Blood & Ink

But now my tears won't stop, and freely flow, A facial water-fall I can't avert. Yet, here's a new affect that doesn't show: Tears wash away the pain, the shame, the dirt, Like plant food, nurturing the self to grow, While cleaning out the suffering and hurt.

Naum Tered April 1999

Reply to A Friend

You ask my thoughts on travel - it's a pain! I drown in crowds, and cannot stand the rabble That fill Hotels and Airports with their babble; Bomb-like in my ears and in my brain. The suffering and cost exceed the gain: Lost luggage might be found amongst the scrabble And within foreign death-traps one must dabble. Will I travel more? No, thank you, Jane.

I'd much prefer to stay at home and dream While sitting on my rug before my fire. No fuel required like diesel, coal or steam Nor wheels or wings - no rail or ski or tyre. I tour the world within the embers' gleam And in my mind the whole world I admire.

Naum Tered May 1998

Swimming

Three times a week I force myself to swim. Though I hate water and it's such a bore, I strain myself and afterwards feel sore; But its the best way to be fit and slim. I plough along and envy those who skim! Each lap I force myself to swim some more, And dread the changing room, where nude before Too many eyes, and jokes like, "Look at him!"

And yet three times a week, I quench my fears And suffer tedium and shame and pain. I help fill up the pool with sweat and tears While struggling up and down within my lane. I hope that for my trouble all these years My efforts will produce a worthwhile gain.

Naum Tered April, 1998

Old and Ugly

What hope have I? I'm ugly and I'm old. My problem used to be that I was sick. I knew that I would not get better quick, But I believed - despite what I was told - That one day I'd be well. Through hot and cold I exercised, had treatment, tried to stick With hope, and not give up, through thin and thick. While time passed, and the days, months and years rolled.

And now, at last success, I am quite well. But sadly, it has taken many years; And there's one further problem I must tell: I used to think, "I'm sick," but had no fears About the way I looked, but what befell? I find there's ugliness between my ears.

Naum Tered May, 1998

Useless

What use is life to me or me to life? I have no joy in living: no desire, No dreams or hopes to which I can aspire. I have no family, no kids, no wife. And to those few who know me I cause strife: If I said I was liked I'd be a liar, I'd not be missed if I were to expire From lethal gas, a gun, a rope or knife.

And yet, in my despair a tiny hope Remains. Perhaps although I cannot see Right now, some purpose to live on and cope With life, at least I'm healthy and I'm free. So, I keep living, thought alone I mope, And ask if life has any use for me.

Naum Tered May, 1998

Blood and Lead


I write this poem in blood, and now in lead,
To make this moment last  -  blood outlasts ink -
To share this feeling with you, so you think
What I feel now.  These words flow out my head
And down my arm.  They're written down, not said.
This blood thing pushes me right to the brink
Of feeling real, and sharing, like a wink,
The knowledge we're alive, we are not dead.

That simple truth was hard for me to write,
But harder yet:  to know how we should live.
We work all day, but quietly in the night,
We stop the push and shove and take and give,
And ask the things that give ourselves a fright!
If this is all there is - then - Expletive.


               Naum Tered
               June, 1999

Were Mind and Hand At Rest.

If I were dead right now, and couldn't write These words, I couldn't think these thoughts, nor could I push this pen across this pad, nor would I sit in pain, and suffering and fright, And watch my trembling fingers - through the night - Make inky scribbles on this dried, pulped wood; But be a cold, dead corpse - where once I stood - And not think thoughts, feel pain, or see the light.

For I'm not dead, alas, but still alive, And have no choice but fail this endless test That every day and night I must survive. I crave a peaceful end, but I'm not blessed With life's release, that end for which I strive. Oh! Were I dead, with mind and hand at rest.

Naum Tered May, 1998

Defer Growing Old - by Staying Young!





Shall I grow up today, and then grow old?
Or try remaining young and immature?
Each day, the days remaining become fewer
And there's less life that's left - or so I'm told!
I may yet end up food for worms and mould.
But is the tide of time a fatal lure
Bypassing life that's fresh, reborn or newer?
While we just watch life's pre-drawn map unfold.

