A Poem by Pat Craddock

I am angry and wrote this poem today as I sit and think about Fiji.

Written on Monday 22 May 00 - Pat Craddock

Rambuka's Children

George, oh George
Wine from past vintage
Requires a ripeness
Not just a love of the fight
Today you shamed. Have I not taught you to cut
Heads of communicators, tails of transporters?
On Friday your crystall nacht began
George, oh George.
I know your seasons discontents
In your winter winds
I played the soldier life. Yes
We talked of golf
Talked of wives and mothers
Guns I know. You did not.
You hinted I would be a great president. I too
Dream of a hero's life
George, oh George
My son. Bread is burning.
Your beds will never again
Hold the arms and breast of molten girls
George, oh George.
Let me hold you once more in my embrace.
Oh, Suva son
Let me teach you to kill.
You require one bullet, one prayer
Lie boldly before the canoe of warriors
Lie boldly. George, oh George my son.
George, my son
Your father is tired
But, flowers I will bring and eulogise your mad life
As I throw soil on your grave.


This text may have been edited to protect the writer.

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last revision 5/22/00