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NOT MUCH CALL FOR PLOUGHSHARES.
(This poem was born of a Newsnight blogger's comment in 2008. Serendipity in 'spades'.)
The arms of the world reach up in despair
A desperate child, with no mother there;
As the armaments industry fashions war-ware
There is not much call for ploughshares.
The artisan’s hand cupped Britain’s prowess
When the smith made and mended the tools of success;
His arms now hav...
Saturday 9th November 2013 2:32 pm
An Ode To My Bro
Ode To My Bro
A personal homage!
You’re my brother!
And it’s sad that you don’t come round
For offerings of food –
Perhaps a Sunday roast,
It’s always got to be at your home
Or neutral ground,
And the coldness
Is like that of stone –
Polished to a high degree of status,
But I’m your brother man –
And though we fought like
Cat a...
Thursday 31st October 2013 11:05 pm
stroke
stroke
no words
blood ricocheting
in all directions
going places
where blood should
smoothly flow
not rush headlong
apologies
made by sign
for dragging me
seventy miles
to see
your broken body
no words
thinking
is this it?
is this all there is?
will I live
the rest of my life
motherless?
no wor...
Friday 6th September 2013 7:29 pm
She, Mourning
She pressed her hand against the marble, felt its words,
Ran her weathered finger through the crafted names.
Many faces that had long since adventured,
Left for others lingering to bear the pain.
The autumn sun caressed its face and warmed the stone,
She drew it through her skin and let it stay a while.
Her silver head was bowed, her company her own,
To spend a few more moments...
Monday 2nd September 2013 11:43 pm
My Mother In Law, My Mon
I called you
Mom from day one.
You called me
Shirley, sometimes
you called me Hon.
But I had
to let you go,
I had to say
"Good Bye."
But in my heart
I said,
"Mom please
don't die."
That was more than
ten years now.
Sometimes I
still cry. That ...
Friday 12th July 2013 12:17 pm
Trapped Inside
Painting by Jennifer Davis
Trapped Inside
Every river longs
To swell memory to ancestor size
And reclaim land that belonged to her
Old Woman River
Running naked in the sun
Carrying waste and toxins
Along with grief for dead things to a sea
Transporting esoteric knowledge
No one had a taste for
Unlike clockwork she forgets nothing
Though she sometimes wishes sh...
Friday 22nd March 2013 5:48 pm
Mum
(This was an attempt at a villanelle but I'm not sure if its quite the right structure . .oh well)
I only wanted to help
And when I offered to get you some shopping
It wasn’t me saying you’re not up to it any more
I only wanted to help
Thanks for the cup of tea
But when I offered to make it
I wasn’t saying your tea was bad: far from it
I just didn’t w...
Wednesday 16th January 2013 5:44 am
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