This is a decade that many wonderful things happened;
I was born, the reign of hard rock began,
Michael Jackson began to moonwalk, Cars became smoother
on the road, Cold War reigned, and also a time that soul music
massaged our souls and emotions.
This is a decade that never dies. People who were born
and lived in the 80s still live, the music still exists in hard-drives,
teenagers have immortalized the fashion sense, and
my yellowing birth certificate still lives on, with one piece.
Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for
Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain
Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin
I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail
Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled
Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss
How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run
I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance
James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "
Footsteps heard from afar
Caught in the glimpse of
Strange shadows on walls,
the unknowable visor of
approaching men in uniform,
wedged in the unbroken frames
of those shadows;
Carrying their guns and arms,
They throw a basket of broken
Legs lost in the war, a dump yard
Of human remains
And there through the window
Struck by the very first sight
Are those pair of peeping eyes
That seek answers for all that is
Left and is yet to come,
They speak of all the pain
Felt in the anguish of the bygones,
A struggle to fight for
All that is fair and just,
To level the men of his ‘breed’
One amongst many born unequal
They see affected patterns of color,
The raunchy division of scattered
In moments of solitariness, they
Look ahead into the future with a
Vision so pure;
a utopian ideal it seems
To many of his kind, unachievable yet
Worth fighting for, for years
Of unsolicited beatings, they
Only wish to see a world of
Equals, the world as a homogeneity of
Dark and blank pieces,
Men of ‘his breed’
Stand up to wrong all the
Blank pieces covered in shadows
By the ‘darkness’ of their own
So a world without
Fear would be created for once,
The end of a gruesome chapter
And the beginning of a liberal one
Eyes of Seminary – Zamreen Zarook
Every day in our lives has different fragrance,
God give us various things in abundance,
Day by day knowledge is gained in accordance,
Things depend according to the attendance.
Two years of studies,
Helped us to come out with various abilities,
Extremely joyful moments with buddies,
But life said every aspect has its boundaries.
Teachers become very friendly,
They approach us very kindly,
They speak on us exaggeratedly,
Because they know, if not we might behave badly.
Big shots in the school boundary,
These are years of foundry,
It helped us to find and go for laundry,
Marvelous days, fully packed with sundry.
Various angles the kith and kins are civilized,
It’s because our knowledge is enhanced,
Guys and girls turned well experienced,
That’s why we call it levels of advanced.
The engine: Long and black
And sleek as she could be
She shook the earth in her approach
As her heraldry.
An atmosphere of steam and smoke
Expanding in her wake
The Queen-of-the-Rails speeds on
An arrival soon to make.
Massive is her presence
Enormity her design
Power is her excess
This Queen is so refined
Once she ruled with majesty
When o’er the rails she flew
But … now, this one last time,
The railway bids: “Adieu”.
Slowly when she comes to stop
We see she’s thoroughbred
When water, steel and hard, black coal
Within her there are wed.
Her regal-ness resplendent
In fittings’ shining bright
Commanding our respect
O’er the rails of her last flight.
Now sitting at the siding
She’s puffing rhythmic breath
The museum’s destination
Of her life commits its’ theft.
Photographs will mimic
Her image of today
But missing from those photos:
Glories of Yesterday
When o’er the steel she thundered
Demanding from all who saw
Respect for Her grand power
Which held them all in awe.
But Glory, she found, was fleeting
When “progress” came to call
Her future then was set in stone
In the writing on the wall.
Now we hear the brake release …
Her throttle then is moved …
She inches down the shiny track
Where the land with steel is grooved
Then as she gains her speed
And whistles out her “yell”
An announcement for all to hear:
“I know I’ve served you well!”
She’s journeyed through the ages
And a boy – an old man now -
Watches as she fades away -
He waves, then shouts out: “Ciao!”
But in his mind is yesteryear
With his dog there by his side
Watching near the railroad tracks
Where the Queen-of-the-Rails did ride.
And long from now whenever
He says: “Remember when …”
In those times of reverie,
She’ll come alive … again.
