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.

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.

 

War Questions

lucy

What will a kiss profit me, or thee,

When her lips are cold as the icing sea,

What will a smile for her life now,

When her eyes are blind to the golden bough,

What will a touch, an embrace arouse,

When her heart lies still in a bloodied blouse,

What will a cry, “Oh, lord, save us,” bring,

When gods are false as the praises they sing,

What will tears wash away in the night,

When the fountain is deep and far from the light,

What will the words of holy books heal,

When the soul of man is bayonet steel,

But though I ask and ask and ask, I can no answer hear,

To make me wise, nor bring me cheer,

So dig the grave sure, I shall my dear,

And impart my only ring,

As turtle doves swirl past and sing,

And village bells in mourning ring.

Winds of Woven Dreams

 

CirclePainting2

 

The wilding winds of woven dreams,

Torment the seas of time,

And in the air that no man sees,

There is the scent of crime,

 

Of sorrow, truths and hidden lies,

The face we all disguise,

The ready masks and old clichés,

That hide among the wise,

 

Of passions chained and sleeping rage,

They cannot exist,

But watch them burn and brightly flame

Among the freedom kissed,

 

The night is long, and rarely lit,

By reason or its kin,

And in the cavern dark and dim,

Madness makes its din.

 

 

See The Green Flag Flying

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(On the news of the death sentence against Saif Al Islam Gaddafi )

See the Green Flag flying beneath the desert sun,

And see the brave men marching, and the women armed as one,

To fight the plague of locusts which chaos sent from hell,

In fear of all things caring, where profit does not dwell.

See them fiercely fighting the killers and the thugs,

The ones who stand for nothing, or only stand for blood,

Their courage never failed them, no need of NATO drugs,

They fought for all we fought for since the days of Noah’s Flood.

They fought for education, for women and for men,

They fought for social justice, for all they had won then,

A republic of the people, and of a small green book,

In which were found such wond’rous things the very heavens shook,

But then the NATO planes swooped down, like vultures in the sky,

And ripped apart the body with their bombs and with their lie,

They flew and circled every day “til all the blood was bled,

Til they cried, “ we came, we saw- he died,” and laughed to see him dead,

And now their dogs in Tripoli howl and bay for death,

Of those who fought for freedom and will with dying breath,

They called a broken room a court and made some bandits judge,

Like poor Saddam Hussein found out, the Yanks can hold a grudge,

And now they want to kill the rest, with death they’re generous,

For we are all their enemies and Saif is one of us,

So turn your heads and listen, and clench your fists right tight,

For these vultures need some fighting and it’s we who have the might.