Eleventh month when the Sun parched the toppled trees
Winds of South rallying on bended knees
Birds and beasts plunge on tarns and soft mountains
Running waters congealing like sedentary fountains...
Only one tree will stand tall
On Christmas Day as dusts and spalls begin to fall
Two days of live still pictures
On painted strokes and prilled erasures
One spark will clear the brume and waves of the unknown...
the hygge!
*Not a poem to start controversy
Imagine bombs falling all around you
But you don't have a clear reason why
Who is one with secrets to say another is worse?
As destruction falls from the beautiful sky?
I, as an Independent ask to know
Why a country dictates another?
When did people stop being equal to bestow
as war times begin to smother?
These words are not to start controversy
They are only to process what's going on today
And search through the chaos for mercy,
in a situation put upon us today
In the murky waters, there's a rallying cry for peace
It has been this way all the while
So why is it in the clearing so far away,
in these years of bombs and endless trial?
Heidi Sands
3/6/26
(C)opyright
* If it is about threat of being attacked here, why not stay here and defend our country?
ghostly bones lie in wait in the swamp of New Orleans
the plantation home understands their keening and wailing
who else hears? is there anyone left to mourn for them?
the wind rustles the cattails, mosquitos are rallying
murder city, some call this place; especially the sign readers
occasionally visitors will pay the price by being inquisitive
some leave; others are condemned to stay with the others
the house gloats at the demonic powers of her land
girl in white sits in the reeds, watching the visitors
making decisions as to whether she will release them or not
she was the first victim of the killer who lived here in 1903
today’s visitor has lovely blonde hair, she always was jealous of this.
She carved in my bones
Before I could comprehend
My body was a temple
But she never mentioned
How it was crafted from stolen stone —
Every wall lined with ancient scripture
Shame plastered over the cracks
Commandments hung like blackout curtains
Every hymn was a rallying cry:
Kneel, obey, don’t you dare question
Go on and bury that doubt
But
Did she count on my defiance
I was labeled a vessel--
But never the storm
Her god demanded sacrifice
So she chiseled away my essence
To fit her fragile frame
My hips; forbidden gateways,
My tongue: an unholy scroll of secrets
If this is a temple
Then set it on fire
Let the flames scream louder than my demons
My body is a temple —
But it belongs to me
And I refuse to apologize again
With calloused fingers, and ink-stained hands,
A poet prepares for battle.
Searching for the calm in the storm,
Paused, poised, and still.
A deep breath in.. a long exhale;
Their pen becomes a weapon.
The power it wields, undeniable;
It spills truths, immeasurable:
The blood of a shattered Nation.
The pen: a weapon; a battle-cry.
Rallying masses to follow its lead.
Demanding justice, answers, and equality.
The poet, constructing, and carefully crafting;
Their words, building momentum.
Lighting a beacon, leading us all -
Towards a beautifully rare Rebellion.
Rise for there is a stirring and a calling in the air
Feeling Divinely touched in a moment real and rare
Flooding holiness making every heart and soul aware
Proclaiming to all that this is an answer to prayer
Rise for the Spirit is declaring it is time to wake
Slumbering no more for the battlefield is ours to take
Anointing poured out so thick every soul quivers and quakes
Rallying we march out for the enemy’s camp to break
Rise for Jesus the Christ is standing at the right hand throne
Singing fills the air in a powerfully joyful tone
Forcing the foes to flee as the banner of love is flown
Pushing ever forward for to us victory is known
Rise for God the father is calling to take it all back
Rescuing from the pit those whose heart and soul have turned black
Restoring all whose faith have fallen to despair and lack
Establishing his kingdom as the final great love act
Brave indeed..I've thought to long on what
To write.? She stands with Jon Wedger; both fighters for childrens rights.. i ment this is a tribute.' Yet maybe its also a rallying cry.? My prayers are for her safety
I beleive her contribution to humanity
( should be written on UK skies) why not
Great mention of her in media? Or of Jon?