Ships float up forever out
Pilots who once sailed seas find new spirit
Airborne crafts fill the air
Children grow into machines that take them away
Earth was once their only home
And now the universe in endless boundaries is theirs
Geared up for foreign playgrounds, gone in an instant
Eternity is only minutes away and just beginning there
I am a dreamer
A dreamer to own a bicycle but never got one
I am still a dreamer
I am a dreamer
A dreamer who wanted to play a set of small pieces of plastic toy-soldier
But I can’t afford to buy one
But I got the hand-amputated one
I picked it up in a canal of mud
I am still a dreamer
I am a dreamer who loves to play “sigung”
Because this is the only piece to play
And a toy that is easy for me to avail
I am still a dreamer
I am still a dreamer
I am a dreamer who wanted to have a car
But I got tank in my ancestor’s homeland
I am still a dreamer
I am a dreamer to finish a degree
This is which everyone wanted to get a job
But I need to go abroad to be professional slave
I am still a dreamer
I am dreamer to own a shop for a bicycle
For me to give gift to the one needs it
But cannot afford like to buy like me before
I am still a dreamer even without owning a bicycle before
Until today I am still a dreamer
I only owned myself who was created by the mercy of God
That until today I am still a dreamer
I am a dreamer, and still a dreamer until today
I am still a dreamer, Tausug dreamer
That one day, as a dreamer my dream would become true!
The wood that built the place I see
Came from a forests far away
It's age is hard to guess
But every knot knows life's quest
By the looks of it I'd say
It is pine
Can it trace it's life
Back to creation time
Was it singed by the commet
That once came to land
And was responsible for the end
Of the dinosaur clan?
Did it survive the great flood
While Noah and the animals patiently bobbed along
And Finally came to earth
With a Hallulia song
Or was it a seed that traveled along
As the ice age swept the land
And managed to plant itself
On a very distant plain
For centuries it did survive
It's young gathered round
Until that fatel day
A man with a saw, hapt to pass it's way
It's life as it had known it
Was never more
It'd been turned into a barn
For animals and chores
It's life finally met defeat
And for a century or so
Was once again subject to
The winds, the rain, the snow
When I finally found it
It was then I did know
This disheveled structure
Could heal my heart and soul
I bought it and with loving care
With every board I did share
The love and memories of my years
And blessed them all with precious tears
And now we sit and share the years
These boards of pine and me
And know that it was fate itself
That set our souls free
An image of a man stands serene against the rock cold wall
Vigilant eyes study the distant city
Elongated and curved shapes form in his mechanical mind
Only nature there to sense it’s out of place motions
The cybernetic organism, alien life
Coming to life on the barren world
A living machine, automaton, a time sentinel
Built with purpose
Watches with singular intent
All there is…. all that’s left
Never flinching…. Nearly motionless…. somber in demeanor
This replica of humans holds solid ground and waits
Programed to move occasionally at times
To generate power in its core components to survive
The guardian of humanity stands
A solid figure with a small metallic vile
Sheltered within hides a remnant DNA specimen strand
(It is the last fragment of human’s survival and hope)
Nestled deep in the power source
Atomic silent and serene it keeps the centuries still
In time to come, with luck
The cyborg will be cracked open like an egg one day
Perhaps by another benevolent humanoid race
To reassemble the family of man from the remnants left
Or the time sentinel will roam the Earth alone
Carrying humanity along literally in the heart
In an endless awakening from alien sleep
No one to ever know the secret that he keeps
When I met her , a very old lady she was , yet inside lay a frightened child .
I felt my heart cry , I felt as if I was touching history itself , as I made this older lady, child, chai .
I remember the day , and so many tears I have cried
I have cried before she and I met
As a child , so many tears, left confused inside .
Not understanding Why , and how could we stand by and live our lives as if this never happened ?
It happened , we are left in dismay of the movies seen the accounts taken of History
My self ..I have caught stereotyping the very people whom did this to she , the rest of her Family erased .
The white candles we light , we try and forgive , or just simply block this pain out completely.
It occurs , over and over , as it has been said History will repeat .
When thinking of my children , when I think of that little girl losing , cold and scarred , feeling only defeat .
There is a lesson here and I pray , that all whom have been taken from life , have no pain and are gifted spirits throughout eternity . May they be warmed with love, and reunited with the ones they lost .
The first time I met her , her old hand I took and warmed it with mine , I held it for a long time .
You could not, but notice ..the Evil imprinted on skin , the Evil only to remind.
This very old Soul , in her eyes you could see .
