Showing posts with label love and peace. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love and peace. Show all posts

Friday 1 January 2021

It's Our Time.


         HAPPY NEW YEAR to all my associates, friends, comrades, brothers and sisters, known and unknown. May your life be a long healthy walk  in a meadow where love blossoms on every stem, friendship drips from every leaf on every tree, happiness and peace your constant companions.

Visit ann arky's home at https://radicalglasgow.me.uk  

Saturday 25 April 2015

The Lonely Wynd.

       As the national poetry month draws to a close, time for more personal thoughts.

The Lonely Wynd.

At the bed, death's waiting room,
the family muster,
with empty words wrapped in thoughts of death,
gaily chatter.
Outside, hungry birds feed, sing and fly,
their chirpy songs seems to call her death a lie,
but summer's sun
reaching through the window pane
sadly smiles,
knowing they'll never meet again.
I wonder,
in coma wrapped, what were your thoughts.
Pleasure,
looking back at what used to be?
Pride,
at how, to this life happiness you brought?
Perhaps it was a welcome rest from pain
a just pause in your long struggle,
alas too late, this emigma with me remains.
So rest, in your rest, peace be your gain,
for you dear mother, an end to trouble,
as love's boundless force could not break
death's firm grasp upon your heart,
passionless devouring cancer,
unmoved by prayer on our part,
took your hand along that lonely wynd,
death took time
fused the moment on our mind.
In the midst of family
alone dear mother you had to die.

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk

Sunday 21 April 2013

The High And Mighty.


   You could say that today's poem follows on from the previous post.

The High And Mighty.

Politicians, high priests of the holy church 
of greed,
yours are the crimes from which the many
bleed.
See, vice and corruption make their
stand,
and with brutal tyranny, walk hand
in hand:
your arrogant minds, lost in ambition's
cloud,
oblivious to the suffering of the humble
crowd.
When poverty's knife makes our people
bleed,
your cancerous power is all you ever
feed,
holding high some ego-inflating avaricious
plan
that divides, soon pits man against
man.
Now anguish and war mark your mad
career,
covering our world in the brume of
fear,
then shedding youth's blood by cruel
deceit,
with spurious pomp, lay the guilt at
another's feet.
As we fall heir to a plundered
land,
you tyrannts walk in manner
grand,
what must we do to make you 
yield,
to see our children play in a bloodless
field?
Smash and crush your dark nefarious
power,
allowing love and peace to freely
flower.