Picture of War© (Poem – Racławice Panorama)

Who we were – was swapped that day, as each became a number,

Ordered and drilled into lines, we gathered in sonorous slumber.

Opening gate was easy, walking through just a blur

Not prepared for what awaited me, anticipation jolted nerves.

 

Then and there it struck me, stretched out on canvassed wall

Film from long forgotten days – recording our unsavoury traverse.

Stood aghast I marvelled, confronted by picture of war

Nature of human sacrifice, described only in rancid curse.

 

He was there to greet me, stood proud with fixed bayonet

Blood leaked from his temple, towards me, he appeared to stretch

He coldly glared with gritted teeth, expectant of my move

I froze a chill and stared at him, determined to disapprove.

I called him Killer – Murderer.  Accused, he remained unmoved,

Evidence scattered all around him, yet, his rifle remained unused.

 

Thatched log cabin had seen better days, and this was to be its worst.

A red dress wept behind it, hit hard by reaper’s curse;

Onlookers marched carrying grim scythes, kin prayed for all their worth

Captain pointed the way to all, leading bravely – no fear of first.

 

Dust clouds rose hiding the scramble, as regiments met to clash,

Muzzles raised and set to fire, cannons too close to blast.

 

Crooked was the body, which rested in the dirt

As his friend stood beside him, wrestling to stop more hurt.

Other bodies were lay strewn, empty of their souls

Enviously staring up at me: uninjured, unharmed and whole.

 

Sweeping hills encircled, tranquillity trapping all,

Horses race along the track, while riflemen bet they’ll fall.

Echelons waiting in the wings, skirmishes on the side,

An unconventional duck shoot: hit target from its ride.

 

Generals stood on vantage points, seemingly beckoning me to report

As quickly as I checked in, they’d already turned to observe

Cavalry flanking left and right, riflemen in medley

Pikes and staffs could not hold charge, still the peasants did their piece.

 

Dizzy from experience; dwarfed by colossal size,

Fatigue and hunger panged at me, I joined a ragged line

Heading for the exit, a steep, spiral decline.

 

As I left the building, forever a changed man.

In my mind, a concept swelled, then began to dwell.

Had I been to war that day? No scars on me to prove

And though it’s true, I felt something, emotions are a tool

Manipulated by silver screen, eyes and ears will read a story

Mind tells body what it thinks, which then suffers pain or glory.

 

But no one fell by my hand, yet each tarred with the same brush

Thus at night, when head hit pillow, it’s the only thing I’d hurt.

I’ve seen and been, and done nothing, except dance among my thoughts

And when accusing eyes greet me, I hope first they think and pause:

 

Should I consider this experience true, or meaningless insignificance?

Should bigoted minds cast aspersions, or be denied in due course?

Should I be guilty of the crimes, painted rivers run to hide?

Should I have won or lost that day, when I stood on neither side?

Am I the hero on the hill, or cowering under cross?

Am I forever to be tainted, with artist’s condemning brush?

 

©Do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

https://abeliamayblog.wordpress.com/2018/07/11/picture-of-war-poem-raclawice-panorama/

https://visitwroclaw.eu/en/place/panorama-raclawicka-wroclaw

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rac%C5%82awice_Panorama

Dormouse ©

Why does the Dormouse sleep so?

Tucked away in hidey hole

Does he dream of sleep or wake,

Of the things he cannot partake,

Soar as eagle, hoot as owl,

Roar like beast, fill full as fowl;

Or see himself in sleepy slumber

Warm and cosy, under covers.

 

Does he hibernate with stock in store

Or nauseously at sight and thought

Of fruit and nut, flower and berry:

Past summer months a sickly plenty.

 

Landing in a heavy fall

Is he sure of way to go?

Nobody nowhere to which to turn,

As eyes get drowsy, darkness calls

Echoing a twisted worm hole

Changing time in tunnelled home

Enticing in to rest and sleep

Promising – soul to keep

Safe and sound, off into dream

Of this and that and anything.