The child that once lived , so innocently free, not aware yet, of the Hostility .
I speak of a Little girl, I speak of a old woman , I speak of a Jewish, chosen Religion.
There as I held her frail , old hand , a brand , a number stamped in Evil a long time ago . In 1945 , once in our distant, yet Frightening past .
We should never forget , never forget it happened , never forget all the names .
If we do , we have learned nothing , A World living in Shame .
" Etta Babooshka Kofman "
There was an old sort of people that once took to the beach
These old sort lived the beach and waited for the sunset
They were old as time itself for they never aged
They were of the beach and the beach was of them
They watched every sunset from time began
It was there eyes that made the sunset come and it was there sleep that brought about the night
They forever watched and always kept everyday holy
One day it was late and they were waiting for the sunset
It did not come and they wept
They disappeared into the night and were never seen again
1984 Has Gone.
Nineteen eighty four has gone
But still it's not too late.
George Orwell got the date all wrong
But he recognized our fate.
His words are being acted out
You can see it everywhere.
George Orwell was a prophet man
His truth's at you they stare.
And so we sit, the TV on
As we stare into it's rays.
And the adverts roar so loud and clear
and with our minds they play.
"You must have this, you can't do that
They tell you how to live
And all they think you need to know
Though they haven't much to give.
And everyone be taught to think
Just like the one, the other.
As little bricks they each be formed
But the truth's kept undercover.
And not too many want the truth
Or even think at all.
So me, I turn that TV off
It drives me up the wall.
On Roman ruled British isles,
On a sunny morn
Forth century on the day of Ides
Our Patrick was born
To the deacon and his wife fair;
A beautiful morn
And priest grandfather who care’
Their Patrick was born
He, young and bright as a button
This could be clearly seen
Was Patrick the lad and glutton
Tall for his age at sixteen
Taken as a slave to nearby Eire
At tender age sixteen
by knavish raiders – this not fair
Long time not to be seen
God visited Patrick in a dream
On this Emerald Isle
When revealed to him to stream
Patrick broke rank and file
He boarded a ship and set sail
left this unwelcome isle
In Britain to tell all the tale
Then Gaul - priesthood and file
In 432, back to Eire to convert them
A land green with shamrock
From their polytheism to stem
Worshiping even a rock
To explain the Holy Trinity
He used the shamrock
Enlightened them till affinity
They accepted *The Rock
To explain the Holy Trinity
He used the shamrock
Enlightened them till affinity
They accepted The Rock
They are wearing the Green
They are wearing the Green...
*Rock of Ages
21 January 2013
Cosmic Contract Soul Mate - Haiku
universe at large
opens up, looks down, confers
bug winks back, confirmed
Building a Better Box
To build a better box to store more things
Full of history, memory and other rusted stuff
Tools will have to cut and kill the trees
Trees will have to die and change their shape
Hinges made of metal will forever seal their fate
Nailed down, shut off in permanency
On other dates trees will be cut and killed again
To build a better box to store more memories
Close the lid and go to sleep
Stay there as it ends and come to a stop
Sealed up and in eternity
That which remains within will turn solid
To become the box
How winter blights Haworth’s thin panes,
ice crusts the vane,
but graves seem crowned
in softest down.
The sisters dip their weathered quills,
but Anne gets chills
tips Charlotte’s tea.
They shut their eyes, they’ve seen enough,
for one now coughs
and lace reveals
a scarlet seal.
The Bronte sisters, Charlotte, Emily and Anne lived at Haworth parsonage with their brother, Branwell, and their father, Patrick Bronte who was an Anglican curate. The sisters were very close and penned novels and poetry that are still enjoyed today. Emily died of tuberculosis on December 19th, 1848 at the age of 30. Anne followed her a year later. Charlotte died in 1855 at the age of 38. Haworth and its cemetery are now visited by thousands of Bronte fans each year. It is my dream to one day walk its halls, see the room where classics were born. For a photo of Charlotte’s goose quill click on the about this poem link.
Like the folded petals and bud, I'll bloom and flower..
Like the worm, I'll change and I on metamorphosis...
Like a seed, I'll grow and bear fruit..
Like a baby crawl, little by little I'll stand...
Life is a constant continuous progress..
Even our age passes the time..
Time a nonstop reminder of events..
Mirror a reflection of unstoppable changes..
