Category Archives: poetry

There Is No Place

 

 

 

There is no place, no friend, no face,

That friendly to me smiles,

There is no joy, no warm embrace,

No dream of Blessed Isles,

Nor anyone to sing me songs, nor speak

Kind words to ease my day,

 

For I am far from you, my love,

And far from peace this day,

For orders came from high above,

In June, or was it May,

‘The battle’s on, the war is won,

‘Attack along the line.’

 

They said I fought for what was right,

But now I know they lied,

For those I killed that cold, cold, night,

Since hugged me as we cried,

And damned them all to hell and more,

For the wasting of our lives.

 

 

 

The 9th of May

 

 

I

Laughter lingered in the cold night air,

Like snowflakes caught in crystal glass,

Hurrahs rang out as tears were wept,

For the lost, returned, for memories kept,

Of the days we feared would never pass,

Unless we burned the monster’s lair.

II

Bright flames flashed from torches high,

Like sunbeams of our victory dance,

Trumpets sang, and tunes were played,

For freedom’s joy, the reckoning made,

With courageous hearts and bloodied lance,

What choice had we, to live, or die.

III

Banners waved like a crimson sea,

Whipped by winds of a mighty gale,

Toasts were made and glasses filled,

For the struggle won, for all those killed,

By bombs, by flames, machine gun hail,

Who died for freedom, the right to be.

IV

Boots on stones shook Moscow walls,

Like drums of gods in victory songs,

Engines roared as planes swept past,

For one last time, this flight their last,

Their courage to us all belongs,

And sung will be in hallowed halls.

V

But then an old man, grey and bent,

Like a lion, old, on distant plain,

Rose slowly straight with upraised hand,

From which there poured a silent sand,

Who said, “This war is won, this fascist slain,

But cursed are we to new torment.”

VI

Then to dreadful shapes he did transform,

As silence sapped our will to speak,

First a banker, then a fiend,

Then of merchants who on death are weened,

Their vile breath of death did reek,

Who rob the world, a locust swarm.

VII

Through shifting shapes he led our eyes,

From ancient wrongs to future woes,

Then changed again, with grizzled hair,

To show us scenes of life right fair,

Where no one slaves and no one owes,

To remember Revolution’s prize.

VIII

“This,” said he, “is now all  yours,

But the fight goes on, you must stay strong,

Though by you slain, they shall return,

If you forget or never learn,

That endless greed breeds endless wrongs,

And those who worship bloody wars.”

IX

Then he turned to walk away,

And left us to our darkening night,

Our joy now tinged with future fears,

As we danced to dry our burning tears,

For all those lost, who gave their lives

For what we won the 9th of May.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Winds Howl Before The Storm

 

 

 

There was once a tree called Justice here

All gnarled but strong with age,

Till a tyrant one night dark, in bitter fear,

With sharpened axe of rage,

Did pile the limbs for all to see,

As he quickly cut it low,

To burn the books of Liberty,

On flames red with murders’ glow,

 

There was once an idea very bold,

Democracy I heard,

Though no one knows, with tales so old,

For they lie with every word,

Dark drops of opium in every phrase they say,

“Have hope, my friends, we truly feel your pain,”

While through the night and through the day,

We wait, in cold and bitter rain,

 

There was once a bell of Brotherhood

That rang loud so all could hear,

From town to town to edge of wood,

But lies silent now with fear.

Cracked, it rests among the tombs,

Atomic ash and dust,

While smiling men in secret rooms,

Plan wars for which they lust.

 

And once there was Enlightenment

And Reason’s voice sang sweet,

Of Rights of Man and truths we now lament,

Murdered with impunity, cut down on every street,

So now we must renew our song,

Our struggle take another form,

For the days run dark, the nights are long,

The winds howl before the storm.

 

An Ancient Dream

 

 

 

Up high I climbed, weary, yet not dismayed;
Tired, yet had strength within me that was steel
Against the harsh wind; sad, yet so that tears
Seemed sweet drops of joy too intense to feel.

Then at the golden Gate I knocked, with the power of my fears,
Knowing how full of woe, yet full of wonder was I.
Through all that night they helped me sleep, to dream
An ancient dream, perhaps the one before we die

Of things unknown that appeared like ghosts through swirling Time,
No harmony, nor music soft spun from magic sight,
Save a single haunting, plaintive, note that to me seemed
A scent of jasmine, carried on a desert wind, at night.

And refreshed I was, with the light of the rising sun,
And by this peaceful place, this haven from hatred’s constant voice,
Wishing the same for all who watch, alone, the crying stars,
Who live in war, unable to rejoice.

The Tea Pot

 

The tea pot sits with ease on the stove,

Like a king enthroned, with mantle steel-wove,

Looking about with an imperious air,

Lord of the beverage, please use him with care.

 

I am his subject and all who drink tea,

For our hearts he enriches and bans misery,

He sagely and warmly revives our bleak lives,

Makes slow hours quick with friends, even wives,

 

He is prince beneficent of calm and repose,

Himself sits in silence, with uplifted nose,

Save on occasion of dividing his wealth,

Brewing ambrosia, from herbs he gives health.

Cell Phone Blues

 

 

You called me, you rang me, so many times,

Told me you loved me, but now it’s all crimes,

You called me, this morning, told me nothing is new,

“We’re over, we’re finished, you’re dead, yeah, we’re through.”

 

I can’t put it down but the thing rings again,

Just when I’m thinking of women, and when,

“Hey, you written that yet, you doing your job?’

“He’s not well,” “He’s nuts, “Say, who did I rob?”

 

When I smoke a little weed, bang, there it is,

“Hey, Bowie died, man, did you hear that sad biz?

They’re going, my friend, like snow in the sun …”

His voice sounding muffled like a soft silenced gun,

 

When I sit at the wheel, just radio drifting,

The thing comes alive, it’s jumping and shifting,

Won’t ever shut up, a real howling banshee,

Now a cop drives by, just taking a look see.

 

“Hey buddie, how are yuh? Say, can you lend me ten grand?”

This guitar millionaire in a rock and roll band,

Then, a one and the other, it makes your brain bend,

The medium’s the message, and this is the end,

 

Now I gaze at the ceiling and watch Chaplinesque scenes

Adrift on the silence of silvery screens,

No more ringing, or buzzing, no more static for news-

‘Cause I’m tired of having those cell phone blues.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Remember Bluebells

I remember bluebells,

Soft, strewn among the trees,

And I remember songbirds,

And running by the sea,

And I remember one long night,

You took your leave of me.

 

You took your leave, without a word,

‘Midst shadows of the night,

Hands outstretched to take you back,

You slipped beyond my sight,

And the only softening sound I heard

Above my falling tear,

Was the distant sound of nature’s love,

In a cricket’s song of cheer.

 

I remember bluebells,

Like stars among the dew,

And I remember mists of rain,

And all my words spoke true,

But aye, you wanted someone else,

And all my words were vain,

As you took from me the rose you gave,

Another’s heart to gain.