A simple poem: devious plans

Storm

Storm (Photo credit: Moyan_Brenn)

She walks by the river

Slowly she treads

Scarf round her neck

Hat on her head

Just a slither of light

Falls down on her face

With eyes cast low

She picks up her pace

Storm clouds now gather

A bitter rain falls

Alone in a nightmare

No justice, no laws

The twenty first century

Held such hope

But now there is nothing

To keep her afloat

She smiles at a stranger

Who hurries right by

This child from a manger

Condemned to die

Loved ones will mourn her

Tears will be shed

Those without honour

Brought forth her sad death

Her blood on their hands

Yet they show no remorse

Their deviant plans

Drowned out her life force

Time to move on

What do you do

When the world frowns at you

When your life’s upside down

Is there hope to be found?

 

Where do you go

When the rain turns to snow

When your life feels insane

Is your psyche still sound?

 

How do you know

When the words are all faux

When the light’s a feint glow

Is your ship run aground?

 

Why do you stay

When your heart starts to break

When the give is all take

Is your freedom now drowned?

 

Who do you tell

When you know it’s a spell

When the tears start to flow

Is your life come unbound?

 

When do you know

It’s the last picture show

Now its time to move on

Let the darkness be gone

ship

ship (Photo credit: deepwarren)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The ones we have lost

The ones we have lost are not lost at all

They’re here by the sea, on the sand and the shore

In the world that we know, they may not be seen

But their spirits live on in our hearts and our dreams

The ones we have lost are not lost at all

They’re here in the clouds, a sun ray and rainfall

In the world that we know,  they may not be heard

Their voices live on through the sweet song of birds

The ones we have lost are not lost at all

They wait by our side until our curtain call

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When our time comes, then we shall be

Walking the shore, hand in hand by the sea.

In memory of my very special Grandfather (whose birthday fell on 17th February) and my dearest and deeply missed Mother (whose birthday fell on 19th February).

Waxing and waning like the moon

Moon outside the window

Moon outside the window

I’m tired. Drugs, drugs and more drugs take a toll.  I’ll be pleased to see the back of them, to feel  fresh and clean and vibrant again.

When I’m tired, this kind of cancer-treatment tired,  my writing tends to suffer. My life-long friends vocabulary and meaning abandon me, my speech suffers too.  Fortunately none of you can hear me talking, listen to my words jumbling together or catch the sigh on my breath as I stumble over a sentence yet again.

It would be easy to succumb to this kind of tiredness, to let it wrap its arms around me and drag me down into a deep, dark tomb of perpetual nothingness.  I refuse to let that happen because I know my brain is still here and physically there’s nothing wrong with it.  With a little encouragement it  has the ability to function and like it or not, I’m unwilling for it to slouch off into retirement just yet.  In spite of the fatigue I prompt it do something and today’s something is a poem. I hope you will all enjoy it.

The moon looks through my window, a shimmering glassy gaze,

She shines bright, cold and restless and dreams of summer days.

The moon turns back the darkness, a deep black-purple night,

She creeps across the heavens, a passing satellite.

The moon observes Earth’s trials, ancient, mystic, awed,

She casts a beam for lost ones, their spirits often laud.

The moon looks through my window, she sees me here today,

I smile another welcome, she’ll watch me fade away.

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