Yet, deeds and actions leaves irreplaceable imprints..
Through even decades sprint...
Life is Harsh, Life is good
Only the few of the proud
Those men that stand for a great nation
Their life at the stake
So rough and sharp
Every day is another challenge
For them and for all
Freedom we all hope
But sometimes feel lost
Never give up that spark
Hope don’t give it up for a price
And when I see these great men and woman
Risk their life for a single child lost
With guns all around and wars of hate
I feel blessed as my country truly stands brave
A child is a gift of new life and hope
As I see the children in their arms saved at last
Only then will I ever know true courage
This is a path we should always cherish and follow
When the flame burns out nothing is left but stay strong
So please don’t shed a tear I am right here
By your side always and forever
Our country stands not alone, but as one
Heart filled with love
Poem for Treasures of Your soul contest
Sitting on the rocker above the street
Chair takes its station with the man, old and weary
Placed there in time to look out side
A broken window holds them both fixated on the day
Cracked in several places caused by storms and age
Five or ten passersby stream past in a flash
They can’t see him due to the tinted fractured glass
Events spirit them away in any case, in any event
One cannot be preoccupied in the mundane or number of the day
They seize the moment and shrink in size, meander down
The wharf is a welcome warm distraction with sun and sea
Out of reach, out of sight, at a distance, beyond the old man’s vision
The window glares complete indifference to these matters
Down to the shore men march against the storm
With nowhere else to go they come and go again
Maniacs cry for such lives as theirs
Someone used to bring reports and papers
To forecast disasters and read about times gone by
But no more; that time has passed, eclipsed by history
Old man gets all his news by looking through the window
Through it life stares back through cracks
Rising past the damaged world into the bungalow
It seems like everything is somewhat fractured
Like humans, window and the pane, will crack more over time
Mediators to the universe, a microcosm of themselves
They see all things unfold although distorted
Real things happen every day out there
Old man catalogues them all in a glancing gaze
On his rocking chair beside the window
His glaring friend in pain is there
To share his ways and gather up the moments
If I had lived yesterday
in that chaotic world echoing
of Gatling guns shots and canon blasts,
I would have made a difference:
hate and prejudice would have not prevailed,
and power wouldn't have been abused;
from History's records, we know that even
when Jesus lived it wasn't that peaceful!
During the American Civil war,
Northerners fought Southerners...
did they hear Scarlet's desperation,
or the moaning of her loss as war went on?
And for sometime, it had become
a modus vivendi she couldn't change.
Let's return to the stark reality of the present:
have we noted some drastic changes
in Government and social behavior?
Yes, it has given us more liberty,
but another war has shattered many hopes
of ever seeing peace as blood continues to be shed...
while nations arm themselves to their teeth!
How can we welcome those winds of change and feel safe,
if we tell our children that danger still exists?
And has society been kinder and more caring?
Obscenity, teen sex, violence, greed, vulgarity
and exploited sexuality are being condoned by many;
we wouldn't be that cool if we didn't use obscene words,
and worst of all, we are called hermits or asexual
if we abstain from sex to prevent those sexual diseases!
Is this rebellion, or a trend of the new generation?
Having unprotected sex, making babies,
laying the burden on their Government that's fighting
a terrorist war? Do we seen any future
for these lost kids who imitate the habits of their parents?
Blame them? Ah! Lots of things would be changed,
if they turned to God and ask for His guidance!
And to end my visceral narrative, I shamefully confess,
" I hate to live in this loathsome age of greed!"
A hundred-ten year old soldier was interred in Arlington Cemetery today.
Corporal Frank Woodruff Buckles now sleeps nigh his comrades in sacred clay,
Awaiting that glorious morn when Gabriel's bugle will sound that final call,
To fall in for the last calling of the roll! Corporal Buckles will be standing tall!
"Taps" was played echoing far beyond the hills of Arlington into the misty past,
Reminding all of brave men who were destined to die or were horribly gassed!
Courageous men who willingly placed national destiny above their very own,
To ensure that our precious and hard-won freedoms would ne'er be overthrown!
Only sixteen, he lied about his age trying to join the navy and marines with no luck,
And was told, "Go home before your Mom knows you're gone, you young buck!"
He told a bigger whopper telling the army recruiter he was all of twenty-one!
