Day: March 23, 2017

Lonely, we must choose our final deal

After nine months comes the crisis feared;
The knowledgw of a  total,  final loss.
With woeful pain, the soul and heart are seared,
As we feel inside  the frightful cost.

 

The threshold of  this world   and of the new
A place to linger, liminal and long.
We cannot see new landscapes in one view.
With misperception, we risk going wrong.

 

We wonder as we reach the point of choice
Who will guide us when we must decide?
Shall we hear an inner, wiser voice
Or walk with indecision as our guide?

 

Loss brings grief; evasion does not heal.
We may gamble on a final deal

The need to look again till it makes sense.

The confusing swirl of violence broke down walls
And panic rushed  like lightening through the  gaps
I saw folk taking photos, checking maps,
Their phones gripped like a weapon that appals

We visualise what makes up our defence.
The connection to  our absent, kindly friends
The need to make a record of the end.
The need to look again till it makes sense.

A well-known numbness tries to swallow me.
My heart needs its own time to feel the pain
The world I live in is not safe, that’s plain
Say Al Jazeera and the BBC.

Our mask of vapid innocence deceives.
Hatred of this kind is misconceived.

 

Catastrophic visions are poor guides

In childhood, we rely on  love serene
The security of place and people makes our world.
With luck, we will not feel like babies hurled.
Into a change that shatters  what we’ve been

To see familiar places newly strange
With bloodied bodies injured or now dead.
This is not the  tale that we were read
Our inner maps  whirl, minds  flung, rearranged

Bridge, beauty iconic, loved by me.
Met old friends, we sauntered by its side.
Catastrophic  visions are poor guides
Thoughtful and attentive we will be.

Europe’s hit by  enraged fear  from men
Who feel we are the ones who injured them.

 

And death shall have no dominium by Dylan Thomas

poet Dylan Thomas

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead man naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan’t crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.