Day: April 18, 2023

Fear of writing sonnets

I’d love to write a sonnet but I  daren’t
For in this steamy heat it’s much too hard
So please don’t send me messages that taunt
Nor with disdain compare me to our bard.

Not all people have poetic skill
And  what I have will sometimes fall to dust
Like virtue,  writing’s not done e by the will
We. wait gorvgrace ,as every human must

In  the mind, an empty bowl of space
We keep to catch the offerings of the gods.
It’s more like contemplation than a race;
For freely, quietly we receive the good.

The lady’s not for   turning words to gold
But with a  chosen few she loves to mould

Is there sacredness in this world now?

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We sense the sacred in these peaceful walls
Yet men have died in places that appal
Women too and children then unborn
Fell into cold dark earth in lands forlorn

As our weapons grow, our hearts are hard
The people live in Gaza behind bars
The water all polluted as taps drip
Is this war or is it vengeance fit?

In Britain, it’s the poor who lose the war
As it was when Jesus Mary bore
Yet here are clerics blessing marching bands
A military show for all the land

The genocide in Europe of the Jews
The self destructive actions of the proud
The fields of France filled sick with blood and bone
Who are we to cast judgemental stones?

The War’s not over when the fighting stops
The soldiers and the tortured suffer shock
The widows and the parents all bereaved.
The unborn children hover in unease

We let the prisoners out from camps of death
But who would take them in or take their path?
The injuries will travel down the years
As still we fight and still we live in fear

It’s Europe’s grasp and greed which was the cause
Of death in Gaza, Syria, in long wars
Yet we judge we are more civilised
When we self defend with bitter lies

The face I loved to contemplate

The face I loved to contemplate is gone

The image dwells no longer in my mind

I once was sad to see it when I woke

Now I’m even sadder by mind blind

All perceptions fade if not renewed

The ones we loved the most still disappear

Perhaps when we’re asleep then they return

We are passive though our love’s sincere

As I grow old, I lose their shape and form

Yes I see the smile before he died.

I helped him to the river and the boat

Now he Is no longer by my side

Such loss includes the images as well.

Into cold dark earth his body fell