The sergeant, looking for warm bodies signed him up, thence the deal was done!
He was promoted to corporal and served with distinction as an ambulance driver.
After serving in France, he was honorably discharged, returning a heroic survivor!
As a civilian he was a prisoner of the Japanese in the Philippines but was kept alive,
And was rescued after three years in Los Banos prison camp in nineteen forty-five.
He proudly represented the 'doughboys' of The Great War as last man standing.
So much, so very much to him we owe for his service was most outstanding!
That venerable symbol of America, the majestic Golden Eagle, cried,
On the day that the old veteran, Corporal Frank Woodruff Buckles died!
(Corporal Buckles, the last American survivor of World War 1, died 27 February 2011, at the age of 110)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
In time, days, months to years
Is the failure of relationships
In January to July to December
And the shallow of rivers
In July, August to September
The destruction by earthquakes
In January, February to December
The reshuffle of accidents
In lakes, roads and in air
The manufacture of acids, guns, and robots
In laboratories, industries and employment areas
The color of rainbows
Blue, green, grey
The personality of people
Conceited, gloomy, temperamental
The training of soldiers, students, and also religions
In academy, schools and institutes
The birth of children
Over years and years all over the world
The truth of lies
In homes, schools up to work places
The palace used oil lamps for centuries
It came time to make a change
Electricity installation and wiring began
One thousand light bulbs were delivered
One hundred fifty watts should light things up
Each light was sealed within its box
No way could they get out on their own
The small boxes holding bulbs began to rise
Broke open the crate that housed them
Floated down the hallways of the castle by themselves
Then began to light up on their own
No electricity aided in this process
As wire installation had only just begun
The bulbs in all their mystery flew free
From the boxes that restrained them
Hovering along the corridors at night they roamed
Lit up brilliantly expanding but only for a moment
Before exploding, glass fragments, filaments flying
Cascading in the air in one big storm and burst of life and light
Before falling to the floor in one strange ghost like mist
A green dim glow of mystery, mess and chaos
The owners of the palace did not say a word
Did not venture the smallest guess or inquiry
Being dignified, regal and obviously, intelligent in front of friends
The palace went back to using oil lamps
In Saudi Arabia they say…. Oil is man’s best friend….. Oil is the best
My father and my mother sat me down one day
to tell me how wonderful that I was growing O.K.
The years passes by as I got to be a teenager
with high hopes of becoming the first young manager
Life turns out a manager job is not for me
so I kept things to a minimum working hard you see
My family had taught me with all do respect
the life we lead is the image of our age in an aspect
Like queens and kings we bow our head
to the people who is wiser in age even when dead
Life as our guide the time we have aged
is what we leave behind that we are gaged
In prospective we are the stars and we are the earth
because we age and leave behind a new birth
To those that seek such blessing of heart
remember this age is respect for living from the start
Do you remember your father, mother, and teachers
they are the ones cheering you on, sitting on those bleachers
America, the land of the free, catering to the wealthy and pushing the poor.
Blacks are all but exempt; they are seen as property and nothing more.
California brought into this nation by gold, as a false equality,
Demanded by some to spread the systems of vast irrationality.
Extradition in compromise to abolition.
Fugitives thrown back to chains, complete pacification.
Grace, all too fallen from, that was this nation.
Humble as many others were, one woman changed the nation.
Illegal activities by abolitionist became the norm, in hopes to stop degradation.
Johns and Janes educated in the taboo subject of the naive.
Kings and knights replaced with tyrannicals and elderly slaves.
Liberty and freedom for all,
Men and woman, Black and White, all readying to fall.
Night falls, creating a stage for the quarrelsome show.
Oppositions face each other, their bodies ready to feed the coming crows.
Position between this and that,
Quarrelling over the proper way to skin a cat.
Runaways are forgotten for the time being,
Say it so, as many were fleeing.
Tackless politicians following a false tradition,
Utilitarian, one may say, on their decision.
Vicious out cries spread across the nation following
White men's decision to take a stand being,
Xecute the evils of the world.
Yells coming from each side, each saying they are more moral'd.
Zephyrs blow across the grasses, to contrast what is to come.
