Day: June 11, 2019

The lights go out

And the pure of heart  will see right to
The beginning of the end of me and you
There are no men, the women look again
There’s something in the fire looks like my pen
But who can write when  all the the lights go out?
The women are not women,  the men are  not about
The shadows dance with winds  on lighted walls
The fire burns  redder and the devils  call
It’s hell in here, baby , keeping  living just for you
Who knows what  to do
With the pointed dancing shoe
Half a pair and the women cannot bear
Labour’s lost
Tell  us what it cost

t

I could see the Pennines

I’m looking for a pavement cracked and worn
But now the council put some tarmac down
I make my images from  objects scorned

Artweaver and Pixlr have been warned
I  use  their tools, their feathers,  and their down
I’m looking for a pavement cracked and worn

My hands are full of lines,my nails are torn
My eyes are narrowed,I  intend to frown
I seek my images in objects scorned

I want  the dead, I want our old brick home
I want to dwell  on  moors near Darwen Town
I’m sure their   features  will be cracked and worn

I remember bilberries  and limestone
I  remember larks,  birds free from   bounds
I make my images from  what love scorned

If I  could see  the Pennine Hills  I ‘d drown
To Anglezarke the water’s rippling down
I’m  looking for the place where I was born
The  cobblestones,the kerb ,the  marbled halls

 

 

 

The future

The enemy we  need  is close at hand
Like a secret lover  right next door
We’re always ready with an army band

Today, it is the husband who’s condemned
For dropping baby’s rattle on the floor
The enemy we  love is close at hand

The wife too is quite useful, here she stands
Her pinafore is torn, her heart is sore
She’s turned the sound down on that bloody band

Cain and Abel, was the killing planned?
Look down O God as we  your  skills deplore
The enemy we   want  is close at hand

We have no  theatre, war  is  on demand
And always it is just and it is fair~
We singalong  and wave our bloody hands

An enemy,a scapegoat, a caged  bear
Absorb the torment  we have just prepared
The enemy we  need  is close at hand~
Don’t kill them all at once, the future’s planned

Peace and War

birds flying near body of water
Photo by SamIro on Pexels.com

 

http://www.teachforpeace.org/PEACETEACHWEB/WarPeacePoetry/POETRYWARPEACE.htm

Today is Not a Good Day for War

Today is not a good day for war,
Not when the sun is shining,
And leaves are trembling in the breeze.
Today is not a good day for bombs to fall,
Not when clouds hang on the horizon
And drift above the sea.
Today is not a good day for young men to die,
Not when they have so many dreams
And so much still to do.
Today is not a good day to send missiles flying,
Not when the fog rolls in
And the rain is falling hard.
Today is not a good day for launching attacks,
Not when families gather
And hold on to one another.
Today is not a good day for collateral damage,
Not when children are restless
Daydreaming of frogs and creeks.
Today is not a good day for war,
Not when birds are soaring,
Filling the sky with grace.
No matter what they tell us about the other,
Nor how bold their patriotic calls,
Today is not a good day for war.

-David Krieger, March 2003
USA

The fragile voice

 
bonfire surrounded with green grass field
Photo by Vlad Bagacian on Pexels.com






The still, small voice no longer can be heard.
The  sacred, silent space  unoccupied
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.

We centre our   whole self on the absurd
For iPads cannot pass through any eye
The still, small voice no longer can be heard.

God no longer feels inclined to share.
The golden cloud  of angels  cannot fly
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.

The altar’s stripped,  the rituals are nightmares.
The ancient priest says Mass and wonders why
The still, small voice no longer can be heard.

A  virtual wall stops grace from being shared.
Jesus is made flesh and  silent dies
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.

No one is an island, John Donne cried
But now there is no truth to satisfy
The still ,small voice no longer can be heard
.No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word