So, if free will and fate will let me choose
I'll defer growing old - by staying young!
If death curtails my youth, then I might lose
Old age - but of its "joys" no songs are sung.
I'll thus avoid the aging that ensues
While on life's ladder, holding a low rung.


               Naum Tered
               April 1998

To Smell But Not to Smell

The sense I know the least: that of my nose. When once I told a girl, "your perfume's class." She said, "I don't wear perfume. Take a pass!" I only smell strong smells: the scented rose; And my smells, like what grows between my toes, my arm-pits, round my balls and up my arse. Yes life that's blind to smells is not a farce Because it's secret and nobody knows.

But with this poem I have blown my cover; Now! You people know I cannot smell. (Perhaps its why I'm no good as a lover; One more secret that I shouln't tell.) The question: (Now! I've stripped away the glove) Are you attracted, or does this repel?

Naum Tered September, 1991 First published in Vict'M the Victorian Newsletter of Australian Mensa Inc. February/March 1992

Written While Waiting for A 'Phone Call.

The last three times I phoned you, you replied, "You beat me, I was almost phoning you. Somehow you must have rung because you knew You're on my list, and soon I would have tried To phone you." I naively have relied On your assertion, but today a new Technique will show if what you say is true And you phone if I don't, or if you lied.

So now I'm sitting, waiting by the phone. If I phoned you, you'd needless say the same. So this time I am sitting here alone And waiting for your call. It is a shame Lest I phone you, I hear no ringing tone. The lie is yours, and you must take the blame.

Naum Tered April 1998

Heart and Soul

Are" Heart" and "Soul" concentric? Don't say, "Not." In every healthy being, both exist And for continued health they must persist Throughout each life. Or can one be forgot? And be replaced by fear of Hell (that's hot!) or (what rot!) As some do, who to me have lost the gist Of core existence - blinded by the mist Of prejudice, and all the pain they've got.

Don't sell your soul, or give your heart away. To live authentically (if I am "me") Within my own persona I must stay. All people take responsibility For their own lives, and for their actions pay: You must own all of you, if you are free.

Naum Tered April 1999

A Conscious Being Known As me.

What shall I do? I cannot sleep tonight. The work I've done has energised my brain. Each time I try to lie, I rise again And walk or drink or smoke or wank or write. This lack of sleep will be tomorrow's blight, When daylight comes and I shall suffer pain, Then, when I try to think, I'll go insane - If I don't get some sleep before its light.

The trouble is, I've got a tiny doubt About the nature of insanity. Who is the "I" who now writes this about The art of writing; and who wants to be At rest, instead of writing, like a shout: "Who is this conscious being known as me?"

Norman F - Pollack May, 1998

History's Great Lie

The greatest lie of History still remains
Untold, throughout the world, in any home,
And never taught in school of thatch or dome;
And after centuries, this lie still stains
Our history books.  It gives false tyrants gains,
And fills their banks, as bees fill honeycomb.
This lie - for power - by the Church of Rome
Still causes human sufferings and pains.

The year we count as "one", was then and is
The Roman Empire's birth.  For in that year
Augustus made the title "Ceasar" his,
which was his Uncle's name, to end the fear
in old Republic Rome.  It's gone, but 'tis
the Roman Church that spreads that lie, still, here.


               Norman F.  Pollack
               April 1999

Some People Think I'm Mad.

Some people think I'm mad. So, if I'm mad What sort of madness should I entertain?

I won't be psycho: too much blood will stain! I won't be anything that makes me bad, or anything where I'll be seen unclad! Nor will I lose control of my own brain. I will not suffer any form of pain, Nor shall I have the "high"s that some have had.

The only form of madness left to me May have me hated here abouts - and far. Unfetted by convention, I'll be free, And live, not there on earth, but like a star Above the populace. So I shall be A person with Megalomania.

