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Graham Ross Poem
What madness
We are killing the healers and paying their killers
Bound to the pound and signed our own fate
Consuming its rot confiding in demons
looting the land and soiling the seas
The mother is burning the father is frail
Its shadow is creeping its whispers are vile
The machine it runs rampant its controls are all broken
Our storytellers are paid to swim with its tide
Is this the best we have to offer?
Slogans selling you tomorrow
Copyright © Graham Ross | Year Posted 2024
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Graham Ross Poem
If my light should fade tonight
I will miss the little versions of us and the improvements to the world they will inevitably make, their silliness, their growth from nothing to everything.
I will miss the long trail of creative genius that I've marveled in for decades
The music from Bach to Waits, Guthrie to Jungle.
That feeling of being home with notes, melody, rhythm swirling and soothing me to my very core, the warm glow of connection to people I don't know.
I will miss the quarry of thoughts and dreams in the heart of a book. The dazzling and pretty language of Joyce, the brutal romance of Rimbaud, screams of love from the gutter.
I will miss the terror that comes from looking at Goya, or a Carvaggio. A nightmarish image from the shadows of our soul. The psychedelic landscapes of Turner or the blurry beauty of monet, not crystal clear but a perfect vision.
I will miss the cool soothing breeze, the earth on my feet, the raindrops on my face.
I will miss her kisses, her perfect soft skin, our connecting eyes, her touch on my arm, her voice saying sweetheart.
I will miss our love
I will miss observing acts of humanity, kindness and compassion, truth tellers and relentless seekers of justice.
I will miss the earth, the sky, the stars, and all those places we will never reach.
I will miss life and all its bull, pain, joy and beauty.
Copyright © Graham Ross | Year Posted 2024
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Details |
Graham Ross Poem
When life's winds begin to fade
when that great sunlight sinks into the shade.
When your song skips to that final chord, when some think they are heading to meet their lord.
It's the final page of your longest book
the lovers eyes in the parting look.
When your temples ruins begin to cave, you've run out of all that time you saved. Your sun will hide and your moon will rise, you will feel the last closing of your eyes.
You will trace back over simple steps
of days of angst where old weary crept. Over days you gazed passed simple pleasures
a cooling breeze a silent treasure.
Don't feel the swamp of the western ways, you've breathed the air and lived your days. You've drifted through your journey blind, youve walked through the forest of your time
Rejoice in the end in the things you received
the lessons in loss the peace you achieved
The days where you felt that your body was old
The times you could channel the depths of the soul.
Copyright © Graham Ross | Year Posted 2024
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