

Put in a detention centre 

He was but a child.

He spat at his guards

He was incarcerated 

In a solitary confinement cell

He was but a child.

He was put on suicide watch

A hood on his head

On a restraining chair

He was but a child.

He was beaten, three men to a child

When he should have been safe

Tear-gassed, all videotaped 

He was but a child.

I keep wondering 

How much brute force

Is necessary to curb

The spirit of a child? 

I keep wondering 

How much abuse

Is sufficient to break

The mind of a child?

The system is broken 

There is no doubt about it

When it puts children in detention!

Lucette C. Bailliet 

All rights reserved 

Children denied

Yes, I'm ashamed of myself

With hindsight I was stupid

When I dismissed the charter of children's rights.

I thought it was a joke

A case of political correction gone too far.

What a tragic error!

We, the adults betrayed our children.

In too many places, they are used as labour

For greed knows no borders 

Only cheap labour

In some they are kidnapped and enslaved 

In others they are taught to kill to survive

Or to kill many while dying themselves

For life is not worth living according to their masters.

Here, they are imprisoned, tried and tortured

Kept in isolation cells, tear-gassed, and beaten

Legally, if not in justice

We are happy to ignore their plight

We take high moral ground

They deserve punishment 

Or so we claim denying them rights.

Lucette C. Bailliet

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Victory

So it' s official the wreckers 

Are back in power

Already they've turned

The crick to the spinning machine

Oh what lovely lies we are to hear

They are so creative, you know

In their dialectics; So many levels

Of obfuscation to hide their real aim:

Destroy the system

They'll divide and crash

Any minority they can identify

By demonising it.

Not one of them is genuine

They are all corrupt liars

All deserve to be deported

Oh wait, we are talking

Of course of Oz

Oh, what a sad state of affairs.

Lucette C. Bailliet 

All rights reserved 

What's for lunch?

Another massacre news met us 

Early this morning

My first question was:

How many dead?

Seventy or about

Was the answer.

And that was it

We've become desensitised 

The shock factor has disappeared

People are killing people

It does not matter where

It does not matter who

It does not matter why

We know the victims are innocent 

And the perpetrators are killers

It is that simple 

Another sad statistical update 

We all feel sorry 

For the victims and their families

There is so much we can take on

The media is out of puff

Can't get to frenzy any longer 

The state of emergency has been declared

Enough is enough

What matters mostly is:

What's for lunch ?

Lucette C. Bailliet 

All rights reserved

I miss her

How much I miss her,

Our marathon reading sessions,

Our unending analytical discussions

Of such and such character

Such and such plot

Late into the nights

Accompanied by untold cups of tea

Her zany points of view

Her irrelevant sense of humour 

Taught me so much

On the phone, after hi, 

How was your day?

The usual question is

What are you reading? 

Any thing enticing ? 

Of course we still discuss

Time is of the essence

Her life is busy

Ten minutes at most

Are sufficient from cover to cover

I miss my reading companion

My darling daughter.

Lucette C. Bailliet 

All rights reserved

Paris en novembre

Impressions de Paris en novembre

La nuit tombe 

Les lampadaires s'allument

Les pas se hâtent et résonnent 

Sur le bitume des trottoirs mouillés 

Promenant les chiens du quartier 

Autour des arbres grillagés 

Les volets des rez-de-chaussée se ferment

Aux autres étages les rideaux sont tirés 

Les femmes rentrent des courses avec leur cabas

Les enfants reviennent avec le pain dans les bras

Les dernières feuilles s'écrasent sur le sol

Les voitures tournent autour cherchant à se garer

Coups de Klaxons indignés 

Qui couvrent les jurons de rigueur

Le vent rabat le crachin ,

Les feux des voitures balaient les rues,

Tout est gris, tout brille

Le brouillard monte

La magie du non visible s'étale 

Le monde perd de sa définition

Même le bruit des voitures est amorti

Les passants frissonnent , 

Tendent leur volonté de rentrer

Secouent leurs parapluie

Les chiens s'ébrouent et éclaboussent leurs maîtres 

Des bonsoirs réticents s'échangent 

En attendant l'ascenseur 

Une fois les portes ouvertes

Les locataires s'engouffrent

Le silence retombe morne 

Après l'heure de pointe

Le crachin imperturbable continue 

Sur les baies la buée s'insinue 

Frimaire s'installe.

Octobre 2004

Lucette C. Bailliet

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Love

Luminescent it is

Oblivious of others

Velleity is its nature 

Eternal, if true,  it can be.

Lucette C. Bailliet 

All rights reserved

Does not matter

Does not matter

How many are killed

Their blood is red.

Does not matter

The reason why

Their blood is red.

Does not matter

What race they are

Their blood is red.

Does not matter

What religion they follow

Their blood is red.

Does not matter

What place they are from

Their blood is red.

Does not matter

What sex they are

Their blood is red.

Does not matter

How deprived they are

Their blood is red.

Does not matter 

How old they are

Their blood is red.

All life matters

We are all humans

Red is our blood. 

Lucette C. Bailliet 

All rights reserved

Round of seasons

Summer came, turned a parkland

Into parched paddocks,

A scorching Autumn

Bullied them into dust bowls,

A wet Winter magicked them back

To a mossy swamp ,

More rain on its way

And glades we shall have.

The round of seasons 

Is in full swing, boots are in,

Splashing , squelching, sloshing 

A added bonus to walking and running

As far as the dog is concerned ,

It knows a dry spot on the carpet

In front of the roaring wood stove.

Somehow the cat preferences

The top of the book case

Delights in a blazing fireplace

Listening to the rain on the roof.

Can't do a thing outside

A book to read, a film to watch

Thus the hours are spent

On a comfy sofa, might as well 

Enjoy Winter at its best!

Lucette C. Bailliet

All rights reserved 

HMS Australia

HMS Australia is adrift

Heading from the rough waters

Of a turbulent election

Towards a blustering maelstrom 

The senate will be scurrilous 

At best, antagonistic at worst

The captain has lost control 

Instead of clearing the deck

The double dissolution brought disarray 

Rebellion is strife, the knives are out

The worst mutineers are back onboard

With revenge most in mind

The weeks to come will see bloodshed 

Money spent generously during the campaign 

Seemingly smoothed the waters

But now the deep currents of unrest

Sweep the ship away without a tiller 

Australian parliament has lost its compass.

Lucette C. Bailliet 

All rights reserved