Naum Tered May, 1998

Addendum

Addendum to a po m writ before In which, in order that the words would scan I did not start the thoughts where lines began; But now I feel my guilt and must write more So that a clear intent I can restore. I said there that I was an insane man, But reject all the madnesses I can, Nearly all of which I do abhore.

The only form of madness that I fit I said there was megalomania. This is my mental state, I do admit. To write po ms like this makes me a star. Just privately, I think that I am "it", But in our own minds, both you and I are.

Naum Tered June, 1999

On Being A Vegetarian.

It's not my role to preach or tell you how
To live your life, or tell you what to eat,
But let me tell you why I don't eat meat:
Though raised an omnivore, for decades now
I will not eat a fish, fowl, sheep or cow.
It's not just how it chews, or what shape feet,
Or whether it can cheep or growl or bleat
Or if it gives a bark, neigh, hiss or meow.

It does not matter that they are not wise,
They are alive, though dumb and can't extol
Our better brains; we think silence belies
Awareness, but like us, they know they're whole.
What person looks into a lambkin's eyes
And just sees dinner, not another soul?

Naum Tered
April, 1998

My Ontological Status Derives from Yours

Now, shall I dedicate these lines to you? Dear Reader, it is you for whom these words Are written, and although it seems absurd Surmising your existence, it is true That, although I am ignorant of who You are (nor caring if you're cool or nerds) If this is never read, then I have erred Sustaining thoughts that no one ever knew.

This po m might remain unheard, unread; In which case it is just a waste of time, But if you read these words or hear them said The effort that it takes to find the rhyme And rhythm, make me know that I'm not dead But live as you do, and as you are, I'm.

Naum Tered May, 1999

Science and Religion are One

"The Name" - all Words - It is all Unity. Out there is just one truth. One world is real. And yet each person knows that what they feel Is true, not false, and what they know must be. Each thinking mind has an ontology. Some hear their truith while they, in silence, kneel, Or in Muezzins' call or Church-bells' peel; And Science says, "the truth is known to me."

Such diverse ways to think! And there are more! They are all true, that's where confusion starts. (It's little wonder that the world's at war!) At all scales, wholes exceed sums of the parts. We ARE the Living Universe, therefore Our minds can't know - we feel it in our hearts.

Naum Tered June, 1999

Ode To Forgotten Pleasure

What greater tragedy is there than this? If pleasure is a good thing, not a sin, And joy unbounded - life lived with a grin - Is recommended, it would be remiss If one lacked conscious knowledge of the bliss. But if to find that joy you must begin Intoxicated, then the state you're in May mean the joy you'll find you'll also miss.

The more we live each moment in its time The more at one with nature we will be. Unaided, knowing bliss can be sublime, But an assisted mind's no longer free And keeps on thinking, "I've" and "I'll" and "I'm" And doesn't know the joy it cannot see.

Naum Tered May, 1998

Farewell to a Friend

A poem titled: "Farewell to a Friend". We spent sometime together through the years; We shared our hopes and dreams - failures and fears; On meals of beer and pizza we did spend; To each a few possessions we did lend: While each put arguments that neither hears; And hid our pains, as men, concealing tears; Not thinking that one day our bond would end.

And now you're gone, I realise that I miss Your friendship, but alas, it's now too late To make amends where I have been remiss. So now I sit alone, without you, mate! And just write futile lines that rhyme like this, Which you won't answer, but I'll hope and wait.

Naum Tered April, 1998

To Erato


This Book in Verse, I dedicate to you.
The thoughts within should please your Royal Mind,
And join our Souls and Hearts as One.    Please find
Enclosed some poems.  These are just a few
Of What I had to say; you can look through
My twisted consciousness; then, wend and wind
Your way through my ideas.  Please be kind
To one who says his love remains true blue.

But now, My Love, Wife, Inspiration, Muse,
Please understand this fact that you don't know:
(It is an ancient truth and yet its news)
My love is fickle, and in time I'll go,
I will return, as you're the One I choose,
But, like all men, my love will ebb and flow.


                    Naum Tered
                    June, 1999

Introductionary Preface

The Preface to the Introduction is The place where you, Dear Reader, start to know Where I have been and where I plan to go.

