Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Ghosts of the past

If they could still be watching,
what sorrow they would feel,
at seeing that we did not learn;
how war still rules our world.
But soldiers are our shadows,
and no war truly just,
just lives the powerful sacrifice
to hegemonic lust.
We tell ourselves it's justice,
these battles then and now
but ghosts of truth will haunt us;
hypocrisy revealed.
If time peeled back its layers,
then we would see so clear,
that there is little honour;
no death can be redeemed.
These men were ghosts before they died,
phantasmal and destroyed,
by battle's bloody terror;
by truth so long denied.
Fate had made them killers,
for some ephemeral cause,
and sold their souls eternal;
as every war has done.
There's very little honour,
or glory in it all,
and even less integrity,
no matter what we're told.
The blood, the death, the misery
have taught us nothing much,
for if they had then war would be,
a phantom ghost itself.

Trick or treat

The eyes were wide
with child delight,
expecting that the treat,
would offer something pleasant,
and not the trick revealed.

N.B. Halloween has not been an Australian celebration so this is a different take on treats and tricks.

Eight small stones

1. Spring sat silent,
Winter spat in Summer's face,
Autumn grieved alone.

2. Black cloud on winter
falling toward bright Summer
as if possessed.

3. Your tears fell slowly
upon waiting, grieving heart
to heal in sighs.

4. The moment drifted
onwards through a gentle smile
to settle on me.

5. Words wilt through me,
dribble into sullen places,
denying knowledge.

6. The mind rises
Holds and
Lights the way
Through tangled
Thoughts and
Swamped emotion.

7. Dancing fears and
Creeping lives,
The mind rises
And holds
The light.

8. So often life
Feels crumpled,
And yet within
That crushed feeling,
Such beauty.


Tuesday, October 30, 2012


You sold yourself for your own gain,
in an emotional sense,
corrupted our relationship
and called me whore instead.
There was no way that you would see,
the truth of who you were,
and how your actions labelled you;
revealed your inner core.
It was the lack of conscience,
morality and truth,
which labelled you, not me;
your actions were the proof.
And yet your own venality,
unscrupulous and raw,
left you without integrity;
made you the real whore.


3: a venal or unscrupulous person

The storm

Memories of a hurricane when I was living in Bombay. Thinking of people in the US at this time.

The storm is bared with bitter teeth,
As windy shrieks torment;
The sinking day is ravaged
The night is fully rent.

Within the howling arms,
we shudder to the floor;
Close mind and eyes to sight
And pray for peaceful dawn.

The shattering of windows
With glass in vicious dance;
The timber splinters wilfully
As homes are torn apart.

In small and shivered huddling,
We know ourselves as borne
On arms of deadly wondering,
As Mother Nature yawns.

The eye is hard upon me,
The mouth spits vicious breath;
The storm in violent birthing,
Creates, destroys and rests.

And in the silent endings,
As whispered words are held,
The living drag back into life
And death rings mournful bells.

The night has fallen into day,
The storm into itself
And life returns to broken calm;
Where order creeps in stealth.

The Moment

Is there in the moment
All that there could be;
Or is there in the moment
All that there should be
Or is there in the moment
All that there would be
Or is there just the moment?

Monday, October 29, 2012


Who sorts the thoughts within my mind,
which brings the day to be
in names and judgements negative
to peace and harmony?

The dull and dreary does not live
unless I say it is
and boredom is another name
where reverie would breathe.

What’s in a name I stand and ask?
As mind holds brush aloft
to paint my day with bitter words;
ensure that peace is lost.

It’s in the name that meaning comes,
to make the day its own;
where dull can be a quietness
and boredom, time alone.

Within the quiet, easy days
when peace has come to call
it knocks upon the ancient door
where hope is Word no more.

It’s in the words unspoken
and those we choose to know
that day is made and brought to be,
what we would make it so.

It’s not just the beginning where Word
is found and called,
but in the middle and the end,
that Word does make our world.

So choose your words with care
and hold them to the light
that day may be in brightness
and not imprisoned night.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

When women wish

When women wish for freedom,
they know the truth within,
that they are bound in ancient thread,
to men and all they think.
The way to liberation lives
in power relinquished long,
and damaged dreams of loving;
a war against our own.
We know there is no single truth
which can be brought to bear,
because the battle must be fought
with those for whom we care.
No man is ever called to fight
in such an awful way,
where parent, sibling, partner, child
are  enemy displayed.
No wonder women wait and watch,
and hope that time will bring,
the justice of their cause;
without the death of dreams.

women, men, power, wish, damaged, way think, single, thread, bound, within, we


Within the dull and dreary days
when boredom seeks to call
it knocks upon the withered door
of hope that is no more,

Then can I see the dreams that live
within the sullen breast,
and know that they will haunt me now
and keep me from all rest.

It’s in desire, and wanting life
to be some other thing
that discontent can clear its throat
and loud and brittle sing.

And yet while I can see this clear
and know its truth is cruel,
I cannot seem to shift myself
beyond its narrow view.

The day can be no other
than I deem it to be
and yet to change its destiny
I must wrought change in me.