In life’s fierce storms, I stand, my heart’s own mission,
No wound can pierce me without my permission.
The world may rage, its arrows sharp and swift,
Yet I decide if pain gains my admission.
Words like daggers, thrown with cruel intent,
Fall harmless when denied my heart’s submission.
For I am sovereign of my soul’s domain,
No trespasser can breach without volition.
The scars I bear are marks of battles fought,
But none can claim they won without condition.
In love and loss, in joy and bitter strife,
I hold the key—no hurt without decision.
So let them come, with all their might and main,
I am the gate; I grant or bar admission.
For in this truth, my spirit finds its peace:
No one can hurt me without my permission.
We all have goals we'd like achieved.
The goals we set we find endeared.
We think our folks should also care.
To see how well we do and fare.
Alas, they don't, and we are shocked.
Sometimes we feel our path is blocked.
Are these the ones so close and dear?
Are these the ones we brought so near?
We try to stand despite the pain.
We try to fight with might and main.
The goals are hard to live without.
How hard it feels to live in doubt!
We start to fear the goals we had.
We start to feel so bad and sad.
There come to play more pits and holes.
We can surmount by such big goals.
The joy we feel when we succeed,
Is hard to tell or share indeed.
So, hitch your wagon to a star!
Success is sweet and not so far.
Brexit Sonnet No. 43
‘I am the one that makes your fight worthwhile’
Do not abuse or despise my favoured cause;
For I am that one that makes your fight worthwhile.
I will not give up, I will not fold nor pause,
Nor cheer as we proceed down Devil’s aisle.
Without me, a hollow toll your victory rings;
For I am the one that makes your fight worthwhile.
I will not resign, believe in naive things,
Nor cheer as nation chokes on bitter bile.
No bags pack I, no plane nor ship to board;
For I am the one that makes your fight worthwhile.
I will not go quietly into that night O Lord,
Nor let go of that, that Brexit doth defile.
So oppose I will, with all my might and main,
Sense and wits may leave but I… Remain.
©Keith Murphy
The Vikings were a race of men
That conquered many lands
They fought their wars with might and main
And power in their hands
They sailed the sea in dragon ships
Explored and conquered well
But now their greatness lies beneath
The rolling ocean swell
Mine is a road that has no definite ends
Mine is the truth that always bends
Mine is that terrorising expectation that transcends
Mine is the unspeakable news that every sign portends
Mine is a sun that shall not shine bright
Mine is a group of stars but yet no light
Mine is the hurtful feelings that all shall incite
Mine are the flames of chaos that shall ignite
Mine is the sorrows, the horrors and the pain
Mine is the pandemonium your tomorrows will not contain
Mine is the evil from which I shall not abstain
Mine is the iniquity that will be instigated with might and main
Mine is all the damage that cannot be undone
Mine is the intensity that shall exceed that of a scorching sun
Mine is the moment that shall and WILL be the only one
Mine is the one left after all is said and done
Mine shall extend from the setting of the day through the break of dawn
Mine is the disquieting atmosphere that your violence shall spawn
Mine is your innocence that the fury of my conflict shall descend upon
Mine will be done over and over and over again until I am gone
O Dear Lord! I`m real bushed
to bear my shabby cross.
It is so hard an` I`m collapsed,
legs sinking under loss.
I close my eyes and have a scene:
a flock of men on a road.
By viewless power it is set,
in its strict limit hold.
And one by one they move along
the way in single file,
marking a day with a white stone,
bearing crosses the while.
As well I drag mine on the ground
with might and main forlorn.
To me their crosses are just found
not to be very long.
Being very tired, drop my log
and saw a little part,
for me to carry, furthermore,
for it just to be short.
I keep on going, soon I see
a point of destination.
There`s an abyss in front of me,
I cannot reach the nation.
Those people, without any buzz,
to join the parts together,
put heavy crosses over abyss,
of two evils the lesser.
I stand alone. It is my fault.
My easy cross fell down.
I cannot pass, alas,... that part...
a lump felt in my throat.
I open eyes and have a scene:
here lies my shabby cross.
By viewless power it is set,
I have to take it, Gosh!
(from a Christian parable)
A grain of truth,
the grit of life,
the pauper, a richman,
who knows of strife.
An incoming tide, an
outgoing train, leaving
or arriving, it’s all the same.
Strive if you must with
might and main,
to live,
to die or gain.
For fate has its say,
gives of its time,
some luck
and sometimes a prize.
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