Or the countless more.' Who strive to bring the light of truth.' With actions with
Hope that makes me dare.' To think some
Will be lifted.' When they realise there lives
Those who will stand, though gagged and banned with worthy hands, that an encouragemant shall ever live.'
dawn-born bubbles rise
lifting in glass to the sky
an exultant choir—
ringing a sacred mantra
to summon the faithful throng
the soft incense clings,
invisible yet binding,
threading through the mist—
binding spirits together
all sharing a common breath
wind shakes the blossoms
perfume drifts out as a lure
for lone foragers—
coming back with a new dance
a waggle step hymn pathway
one for one and all
though small they rise together
heart tuned to one pulse—
a common proud heritage
ancient unbroken alive
when threats bang the gate
when summer's furnace bears down
wings thunder like drums—
rallying to guard the home
defending their holy ground
let us circle close
songs and breath woven in thread
of effervescence
gracious in our common cause—
fizzing in chalice of light
The chorus of criticism
echoes unblessed
Where millions hide waiting
misled and repressed
Destruction and mayhem
the rallying cry
With freedom the villain
— in hope’s genocide
(The New Room: February, 2025)
Everything you see is fashion
From just simple tattered dress
A carpenter hammering a nail
A boy riding a bicycle
A lady poses for a selfie
Throng of people walking the street
A taho vendor in the sidewalk
An office lady typing on her computer
A simple bartender mixing wine
A cook cooking in a simple kitchenette
A construction worker hauling debris
Those passengers lining waiting for a bus
A painter painting sunset at the bay
A mother breastfeeding a baby
A cow eating grass in the field
A bee hopping in every flower sipping for nectar
The busy street like Binondo during Sunday
The passing of the Comulus clouds
The scattered leaves on the backyard
The birds plucking dried grass for a nest
The ads on tv commercial and billboards
Those ramp model ramping on a stage
A newscaster casting the news on tv
Two person playing chess religiously
People in political rallying on the streets
People praying inside the church
A family eating their lunch on a buffet resto
Two people walking hand in hand
Everything that is not moving and moving
It's all fashion for me.
Once upon a recent time not long ago
A beacon shone, its brilliance aglow.
With a vision as vast as the starry sky
This light embodied, Kwame Nkrumah, our pride.
Dreaming to free Africa from colonial shackles
His resolve unwavering, his spirit remains.
Pan-Africanism his guiding light
Igniting flames of hope, burning ever bright.
In his wake, empires crumble and fall
His voice a rallying cry, heard by all.
"Forward ever, backward never!" he proclaimed
A legacy etched, his memory untamed.
When rallying for a cause, do not indulge with or ever be,
a Provocateur, or you will surely fail your cause in solidarity.
We can do hard things, giving it all our might,
With steadfast resolve, our spirits take flight.
On life’s arduous journey, we’ll find our way,
Through woes and challenges come what may.
We can do hard things, like Queens and Kings,
With valor as our guide, we conquer all things.
In the darkest hour, when despair seems to win,
We draw upon our strengths deep from within.
We can do hard things, like vast rivers forged,
In unity and purpose, with help from our Lord.
Obstacles might loom, like Mount Everest tall,
But with faith in ourselves, we’ll scale them all.
We can do hard things, like two boxers in a ring,
With patience and true grit, we’ll bob and swing.
Though the road is rough, and the Odyssey long,
Our spirits are resilient, and our resolve is strong.
We can do harder things, like loving our enemies,
No matter the problems, no matter the disparities.
So let this be our universal anthem, a rallying cry,
We can do hard things, while we reach for the sky!
Knock softly, when a child's dreams unfold,
A lullaby of hope, a future yet untold.
Nurturing their innocence, with love, protect,
For in their tiny hearts, the world's hopes reflect.
Knock gently, with love, upon a friend's abode,
A sign of care, a bond that's forever sewed.
In times of need, in times of joy or strife,
A knock can mend the pieces of a fractured life.
Knock loudly, when injustice must be faced,
A rallying cry, a call for truth to be embraced.
In unity, we stand, against the storm's dark tide,
With knocking fists, our strength cannot be denied.
Knock, oh seeker, on the door of your dreams,
Where reality and hopes converge in silent streams.
The echo of your presence, like a whispered plea,
Unlocks the gateways to what might yet be.
With each knock, a question, an open door's embrace,
A chance to find your purpose, your destined place.
Knock, and see what wonders lie in store,
For every knock, a new adventure to explore.
ancestral colours
rallying the clans
Culloden day trip
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