When I was a toddler, I remember asking my mum, “Why is God a man” … and now 65 years later, I am left with the same question !! … Today’s poem is a mixture of 4 different stanzas, that somehow they seemed to flow together, and I would like to thank, V.J Knutson, Colleen, and Susi, for inspiring these snippets that I wrote on their posts. (3 women blogger friends !!) … and please readers do not try to read too much into my poem, the piece is a mixture of different thoughts, on different days … but maybe my thoughts were all leading to the same stairway !!
“Her” Stairs
Push forward across the sand
Towards that promised land
Be guided by Her red right hand … V.J.
Some sad moments, you will delve deep
Other times you will feel the breeze’s cool sweep
Of mother nature sending you her heart beat … Colleen
Whoops .. the ‘Go Dog Go Cafe’ reblog action didn’t work again, so here is a copy & paste version of my article on GDGC ...
During the last 2 weeks I have posted a few poems about the futility of war … I’m not very accomplished at writing about the wars of the world, I get far too angry and confused to write something sensible, but this is a poem I wrote about my recollections of the “Gulf War” in 1990.
Return the Bullets
The mind awakens to secret cannons shattering my bed
All the violence of the worlds pounding inside my head
The killing and the maiming of all the innocents who fled
What happens when all the little lambs are slaughtered?
When the peoples of all religions and creed are dead
And we cannot return the murdering bullets back into the barrel
I am afraid
The backyard stairway is far too steep to climb
The handrails are way out of reach to find
And the public change-room windows are covered with bars
Now encircling the city hall, the security backdoor is ajar
Entering the marble aisle, the White room appears vacant
And guileful leaders have run, leaving a chasm of gloomy dark
I am wandering
Where to go, the healing house is full of ugly holes
The citizens cowering in shadows behind splintered lighting poles
And the crumbling streets are awash with rivers of leftover blood
Now the warring bosses have to fight amongst themselves
Throwing poison pens and paper darts at each other
Niether bruised nor battered, using ivory towers as cover
I am terrified
The dusty mushroom cloud slowly settles on the barren ground
With sands of distant lands, shifting into every nook and cranny
We need the good Doctor, to help us cure these alien scourges
And foreigners arriving upon waves of our neighbouring seas
The deathly TV images, wrongly implanted for all to see
As the press only gossip and drivel with selfish glee
I am stupefied
The guns of freedom lands haven’t even stopped the cull
Death to friends or foe, no matter, to the rulers from above
Their only rules, the poor and weak to be kept totally downtrodden
One day the surviving meek shall inherit their radioactive dirt
The rich will feast upon their own contaminated bread
But we will never return the murdering bullets back into the barrel
This Haiku are the words I wrote in a comment box to ‘Cheryl, Gulf Coast Poet’, for her post >> Summer Rain | Gulf Coast Poet … A big thank you to Cheryl for being the inspiration for my poem ..
The world is a pool of people, some are sick, some are poor, some want more, and some are at war … The Featured Image Above: by Derrick Knight, and thank you to Derrick for letting me use his photo here …
Horses for Courses
there is something about the freedom of horses
beyond green pastures and steeple courses
there is something about the purity of life’s sources
from the snowy mountains down the river courses
there is something about the madness of wartime choices
beyond bloodstained lands of the killing forces
there is something about death’s silent voices
riding in wooden coffins down the hearse’s brief courses
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 