Category: Uncategorized
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Three Wise Men
The heights were cold in the old bones,the lowland warmthe desert hot in the dayand freezing by night.Still they came, a paradeseeking God, who had called themwith a star. Many a night huddled for warmth,they sought other signsbut only a star in a cold bright skyanswered them with mystery. Many months passed and many sights…
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Autumn Dance
Over the dying countrysidethere the grace of God glows,As death reachesfor the green foliage,so, the creator reachesFor a palette. A rainbow of colours,exotic in array.Covenanted to returninexuberant joyAs the faithful SpringtimeReveals her plenty. Shall we dance thenin the joy of Autumnand rise in the gloryof our Spring?
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The Angel in the Flak Jacket
The Angel stood tall, the flak jacket contrasting carefully his glowing, golden skin. A man caressed his clattering, carnage making machine gun, ——– a tear crept from the corner of his eye and slowly slid down his cheek. While the soldier considered the hungry endangered crowds for another kill. —– The child lay at the…
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Walking:
soft leaves brush my face, and powerful, small bird song fill my ears, the breeze refreshes my skin, the earth gentles my footsteps, the sun warmth reaches me through the webbing branches and somewhere there is the pulse of water, to quench my thirst, my eyes tearing up as I find the first tiny pyramids…
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Thorns of Capitalism.
Their words were strong and like a sword, penetrating the wisdom of wealth, opting to stand up and be counted. The listeners shocked, leering, reeling, pointed at their form tenderly kneeling, Slowly they rose and started speaking astounded. A smile danced in their countenance, their lips spoke their ordinance, “If my words are hard to…
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Crisis
I waken, crying, for the Middle East eruption, corruption, for the Russian occupation of a sovereign nation for women and children fleeing before raping soldiers, desperately seeking food, shelter, safekeeping. -=-=- I watch the news with sinking feelings, leads to kneeling and crying out they’re stealing the lives of children, breaking promises, torturing prisoners, hostages…
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The Healing Poet?
(Inspired by R S Thomas) Dipping his head the poet drank from the depths of his soul, there in his woundedness lay memories of such pain, Remember me they cry, we can wound again, write us out, share our bane. ——– Still, he wrote, and I’ve heard, a despair sore, poems written, stored,…
graceatthemargins 