To some, the way I write will seem a quizz! And, so, to them, I write: This is no buis- Ness of yours. Now! For you who stay, I show The way I understand the world to flow; Perhaps the same as yours, or hers or his.

On reading this, I hear you asking, "Whom Am I reading?" (Please) Let me answer so: I've looked and listened since I left the womb And now I know what's "yes" and what is "no". Perhaps I've much to learn before my tomb, But I know Heaven above and earth below.

Naum Tered May, 1998

Studying English

My English homework takes up so much time!
I wonder why I'm doing VCE;
I don't know what the benefits will be.
Not using knowledge gained would be a crime.
A greater purpose than to write this rhyme
Must be in store, to justify for me
This effort, but I cannot, so far, see
A single reason for it. And yet I'm

Learning how to write and how to spell,
Respond to texts, communicate, and day
By day improve. And yet I cannot quell
Deep fears and doubts that linger, nor defray
The effort I'm investing. I must tell
The truth: I've not a single thing to say.

Naum Tered
August 1991

Inflected Thoughts Expressed

When I write thoughts as words I do rehearse Their sounds, for when I write, the rules are flexed To choose which sound and which idea comes next. To emphasise them both might make it worse, With writing that's verbose or else too terse. Those seeking deeper meaning will be vexed By trying hard to deconstruct my text To find more sense than words within my verse.

Should I avoid the joys of poetry, As I match sounds to thoughts that I relay? Instead of simple thoughts in text that's free I concentrate as much on how I say The scant ideas that have occurred to me, As writing down those thoughts; but that's my way.

Naum Tered April 1998

Memories of Unwritten Poems.

Where are the verses which I did not write? The thoughts, ideas and passions I forgot. They touched my soul, but write them I did not; Once thought like stars they faded with dawn's light. Some were profound - a few had real insight, Though most were silly fun and some were rot! They all are lost to time, so who knows what Ideas have shared that unrecorded plight.

Some verses to some people have been sent, But all I heard was silence or disdain And not the praise that had been my intent. Without support I could not write again! Not once has there been some encouragement And so my ideas stayed within my brain.

Naum Tered April 1998

Writing in Verse

If I had a message, prayer or curse,
I'd want to write it quickly, not take days
To find these complex rhythms, and strange ways
To rhyme the words. When short, succinct and terse,
The meaning's clearer; nothing could be worse
Than clouding meaning in this word-bound haze.
This rhyme and meter were an ancient craze
That's best forgotten. Do not write in verse

When there's a point, or substance to be said.
Say clearly what you want, try to omit
Those extra words. Express yourself, instead
Of trying, inside complex forms, to fit
A simple meaning, which may not be read
With ease; what is the point of it?

Naum Tered
August 1991

Anger and Distress

My anger at injustice is repressed. Like everyone I suffer shame and pain, But unlike many, I do not complain; I'm grateful that with life and health I'm blessed. Within my silence, I can hear the rest Who whinge and moan, then whinge and moan again, complaining, in a way that is insane When life does not deliver what is best.

Equality does not mean "all the same"; If you fail, don't blame those who have success. Unlike a pack of cards, life's not a game Where dealing more to one does not leave less: If individual welfare is our aim, To male all people poor, won't end distress.

Naum Tered October, 1998

Why From Freemasonry I Must Be Freed


These lines of words, which you now start to read,
Are not intended to dismay or pain
You, but to let my guilty heart explain
Why from Freemasonry I must be freed.

Half of the fault is mine, that I concede;
The Craft must take such blame as does remain.
I seek an end, with no loss and no gain:
Persistent error would be fault indeed.


While individual Brethren have no fault,
A year of passing through the Three Degrees
Has led me to reject you and revolt!


Accept this resignation from me, please.
My contact with Freemasonry must halt
To end discords and restore harmonies.
   

		Naum Tered
		January 1998

Who Populates the Labour Barbecue?



