The old cathedral sits aloof
With toothy tower and absent roof.
Its nave has puddles brimmed by rain,
And silent walls all cracked with pain.
An open window spans one end,
And sawn off columns to earth descend.
Its bells for Reconciliation ring,
For Peace, not Hate that War doth bring.
Brave they are who sit and stare,
And contemplate the lack of care,
For gentle people forced to fight
And what they lost to save what’s right.
Fought to right those awful wrongs,
And paid the price with moonlight’s bombs.
Its bells for Reconciliation ring,
For Peace, not Hate that War doth bring.
‘Coventried’, goes the name,
When people died from air raid flame.
It marked a turn up of the wick,
To long and bloody, not short and quick.
Rebuilt cities tell the tale
Across the globe, of war’s travail.
I’ve rung those bells, their voices rail
‘Let not War, nor Hate, but Peace prevail.’
©Keith Murphy
WE’RE IN COVENTRY
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
We’re in coventry, God doesn’t speak to us anymore
He was quite garrulous for so many years afore
He doesn’t converse like he did many centuries ago
He always had a dialogue with Abe and with Moe
It may be that he’s given up trying to guide
He may abandon us or talk only he can decide
We’ve never listened what would be different now
Nothing
We came from Kibworth
Settled in Coventry
All of this being after the Black Death
The War of the Roses
figured strongly in family tales
King Richard was wondrous
So we were told
I still long for the Hall there in Coventry
When I kneel in remembrance
Never will I forget
What my family worked for
Lived for
And died for
There’s a glade here in Coventry, where we’ll unite
I often climb the cathedral spire
like a pilgrimage
I can see the whole of Coventry
In each corner I see a reflection of you and me
“Send them to Coventry”! I often hear them say
Please send them, send them right away!
We tend to tar a place with the same brush
Painting our perceptions
colouring in your grass greener blush
I love my city
In the Cathedral ruins
The ghosts seem friendly
Pigeons homely, air sweet
Clouds white with a hint of rain
The drops fall on the roofless relic
Like the ancient bombs
Failings of us all
Trying not to be religious
Humanity should think of itself
A bee gathers honeysuckle
People can love
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