DERECK ROSE: WRITINGS

A testimony of Flavius Josephus a jewish historian
living at the time of Jesus, John the baptist, James the just, and Herod.
 
Now there was about this time, Jesus a wise man, if it be lawful to call him a man, for he was a doer of wonderful works, a teacher of such men who had a veneration for the truth. He drew over to him many of the jews and gentiles; he was the Christ. And when Pilate, at the suggestion of the principal men among us, had condemned him to the cross, those that loved him at first did not forsake him; for he appeared unto them alive again on the third day, as the divine prophets had spoken of these and ten thousand other wonderful things concerning him; whence the tribe of Christians, so named from him, are not extinct at this day.  

I dreamed that a man came to me and others standing by and said, “we are going to a wedding and the only way that we are going to get there is through the River” and then he disappeared, Everything happened so quickly, before we knew it he came back, at that moment I started worrying about my suit getting wet in the water. As I stood there wondering about things I saw two men standing very elegantly in their suits also beside a big black car. They both had a fire rocket on their backs, and a much bigger one on the back of their car, the two men stood looking at me as if they wanted me to come with them but something told me that it was right to go via the river. The man who appeared said, “Ok those who are ready come with me” and I went towards the waters edge. As I walked to the riverside still worrying about my suit getting wet I could see the river flowing and there were a vast innumerable amount of banana tree trunks floating down like felled timber. When I looked at myself [...]

A thousand years turned into an age
many centuries went swiftly by,
and none has stopped the flow of life
no matter how hard they tried.
Before any seed can ever grow
It is appointed first to die,
oppression of the soul has become so grave
that I now hear the aged ones cry.
Earth is our transitional waiting room
and right-of-way to pass,
the young blooms like a beautiful flower
but soon will wither like grass.
Refuse not the old if strength they have
In society they still have a place,
let ageism become a rotten word
throughout the human race.
Stamp out the abuse and mistreatment
to be stricken in age is no curse,
all have the right of equality
like stars in the great universe.

Sixteen years after the second world war
I walked proudly down your streets,
which used to be desecrated
and covered with firey sheets,
the blitz, the bombs, the siren sounds,
people taking refuge in the undergrounds,
children evacuated to the country side
like cubs taken away from their pride,
families severed, suffered, died
houses burned and bodies fried,
listed buildings torn apart
like they were built on sand,
the angry giant of war passed by
and smote the city with his hand.
It would've broken Sir Christopher's heart
If he was still around today,
to see his wonderful works destroyed
In such an abominable way.
She used to be an over-turned cart
with her wheels spinning round and round,
ravaged and destitute of peace
now she makes a joyful sound,
she rose again from the dead
like the first-fruits of them that slept,
and pushed her way up to the top
Into the sunlight she leapt.
Now she blooms in all different colours
a multi-cultural-flower with white,
blood is red but love has no colour
sweet [...]

The British Isle is like a Bindi on the forehead of the earth
Stuck like a Tilak between the eyes of the North,
She points her behind across the channel
And breaks wind on France.
Ireland is the baby that flutters in her arm
Like a playful dove, a song bird on a farm.
If British inhabitants were at peace
Then all would’ve tasted true release,
But wars and patronage divided her fleece
Three countries, three helms, one Island, one breeze.
When the world was one and the earth was young
And Ireland was England’s noble son
Resting gently upon her bosom before earthquakes were born,
She once embraced America star-spangled with the union
As she soaked her feet in Rio
Reclining gently against Scandinavia,
Greenland was her shower
Where she used to wash her head
But now she’s stuck out in the North Sea
A ruler with three heads.