Who are the people in the A.L.P.?
Who populates the Labour Barbecue?
I went one time with someone that I knew
Who hoped I shared his solidarity.
I stood around and drank an ale or three
And watched those "bonza blokes" eat, drink and spew!
They claimed that they were "workers" and "true blue",
But what I heard was not what I could see.

The people who comprise Australia's "left"
Have education - not one failed to pass.
While Aussies who of schooling are bereft
Are rising to a higher social class.
Thought on class lines society is cleft
The actual people in them is a farce.


               Norm Tered
               May, 1998

Note to a Junkie's Mother

How can you sleep at night with what you've done? "Mature", "Intelligent" - you are self styled And by your son's behaviour you're reviled: You cast aside the web of sins you've spun. You think you know it all and have begun (Unable to perceive you are beguiled) To force your false, fad theories on your child And make the world a nightmare for your son.

You think that you have deconstructed life. The world rejected: ideal life you try. In theory you're the perfect mother/wife; On the ideal, not real, you do rely. Instead of harmony you're causing strife And killing those you love who can't comply.

Naum Tered March1998

A Poem in HTML

I'll write a po'em in H. T. M. L. So: <a href="MY_WORDS"> to YOUR IDEAS </a>. That anchor led to my worse fears, Or else to someone with some trash to sell, Or to some pervert, where none hear us yell, (In CyberSpace its no use shedding tears.) Be warned, that evil comes and danger nears, But that's not what we hoped the Net would tell.

The interactive graphics are a trick. The Message IS the Medium - its true! But we don't know what's real, because THEY're slick. This truth is only knowledge for a few Of us. Whichever HyperLink you pick That link creates a bond twixt me and you.

Naum Tered June, 1999

Footnote: The second line is pronounced: So: Aye, aitch-ref, My Words to Your Ideas Slash Aye. That anchor led to . . .

A Theological Argument.

To reach "Olum Abah", the "World to Come" (which might be real, if that's what you believe, or just a thought that's easy to perceive: I hear the scientists all saying . . "Um?") when added up, your good aspect should sum to more than that about which you should grieve. So when its time - from life - for each to leave, with Universal Harmony we'll humm.

The Sabbath must be kept, and must be known; Two separate laws, but you may just keep one, if the "half good/half bad" rule can be shown as truth. Hence, of all Sabbath moments, none should be unknown, but, if you're on your own, Transgress each instant, willfully, with fun.

Naum Tered May, 1999

My Alone Poem

Alone within my inner mind I sit, While round me is a world I see and feel And smell and taste, and which I know is real, But in which I don't ever seem to fit. Some foods I eat and love, you think are shit, And for me, your food would not be a meal, But its not food that prompts this little schpiel, But thoughts I should retain, bit I'll not quit.

The Social Engineers who rule the State Have made a world for us that is not true: The world is fractal, "real" lines are not straight. The world we share, the world thats make by you, Is not my inner world, so, its my fate: To live within a world no others knew.

Naum Tered May, 1998

MY WORDS (Newer Sonnets)

Blood & Ink

I write this poem in ink and not in blood; The words will last but writing sheds no pain. Yet what are words? But thoughts that pages stain. In ancient times, they punched their words in mud, But when it rained, the books became a puddle. Writing with my blood might help my brain Know what I felt was true, as I attain Communication with you - Not a dud!

But if I knew that what I knew was true, I would not need to feel embodied self; And what my body felt, I could eschew; Not writing words in blood - or seeking wealth; But seeking harmony twixt me and you, and, being part of all, have total health.

Naum Tered April, 1999

Awake Now?


Could I have been asleep for 50 years
Since my dear Father dropped me on my head?
When I think of the useless life I've led!
With pain, confusion, suffering and tears!
Instead of joy or hope, I just had fears;
For all I mattered, I could have been dead.
How strange to find myself alive instead;
A waking, reborn adult now appears.

So, suddenly I'm asking "Who am I?"
Is it too late to learn to live like me?
I have no guides on whom I can rely
But I need help to know what I should be.
What should I do, twixt now and when I die,
For, suddenly I'm live, awake and free.