 

©Do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

https://abeliamayblog.wordpress.com/2018/07/09/dormouse/

Vague Sage © (poem)

The erudite are no longer sage, sagacious no longer wise

And each to one, from one to all, forever to despise

Hence, Two ends of a circle, must surely somewhere meet

Or forever will a spiral, continue to repeat.

 

Hands on a face often cross, only sometimes to agree,

Not unlike competing lives, in sibling rivalry,

Bea was first and Bob was second, simple sequentiality

Yet, eye to eye, and face to face, never the same thing see.

 

When one is left, the other right, they lack coordination

When one thinks this, the other that, they lack cooperation

In the garden, all alone, left to their own devises

One decides to build a tower, the other opts for houses

Scattered blocks upon the floor, prophetic of the future

Each vexingly viewing neighbour, as trespassing encroacher.

 

As the building begins to grow, and resources become scarce

Disgruntled disputes of shape and colour, are raised nonetheless

To stop the fisticuffs to start, a line in the middle agreed

A rag, a shoe, a hose, a pump, fencing territory.

With wrong blocks gathered on each side

Supplies never ever fairly divide,

When back is turned, the underhand

Wander freely over land

And so the bickering begins,

As missiles are raised, and start to fling.

 

When swords cross, and pistols draw, the sound wakes the heavens

Sophia’s love leaves the Gabbatha, replaced by grieving raven

At friendships lost, families divide and lovers bid farewell

Departing on their mourning ships, they sail to opposing sides

 

Yet even Equinox believes, and gives all a second chance

Broken clock twice tells the time, forever in – perpetual trance

But modern age is all a muddle

Facts and figures all a fuddle

To every word and thought misplaced

Hounds do pounce, to their disgrace

And everybody loves their dog

Until it’s not the dog they love.

 

The erudite are no longer sage, sagacious no longer wise

And each to one, from one to all, forever to despise

Hence, Two ends of a circle, must surely somewhere meet

Or forever will a spiral, continue to repeat.

 

©Do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

https://abeliamayblog.wordpress.com/2018/04/23/vague-sage-poem/

Black ©

 

Black is the paint that covers night

Where crops won’t grow

Nor harvest sown

But there Aurora fully blooms,

Dancing where shine constellations’ plume

Curling, swirling across the moon

Like a living, magic fume

Worshiping the midnight suns

When night and day mix as one.

Black is the space in-between

In the heavens of which we dream

To travel to in great cosmic galleons

Because Black is the universe’s greatest ocean.

 

©Do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

https://abeliamayblog.wordpress.com/2017/11/14/black/

 

Nothing at all © (lyrics)

Each morning brings, a drop of dew
Reminds me and you, that this is nothing new
When morning’s through, afternoon,
to run and sing, do a lot of things
Then afternoon draws, evening,
To sit and drink, laugh and think,
Then evening fights, darkened night
To dance and try, live a merry life,
But night must fall, on us all
Then morning comes, with a drop of dew,
For us two, to realise,
The full circle is through.

And if she said to me
we were nothing more
than ships passing in the night
How could I try,
Floods of tears in eyes
as she said, I must rise, like a butterfly
and you must walk, onto pastures new
seeking something true.
And don’t look back
I beg you; I beg you, please,
don’t look back this way,
back, direct into the sun.

But she said nothing, nothing of the sort;
in fact, nothing at all
No whisper,
nor talk,
no mention of thought,
and inside of me, something beautiful died.

A heartless way, for lovers to part
Or just, a circle of life
like Capulet, who took a toast
to forget, what she hadn’t said,
And Montague, just how could you?
React in haste, what a waste!
leaving her alone
no chance to phone
say what should be said
on a bigger stage
in a real play.

So she said nothing, nothing at all;
No whisper,
nor talk,
no mention of thought,
and inside of me, something beautiful died

And here I lie,
No whisper,
nor talk,
no mention of thought,
inside of me, something beautiful died.

 

©Do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

https://abeliamayblog.wordpress.com/2017/11/10/nothing-at-all-lyrics/