Ancient Time Collapse
Ancient time collapsed on mirrored distances
Taking history, its ripples, down in the sand
Lost in the reflected wide eyes of children looking up
They will never know what time it is
Archeologists use the suns surveillance guidance system
Sextants by sea employed, sojourning to history
Compass by land, to point the way more solidly
Tools help them seek the depths to find their level
To shed light on missing times and parts gone dark
Sun fills the void once opened on the past
Apparently there is not enough light in the sky
Clearly there is not enough sight in the universe
To find what they are looking for
Exposing oceans of rocks and sand
Not much more
Mysteries undertaken in the making of the dig
Scientists unearth, burn, work, bake under sun
Nothing found underground can live forever buried
Mixed together, former human parts with sand, comingling there
Winds grind and blow the bones around about the rocks
Exposed on surface, air turns remnants to powder, so everything is fine
Mirrored in the distances are facts and fiction
Hollow words that fell through cracks
Collapsed with long gone columns
Not so solid at this hour
What stories history could tell us if we reassembled ancient artifacts
Separated them, along with sand and stone and bones
Still on the most wanted list of history
Forgotten and unknown
Super Nova – Haiku
cosmic void opened
super nova explosion
bathed in light, reaching
Golden Glowing Biscuits
Eohippus at the dawn of history rides off the earth
His son the dawn horse rides out on the day
First through a lush field of heather up ahead
Guided by shifting westward winds
Then over the hills of clover running to the cliff
Down labyrinths of canyons crooked paths
Past the canna, columbine and hollyhock bursts of reds
There, just over long green grasses beyond the pastures
The animal takes a break
Relieves himself, releases golden biscuits to the earth
Which aid the fertile fields to grow and flourish
If all the things I have right now were taken away and I had nothing left I would fantasize about nature and how beautiful it is. I would imagine that I was swinging on an old tire swing in front of a river. In the river were little ducks and I would go feed them. In my life right now I don’t think of nature that way. I think if my freedom was taken away I wouldn’t take it for granted the way I do and I would know how much it actually means to me. I would also imagine my family getting together for my family reunion. We would usually have them in September. My aunt would make her fancy white cake topped with chocolate drizzle. My grandma always made her jello cake; I still don’t know exactly how she makes it. The others would bring KFC, at least three boxes full of chicken and fries. All the kids would sit together and play games and laugh as we threw food at one another. We would have a game where the kids lined up from age 1 to age 13 and you would get to pick a prize appropriate for your age. I would always get stuck with bath soap and tooth brushes.I take a lot of ordinary things for granted and I think a lot of people do but they won’t admit it. Sometimes I even take life and my freedom for granted. I think that if maybe we wouldn’t take things for granted like the trees or our freedom that maybe our lives would be a lot better and things wouldn’t happen the way they do. I have lived long enough to know that it won’t happen, nothing happens the way you want it to. Just a few months ago I lost my grandma and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I took all of the things she did for granted and now that she’s gone I miss her. She used to make this tuna casserole, it was just amazing but I never told her just how much she meant to me. I think if I would have told her that more then I wouldn’t feel so guilty or depressed that she is gone. I never told her what I needed to. If people could use the words of John Lennon “Imagine Peace” and actually think about it then maybe the world wouldn’t have to end because there wouldn’t be any enemies, murders, drugs, none of the bad things would have happened. If we could have just accepted everyone around us for who they are and known that one day we all have to die, we could have stepped back from it all and said I had a good life and I don’t regret any of it. I think it’s no good to step back from something and tell yourself that you could have done something to prevent it.
A Lady Unknown
I have a photo of my grandmother, she looks so
young and beautiful, her hair glossy, but there
is a paleness about her and a sadness in her eyes,
It is a death has sought her out cast a net of illness
around her, ready to haul its catch and devour her.
I know little about her, where she came from, was
she an angel that found its way to my grandfather´s
heart, one who became human out of love but knew
she could not stay? When I look in the mirror and ask,”
Have I got your eyes? She looks back at me in grief.
I say I know who you are, the lost, daughter of Manus
the one he expelled because he found kindness in
your heart? Her eyes, deep as mystery lakes in May,
look at me in silence, but I do see a flicker of an ironic
smile… or was she the lady of the camellias?
I see tears swell in her eyes, depression grips me
as heart ache of love betrayed, shall I ever know
who she was… this woman who bore five children
and died at 27. It can't be so there must be more,
not only this bleak silence of the untold.