Sky image from ‘Composer in the Garden’
All I have are words now
words are all I need
typed, texted, scribbled out
dribbled out of me.
Pleading words, asking, begging
verbal therapy
Waiting on reply, words
Words said absently
Words poured out in fire
through the scribes of centuries
Both comfort and question me
yet remains to be seen..
Do I have the words
or do they possess me?
to wrestle…
Strive
Battle
Combat
Struggle
Contend
Grapple
The kind of gentle fellow who lends us all an ear
Who shares the clothes off his back and casts out all our fears
With but a word and warning, that nought can harm us here
When the power of the all mighty, is ours but to revere
As such, a simple gesture, to pluck off his collar in haste
Trading robes of white for white, a blackbelt round his waist
Just as Jacob endured long night, these duelling fellows and dames
Eternal glory for the fight, lest we forget His name
For the young Reverend..
I remember the feeling so clearly
Something severe was amiss
Walking through doors they smelled fear
Walking through streets was bliss
The occupation was gradual, silent
It crept in through a crack in the wall
The war was bloody and violent
The defences shattered to fall
The trenches were flooded with spies
Who traded their various wares
And carried off secrets, supplies
No innocent person was spared
Then the cavalry came riding free
Rising up with the glorious sun
Led by heavenly beings in three
They fought for the freedom of one
Staring at the new day sun
veiled fog above the rise
Translucent hiding perfect sphere
Shuffling mist smears the sky
Exotics and their native mates
Sit alongside still and wide
Spreading out their sparse leaves
A kaleidoscope of fire
Wet and deep the colours blush
the damp lit canvas glows
Woollen warm-blooded bodies
Rise and graze their nose
There are some who hold the notion
that they owe their very lives
to another one’s devotion
their compassion helps them thrive
So an endless lifelong debt
is paid out every day
in prayers and thoughts and dreams
and acts of kindness to repay
Plain and simple
Anyone can see
For women like me
We whistle while Rome burns
a woman who carries on
the backbone of history
People like Mama
to resist occupation
understand the language
of your enemy
– The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver, p.435
‘The Exodus’ by Orleanna Price
Johari tells me not to worry Out the bottom window view Must be Pavlov who knew why When sad I like my food Freud agrees he can call His sister's name instead Maslow says I'm all sold out If merely housed and fed Thorndike's clear your looking good Is why you're a kind soul Should have listened to Myers and Briggs Why you hog the remote control. Horn rimmed glasses image
While you were sleeping the sun arose
The children cried and the TV’s glowed, illuminate
While you were dreaming the fire glowed
Dew drop windows sheltered us from the winter’s first frost
Apples falling to the sodden ground
Life lies dormant beneath our feet, waiting to rebound
One can barely control
Thought
Life
Let alone
Dreams
Twice more we
Dream
Talk
Feel
Cry
Hug
than men.
His design
Smothered the earth
With her love
If the world ran wild
Along maternal lines
Would there be twice less
War
Loneliness
Homeless
Hunger
Orphans?
There is passion in the making
Of love and war
There is pride in the taking
Of power and appearances
(What purpose is the peacock?)
Our nurture
Eternally felt
Hurt
Blame
Shame
Disdain
Our nature
Tragically felt
Just as strong
As love
Created and redeemed
Overthrown and unseen
Hidden self…
God knows
Yet loves
So, do I?
For Kate..
Count the stars of heaven 