               Naum Tered
               September, 1999

Friday 26th July 2002

The things that must be finished by this week:
One BAS for the dear ATO
(It takes so little time, but I'm so slow)
And then I'll file things for which I might seek;
Perhaps I might repair that scary creak
Upon the stairs outside, and then I'll go,
And do some other things that I don't know
About right now - or if I said, you'd freak!

Tonight begins my day of perfect rest
When I don't work and all I feel is bliss.
Whish such a joy, my ancestors were blessed,
And since then, every week we never miss,
With polished shoes, bright buttons, and clothes pressed,
To cease from work, like writing poems like this.

Naum Tered
July 2002

Let My Creatures Be

I'll write a poem for this brand-new pad;
Yes, even if it doesn't have a brand,
Which doesn't matter.  On the other hand,
When I began this verse, I only had
The paper for a purpose, which is sad.
Now, let's make sure that we both understand
We all can live together in this land:
It's wrong that some are working to erad -

- icate poor creatures - just like you and me.
These words - not mine - some creature's, who was free
Until its home was felled for what you see.
So let us all together hear this plea
From the ecology that was the tree
That is this paper: "let my creatures be!"


Naum Tered
3 August 2002

Note:

This Sonnet was inspired by a new pad of paper.
Yet not by just the paper but also by the tree that it was made from,
and not nust the tree but all the animals and birds that made their homes in the tree.
Is all that now exists this paper?
Hopefully, when trees are cut down, the ecology that inhabits them is saved.

Like all Sonnets, it has fourteen lines in two verses,
with the traditional rhyming pattern, except that the second
verse has all the lines rhyming, which is unusual,
and a single word is broken by the verses,
which is intended to convey the way the forest is cut through by big boys with chain saws,
eradicating everything.

Old Shoes

I'm sad because I've just replaced old shoes;
Two pairs have been thrown out: one black, one brown;
Worn out from years of fun, and work in town,
Preventing every cut, graze, sprain and bruise.
The loss I feel is like some tragic news;
New shoes should lift my mood but I am down;
Instead of smiling feet, I wear a frown;
No winning thrill, I've just been told, "you lose!"

Is sorrow eased if they are thrown out fast?
And, these new shoes fit well and are smart too!
Like love and pain, good footwear does not last
But fades, just like the lessons I once knew.
It's hard for me to let go of the past
When future plans and dreams and hopes are few.

Naum Tered
March 2003

"Bay, Bee Doo, Bee Dee"

I'll write this special poem to be read,
With sounds (and silence) counting: one, two, three  .  .
To be or do?  Be?  Do?  My thoughts are free
And what are words but thoughts that someone said?
Yet my free thoughts can not run free, instead
I keep these metric feet obediently.
Some say there's something silly wrong with me
Because my verses have a style that's dead.

The rhythmic sounds of spoken words can give
My verses something simple to appeal
To all the types of listeners who live
And don't just hear a beat, but also feel:
Be like a baby, do be dismissive
Of what the words mean:  sound is all that's real.

		Naum Tered
		21 July 2002 II

Quest Test


Please write this down, it's a dictation test.
Can you transform my thoughts into a page
Of written words?  It won't test sex or age,
But separate the dim-wits from the rest.
Amongst the curs d rabble, some are blessed
With brains.  (You need not be a sage!)
Don't say we are all dumb  -  that's an outrage!
This test will find some thinkers;  that's my quest.

There must be people who can understand
Me, and are not out for their own foul ends.
Where are my soul-mates in this barren land?
I yearn for friendship, but it all depends
On matching intellect.  This test is planned
To find minds like my own: then I've found friends.

		Naum Tered
		24th July 2002

Share Watcher


A world of bulls now, soon a world of bears,
The options I should buy are puts, not calls;
Dare I admit, though, I don't have the balls
To speculate in options or in shares?
They're up and down, like flights of crazy stairs,
Just like a plane that soars  -  until it stalls:
Sometimes the market rises  -  then it falls;
And if one wins or loses, no one cares!

