Jerry Behr Number 2

Rookie - 0 Points (3/2/1951 / Netherlands)

Lady Panorama Australia, The Poet, And Poker Machines - Poem by Jerry Behr Number 2

Every evening the poet likes to have a talk with Panorama.
He would open the door and in an instant he could feel her cool freshness.
Walking down the steps of his porch he could smell her evening fragrance.
Panorama’s eyes glittered with the street lights,
She would show him all her nightly sights.

Walking quietly onto the road the poet immersed himself in the evening air.
Tonight there was a Vincent Van Gogh’s moon tempesting across the sky.
Panorama smiled she knew the poet would be happy tonight.
Using the traffic noise as his cover he began to whisper to her mind to mind.
They would walk together the poet searching for a peace to find.

As he whispered Panorama showed nightly shadows under moonlight.
The pair of them walked passed fibro houses with their lights on.
Ethnic peoples unashamedly leave open their front doors.
Lady Panorama and the poet could hear their national languages spoken.
One momentarily could peer into their lives through a window that’s open.

The poet felt fully uplifted now walking with Panorama up the road.
Seeing the ethnic diversity amongst the peoples he felt a great sense of
Belonging to society, and so he didn't feel lonely.
Other people sat on their front porches talking quietly in the evening air.
The poet held Panorama’s hand under Vincent Van Gogh’s moon in an ecstatic affair.

While passing acacia trees its fragrance filled the poet’s nose.
In the night air the pair of them could hear the echoes of a yapping dog.
Now the poet’s whispering took a more serious turn.
He whispered that he did not like poker machines which were in all pubs.
Combined with hotels poker machines ran rampant along with the Clubs.

Lady Panorama Australia’s eyes quickly turned to the night sky pointing.
It was a meteor, trail blazing across Vincent Van Gogh’s tempesting sky.
Momentarily the poet was charmed by what he saw.
He whispered on, that he despaired that poker machines were all around.
In all towns, and suburbs, next to shopping malls, there’s no respite found.

Quite quickly Panorama and the poet became quiet as they walked passed
A Muslim family on the footpath, a father and a veiled mother, two girls
And a boy, all were walking and enjoying a stroll in the night air.
Once again Panorama smiled at Australia’s multicultural diversity,
Through which she believed that Australia could overcome any adversity.

Once passed the family the poet continued his whispering once more.
He whispered that he himself has felt the evil winds of poker machines
Even on his own family his own sons and how it imprisons them in poverty.
Destroying their lives, mucking around in the devil's playgrounds.
No amount of advisement could stop lives being lost to the merry-go-rounds.

Even in Court systems he had witnessed peoples careers being ruined,
Along with their lives and ruining families.
Embezzling moneys from employers in order to play the evil poker machines.
Many people say “That sort of thing does not happen to me”
The poet could feel the devil demanding Australian people to pay the devil’s fee.

Once again Panorama and the poet quietened down as two joggers
Jogged passed in the night air, they were a young Australian couple.
He could see their steaming breaths as they panted passed in the fresh night air.
Echoing footsteps and sounds of barking dogs mingling into the starry night.
The poet loved Panorama and the night where his spirit could take flight.

He whispered on that in New South Wales there were hundreds of thousands
Of poker machines.One could go in any direction and eventually
A person would bump into one anywhere, even in shopping centres.
Insidiously mingling with all Australian populations creating addictions.
Ruining family finances and budgets and creating family frictions.

Poker machine barons and czars who own these evil machines
Rake in for themselves hundreds of millions and billions of dollars every year.
Authorities say that it's only the problem gamblers that are the problem.
While ruining the social tempesting landscapes czars live in luxury all there own.
These poker machine barons and czars don’t care for people and have hearts of stone.

Panorama and the poet turned left at Romely Street and continued walking.
He continues his whispering in the starry, starry night.
'You know Panorama' He whispered on. 'Districts like Liverpool-Fairfield-Bankstown
Cannot sustain losses of billions of dollars per year and the loss of prosperity.
The loss of economical activities like renovations not done, and the loss of propriety'.

Panorama and the poet came to Stonewall Park and stopped for a moment.
They turned around making their journey back home.
He whispered on: 'It’s the kids missing out on their excursion, the milk money is gone.
It’s the family car that can’t be fixed; the list goes on and on in economic depravity.
Even governments do not understand the economic destruction and it’s gravity.'

The poet loved Lady Panorama Australia and the starry, starry night.
He loved the ordinary peoples that lived in fibro houses.
Fragrances of eucalyptus and acacia trees he adored as he walked in the moonlight.
Australia is a great nation for many of its diverse peoples who came here.
But, this land is being ravaged by gambling and poker machines and spreading fear.

As a poet he whispered on he felt compelled to speak out against the barons and the czars
The owners of the evil poker machines, who rake in billions of dollars for themselves.
Ravaging district economies into destitution and inflicting poverty and misery.
He had seen the “Pokie dollar” adulterate and skew political thinking and behaviour.
Whereby politicians plan and think not necessarily in societies or peoples favour.

Lady Panorama Australia and the poet arrived back home and stood on his porch.
He looked once more at Vincent Van Gogh’s tempesting moon filled night.
He despaired at the destruction the poker machines had wrought.
A Pandora’s Box had been unleashed on a good and fair land.
For evil to thrive good men remain silent, great Australians against evil make a stand.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, May 12, 2011

Poem Edited: Friday, May 13, 2011

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