How long can Mankind's world perform
Without a common language norm?
This world that many tongues divide
To satisfy some primal pride
But cannot, in a global sense,
Dispel mistrust and ignorance.
While every tongue should be revered
For its own worth - its place endeared
Within its context each embraced,
Its local, native, customs traced -
We still need one tongue which should be
Developed interactively.
But now the many languages
Our history encourages
Reflect the man-made boundaries
Of geographic destinies
With self-protecting vanities:
Racial, ethnic conformities.
A spoken, written common base
That can be practiced face-to-face -
To share our thoughts and hopes and fears -
To discuss freely peer to peer,
Not translated through others' voice
Or speaking through selective choice.
One common language taught with care
To people living everywhere -
To help nuture a stable world
That all can share - and well deserved
That gives a sense of worldwide pride:
A common language to provide.
i stared at the blank canvas
brush in hand
a dab of black
eager to make it's mark
i put a spot
then another
and another
a clan of black
not done enough
i put some more conformities
no painting, just painted black
Conformity!
~kcm
19 Apr 2023
Celestial sphere by sums explained,
numbers in melodic scale referred.
Trines in building block of expression,
energies and its obsessions.
The 27 club of famous death,
and the rock n roll loving it.
Jimmy Hendrix and Brian Jones,
Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison.
Amy Winehouse, Kurt Cobain,
time of death at 27 all the same.
Karmic edge of all Mars energies,
rights of passage time memories.
Self-destructive energy of the warrior,
facing death and its tragic behavior.
Mars skills to perform on the other hand,
bringing new worlds into command.
Process of generations against conformities,
speaking for the searching truth relatives.
27 or 9 when added, 3 nines multiplied,
in fight for that freedom sacrificed.
The dire soul of sorrow in expression,
seeks life through death as session.
Immortality closer to become,
messages from where their sang.
Rebelliousness... or normal conformities;
Individually, as they do have differences...
Awareness can easily detect absurdities,
Yet, who'd truly ignore rebel utterances?
Hobby works are rarely publicised, or true:
Who'd decide what's acceptable for verse?
Rebels cannot be disciplined, couldn't do;
Simply keep quiet, accepting it's adverse!
Please, come to my world: Scotland/Alba,
Rebelliousness flourishes within our souls;
Graciously, welcome to share our mantra:
FREEDOM actually achieves all your goals!
© Ewen A Morrison
e. 8.10.20
'Rebel Poetry'
Rebelliousness... or normal conformities;
individually, of course, have differences,
a person's definitions may bar absurdities,
yet, who'd truly ignore rebel utterances?
Amateur writings are rarely publicised, so
who'd determine what's acceptable for verse?
Rebels can not be disciplined... no can do...
should one keep quiet: accept it's adverse!
Otherwise, come to my world: Scotland/Alba,
rebelliousness flourishes within OUR souls;
wherever from, welcome to share our mantra:
FREEDOM eventually achieves all your goals!
© Ewen A. Morrison
Denounced in the sunlight
the collective glass glitter cold unrepentant
only the homeless meander divest
only gutter and litter offer solace
on the graffiti spent a park bench
there is no other place to rest
Between tiles and floors and abandoned doors
implacable confrontation with welcome arms
only the comfort of training shoes
only a collective impersonal
ignores the stench of traffic fumes
and still the children breath it in
Amidst the festoon in colour glorious of plenty
begs the transient hand of a last short lived
a little compassion pleaded on the pavement
hunger scratched at piteous attempt
and belittled beneath the scorn
hidden behind a sunglass reflection
Interminable parties illusion of community
compressed and stacked in repetition
every fashionable uniform of diversity
marches the streets pacing homogeneous
stare blank
a multitude of nothing else to think about
Edifice scraped and scratched through soul
no more purpose other than the skin deep
surrogate submission of life
the paltry excuse of cement
around its entrapment weaves
the delusions of social conformities
As I sit and howl at the Moon
I take form in the light
running in the night
chasing the sky
moving with clouds.
Im wild and free
my feet hit the ground
footprints in the cold mud
i become stripped of society
as i become one with nature
wind blowing through my hair like trees
this is my compass
i navigate throught the forests of life
the rain pours as i dance in beauty
the river flows down the valley
as i unveil the real me
naked in the wilderness
i rest with the beasts
i tame the inner me
run from the conformities
to who,what calls me home
I am done being your puppet
I am done fulfilling your wishes
I am done living your life
I am done being you
Living to throat clenching social conformities
The unbearable heat of me supposed to know this and that
I am done admiring you
I am done thinking that you are better
I am done walking on your footsteps
Mobbing up my pain with tears to please you
I am done you building me like Lego
I am walking once again with my feet
Once again I breathe for the first time
The fresh air of freedom like lilies -beautiful
For this is the last time I live you
I am done
Conspicuous behavior that mundane
in copious conformities derange
invigorates its ignorance by assuage
and instigates its feeling with demurrage!
My severing of connection from this bond
so deadening to my effort, stealing fond
the ears of fate are listening like fool's pond
does bully up its messages among!
God help me not to fill their wanton snare
but in Thy trust condition my aware,
and to thy hope, in courage count my prayer
as thine alone, between us . . . and do share!