The stream (all workshops)
Comes another hero from the fray,
No tall steed to ride this day.
A shield and sword are neither had,
No metal suit the blows to pad.
This other hero is of course,
Who steels the blade and shoes the horse.
Who shines the armor mirror bright,
Preparing those who are to fight.
The least among victorious bands,
And with defeat in slavery's hands.
A battle lost for shoe not nailed,
How frequently is smithy hailed?
The spade bites deep into the sod.....
He never minded my slow gait
which at high speed is still a plod.
He'd run ahead then sit and wait.
The hole grows deep, the dirt piles higher.....
He'd seldom fail to lift my mood
when I was filled with some dark ire.
I was not allowed to sit and brood.
He'll like it on this brushy hill.....
He was a friend to everyone
but still had his own strong will
and yellowjackets made him run.
Mapwork by RW
-
Mapwork
inside my eyelids
pressed
white flash
-
traces of magnesium stars flutter
-
fireflies in May between retina and lens
-
is this the stroke, where it begins
-
extremities are feeling numb
-
pay to live now pay to crumble
-
-
Striking laughter winds in rage
-
ripping ground does it assauge?
-
or is it just another reminder
-
of the ants under the spyglass
-
our human race
-
I heard a song yesterday
so familiar to me
took me home to a place way back when,
the melody was strong
and I just sang along;
it took me back to my father again.
I remembered we'd sing
as we rode in the car
sometimes we would sing it again;
we made the choices
as we blended our voices;
I'd like to sing with my father again.
Summer 1947
[Grandma Longo :1874-1947]
She walked in slow motion
with the soft summer breeze
black cotton dress swaying
past her knees
strands of white and yellow hair
floating gently in the air
the ponies had come that day
grandma was blind
I took her by the hand
and she showed me the way.
SS Judas
paper boat
afloat
a massive
puddle
matchstick man
at the helm
papyrus sails
pregnant
by sneeze
your cruiser
catching up
with
my progress
no warning shot
fired
across my bow
you waved a white flag
of slick betrayal
then rammed me broadside
Poor is my country-maybe
Lacks technology! Could be
But I've identity
I'm not a boor "barbarian"
"nor a mad man in the sand"
but rather a wounded human.
I've always fought for freedom
though seldom I have it
I shall yet fight for it .
I'll fight against tyranny
and the meanest poverty
and I'll eventually win
One day the world shall know
the greenest Spring ever grown
in the Arab world.
Inspired by Stan's Spring?
we are all damp
locked in the rains
of our own doubts
christening of the breaking
as each reaches the sweet spot
energy fire is smouldering in
the dark ovid pupil search
the white halo backlit
rush
each word like a flash
drinking formula
of faith
so daring slumped against
the brickwork
rising
the muse of windows
climbing
curtians and flower pots
television angels draped
in dreamy nod
We stood behind you
in overthrowing dictators
on your way to freedom
and self government
your revolutions
Then injected prescious treasure
to help keep you afloat
money we could ill afford
then you went to polls to vote
We hoped that your new govrnment
though run by radicals
would at least act responsibly
hope empty as the desert wind
I guess some day perhaps we'll learn
the lessons of Iran
barbarians when given liberty
turn into mad men in the sand
A light blanket of your arms
my love,
you inside my far away;
the sun shadows roaming
across the sky
into September,
the wild geese
and I.
Pages
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.