While writing this  -  not doing  -  there's no gain,
But its much safer, if I just observe;
Avoiding both the triumphs and the pain.
Yes, I admit I do not have the nerve!
So out of it  -  a watcher, I remain,
While others ride that roller-coaster curve.

               Naum Tered
               March, 2000

To a Silent, eMail, Mensa, Book List.


Is this a non event or am I here?
I haven't seen a message here for weeks!
Perhaps a "Brighter" Mensan finds or seeks
Who's lurking here: and are they far or near;
And do they feel compassion, shed a tear,
Know all emotions, both the troughs and peaks?
Or are they just a bunch of silent geeks,
Who think they know it all, and have no fear?

But who am I to question who are they?
I read less, and know less than most of you.
I do not have a single thing to say,
But use up lots of words as if I do.
Real truth cannot be written in this way;
It's something that one day, we'll know we knew.



               Naum Tered
               August 2003

<--Suffering-->

Plagued by Problems


Here's a poem with a plumbing gripe
About the man here now, fixing the sewer.
I will not move to somewere bland and newer
Just to get a perfect piece of pipe
That needs no man, machine or other type
Of help.   A place to live that's clean and pure
Where water flows and problems are much fewer,
Is harder than to change a tiger's stripe.

These problems are the wages of my sins!
Half of the time I'm lying sick in bed,
Or fighting on with jokes and jests and grins
These problems that are real, not in my head.
We're plagued by problems from when life begins
Right up until the moment when we're dead.


               Naum Tered
               May 2003

The Dental Splint



My visits to the dentists are a mess!
I wake and worry now all through the night,
Concerned this plastic splint does not fit right.
His idea of my bite is just his guess,
And dislocates my jaw.  It is far less
Than what I think should be my ideal bite.
Oh!  Sorry me!  To suffer such a plight,
And have my Dentist cause me this distress.

The jaw position that I had before
Was very wrong.  I suffered pain for years.
The muscles round my face were always sore;
To eat or talk too much would induce tears.
But this attempt to relocate my jaw
Gives no relief and plays upon my fears.

               Naum Tered
               August, 1998

Friendless

I'm sitting silently at home alone,
With not a place to go and not a friend.
Is this the way my sad, short life will end?
No one to hear my final lonely groan?
Perhaps for unknown sins I now atone,
And suffer now for ways I did not mend.
Perhaps its true, for me the fates intend
A lonely life for acts they can't condone.

But if I'm punished this way, what's my sin?
Should I be ignorant of why the fates
Preserve the solitary state I'm in?
I have no lovers, family, friends or mates
Or any type of person to begin
Into my empty life to infiltrate.

               Naum Tered
               August 1999

When I rejected you . . .


Is this another letter I won't send?
With all the thoughts I'm much too scared to say
I'm writing them because I think I may
Post it to you ~ or do I just pretend?
You never give me back the things I lend
And haven't even started to repay
Past loans and now you ask for more today
But will you ever read these words I've penned?

When I rejected you, you had a hit.
What motive caused that self-inflicted pain?
Is it a threat: I pay, or you won't quit?
Or else you hope that pity might yet gain
Another loan from me?  No!  Not one bit.
And yet I hope good mates we will remain.

               Naum Tered
               May, 2002

Hopes For My Nose


It's time I wrote a verse about my nose.
Not the sense of smell: the site of pain,
Located just below my frontal brain.
Next Tuesday, Noon, my Surgeon will expose
The changes  he has wrought, which no one knows,
While shattered bone regenerates again
And nerves regrow, though just a few remain.
What shape awaits?  I dare not pre-suppose.

The person each believes himself to be
Is true, hence change portends a mental change.
Soon I'll invent or re-discover me
(From what can be in Physic's numbered range)
And feel, with nature, love and harmony,
And not be viewed by anyone as strange.

               Naum Tered/pre>

How do I Break the Law?


How do I break the Law?  Here are some ways.
There's lack of diligence: I'm just plain lax.
I will deliver punches, kicks and smacks:
When hurt, no Law assists; my blow repays.
Of course, our days are spent in drug filled haze
To cope with Bureaucrats and painful backs,
But some things we don't do are: cheat on tax,
Nor do we kill, rob, lie or start a blaze.

