blackest black night
penetrated by
sounds of steel spiraling
through the flesh
of old wounds never healed
under the cover of full metal jackets
penetrated by
sounds of steel spiraling
through the flesh
of old wounds never healed
under the cover of full metal jackets
years of differences
fester still
fester still
shades of hatred begetting
bloody canvasses of life in glasgow
velocity and energy and density
no longer marking the weather
now marking the storm of
death on wing
travel path and target
spelling bloody ballistics
random projectiles
of hate in flight
razors of yesteryear
slicing through layers of dysphoria
knives brandished with deadly intent
by children wandering the streets
of chaos and turmoil
their spirits no longer theirs
buried already in the graveyard
of discontent
bloodstains color the hard cracked
surface of their hearts
men in black leather jackets
grim reapers of silent violence
women and children fearful
of creaking floors and opening doors
longing yearning for
the warm sunlight
of what should be
seeking solace and safety
behind locks and chains
husbands keeping watch
with hard lumped metal filled pillows
giving way to sleepless nights
of signs and sounds
waiting for dawn
waiting for day
for another way
just one more day
praying for the other way
trying to make another way
the way of peace and love
the way of love and peace
with the warmth of
brother loving brother
melting the heartless
frigid winter of
despair and desperation
painting in vibrant
life-sustaining sunshine
the canvasses of
life in glasgow
where children frolic
on the playgrounds of
a better life
and mothers sleep
through the night
with their babes
cradled in the soft
arms of peace for all
and fathers and husbands
awake from sweet dreams
of serenity and stillness
bloody canvasses of life in glasgow
velocity and energy and density
no longer marking the weather
now marking the storm of
death on wing
travel path and target
spelling bloody ballistics
random projectiles
of hate in flight
razors of yesteryear
slicing through layers of dysphoria
knives brandished with deadly intent
by children wandering the streets
of chaos and turmoil
their spirits no longer theirs
buried already in the graveyard
of discontent
bloodstains color the hard cracked
surface of their hearts
men in black leather jackets
grim reapers of silent violence
women and children fearful
of creaking floors and opening doors
longing yearning for
the warm sunlight
of what should be
seeking solace and safety
behind locks and chains
husbands keeping watch
with hard lumped metal filled pillows
giving way to sleepless nights
of signs and sounds
waiting for dawn
waiting for day
for another way
just one more day
praying for the other way
trying to make another way
the way of peace and love
the way of love and peace
with the warmth of
brother loving brother
melting the heartless
frigid winter of
despair and desperation
painting in vibrant
life-sustaining sunshine
the canvasses of
life in glasgow
where children frolic
on the playgrounds of
a better life
and mothers sleep
through the night
with their babes
cradled in the soft
arms of peace for all
and fathers and husbands
awake from sweet dreams
of serenity and stillness
10 comments:
You really have a way with words, I admire you very much. This poem is very deep and beautifully written. You're very good at description also. A big hug to you gypsy woman!
I like the dark feel to this one. War is hard to capture.
thank you so much, saucy lady! this piece was written about a year ago and every once in a while i pull it out and show it to the world again - i think it's important to remember that there are places on our planet where not all is well - in any event, again, thanks so much for your kind words, dear lady - and you have a great weekend! hugs back - gypsy
hi alex - yes, there is the dark side - of many things - darker still of war of chaos of any violence - and of such chaos as fills many cities, i cannot imagine but i do know of chaos otherwise - and hope that my words ring true - i thank you for your kind ones here, sir!
Oh... eerie to me almost. I like this. Lovely words you have pieced together
- and thank you for your kind words <3
xoxox
-Isha ethera
This may be one of the most vivid and beautiful pieces you've ever written - and illustrated.
This is what poet and poetry is about -- the voice for the multitude putting into words what the human condition is experiencing life is often filled with hardships and demanding our attention, no matter what era we live in, when it is all over and the next generation looks back they wonder how do we overcome those deep dark moments, and in the voice of the poet lies the answer, it was the striving for peace and love.
Beautiful and intense,
joanny
dear isha ethera - while this may sound odd to some, i know that it will not to you - but i am glad to hear your own words "eerie to me" - that means that perhaps my own did convey the "off sense" [uh, for lack of better words from me!] that i felt - actually, that the little voices in my heart were feeling when this was written - in any event, so great to have you come by and it's always a pleasure dropping by your place, lady! have a great day!
oh, trish, how many ways are there to say thank you? they all seem inadequate when it comes to you - but about this piece, you know it was originally written/posted january 24, 2010 - and it was posted once again about 10 months later - and then, now - each time with a different image and a different "feel" to me - but this time - this time there was, to me, magic when i put these images i'd been working on with the words - the images were the missing final pieces that i didn't realize were missing until i put them together - and then i knew - this one was "it" - anyway, i digress - but am so happy you like!
joanny, i am truly truly moved by your comment - poetry in and of itself - i think it's true - that in the fight/the struggle [for peace, in this case] we find the beauty - the sanctuary - salvation, even - whether it's a struggle for peace or for whatever cause - in fighting and struggling to make a difference comes the beauty - the truth -
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