The Law begins where private morals end:
What's good, the Law is not required to see.
Our lives are ours, however we intend
To "do our thing", and be whom each might be.
No Earthly Monarch, Government or Friend
Can stop our Spirits soaring.    We are Free!

                    Naum Tered
                    July 2002

A Verse of Hate


I'll vent my anger in this verse of hate,
And rant against those whom I see as vile,
And spew this animosity and bile
Upon them, starting with men I called "mate"
Who used me (while I thought we could relate)
And denigrated me with tricks and guile,
With disdain and contempt behind their smile
While they pretended they thought I was great.

But worse than them are those I should respect,
Like Medicos and members of the Bar,
And Bureaucrats (I mean those who collect
And spend out Taxes): wounding from afar,
By harming me and leaving my life wrecked,
While I don't even know who those cunts are.

               Naum Tered
               September, 1999

Save Albert Park


Life's pains and problems are too much for me;
I want to laugh but all that comes are tears
That blind, and drown and magnify my fears,
So I sink deeper into misery;
Because there is one problem I foresee
That fuels all other problems, and that steers
Them, raising every other problem's gears;
And that great, awful pain is the Grand Prix.

We're deafened and we're deaded by that race,
Which threatens life and limits liberty.
The Parliament's no use, nor a court case,
And who sees yellow ribbons on a tree?
The race could have been in some other place,
And left the People's Parklands all stay free.


               Naum Tered
               March, 2002

To All Other Jews


An Open Letter to all other Jews:
Judea can exist again right now.
The way is very simple, this is how:
The World is what we want to think; we choose;
We have the freedom to invent "the News"!
If  they' won't have it, then it's  I' and  thou'
To turn the wheel, to build, to pull the plough
Alone - yet not - as when we sit in pews.

Let Judah rise, as a Theocracy.
Jerusalem its Capital, both East
And West united, with equality;
A city silent, like axles in grease;
Let others live betwixt, and let there be
Joy, love for others, Love of G-d and Peace.


               Naum Tered
               August, 2002

21 July 2002

Around me is a world of theft and lies, Where wicked men succeed, and "might is right". They lie and cheat by day as well as night, And act like "gods" with all that word implies As though their power on earth came from the skies. They tell us that the world is black and white And only they can lead us to the light And on this lie the populace relies. Why don't more people value what is true? Instead of living artificial lives That serve a sect or tyrant or some new Fad, fashion, trend - though none of them survives! If everyone sought truth, not just a few, We'd have a world at peace where beauty thrives. Naum Tered

eMail to naum at tered dot org

Autumn Alone


Another poem for an Autumn day.
Alone, just me, myself and I, this "we"
(Whomever   "I" or  "me"  or  "we" might be)
With pen and pad and many things to say.
But every person has his or her way
To speak unhindered (rightly, also free)
So while we are all speaking, who hears me?
And yet my need to speak won't go away.

I'm really just an ordinary bloke!
Although I am good, some things I do are bad
Because I'm human, just like other folk.
Stop blaming men, the brother, son or Dad,
And making us the culprit  - or a joke  -  
If we're not perfect: that's what's really sad!


               Naum Tered
               April, 2002

What Woeful Wrath is War

What wicked waste and woeful wrath is War!
Is there no better way to end disputes
Than tanks and bombs and armies of Jack Boots?
Why can't we find a way to feed the poor
Without them being worse off than before?
Meanwhile, the rich elites are in cahoots,
And fabricate the news in photo-shoots,
And disregard our cries of "Please No More!"

Is there a future for this world we love?
Is Heaven happy with this dismal fate?
Wait! Is our fate determined from above,
Or is our destiny what we relate?
We can fly as an eagle or a dove,
And slay the world, or leave it to grow great.

Naum Tered
March, 2002

Moved to new ISP and checked: August 2003
One word changed (fear to love) and Naum Tered identity adopted: October 2016