War and Peace: a poem of hope

“Our boys deserve to become men
Not casualty numbers soon forgotten”

War:  a bloody impasse between
Sense and nonsense
Normal rules no longer apply.
As planes fly overhead
Men lie wounded and dead.
Would that another way were possible
Of peaceful compromise, of entente-cordiale
Between people who are not so different after all!
Our boys deserve to become men
Not casualty numbers soon forgotten
In the everyday chaos of battle.
Let them create future memories now
In the safety and peace of tolerance and love.

Peace:  New life springs forth from the tears
Of the Earth
For gentleness and patience heal all wounds.
Resilient shoots emerge after the ravages of fire
In this benevolent field of hope.
Love soothes all anger. Love eases all pain.
Hatred and fear will not take root here
For it takes joy to create such a beautiful tapestry
A binding together of all peoples in peaceful accord.
And it takes understanding to nourish it.  Amen.

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Rose petals floating downstream

A poem about simply being…

Rose Petals Floating Downstream

Lying here, blissful and serene
Tranquil as a rose petal
Floating downstream.
Gently swayed,
Its essence conveyed
to the waters:
As in a dream.
Its wistful beauty reflected
in a cloudless sky.
Its languid joy a
Contented sigh.

Stretching its form
Each cell drenched in light.
Twirling and pausing,
Bobbing and floating.
Each moment: sheer delight.
Cast adrift, free
it basks in simply being
A rose petal floating downstream.


 

On Angels’ Wings

Here is a beautiful poem about the wonder and joy of new life.  If it sings to you, please Like and Share it with others.  Much love, Anita.

Soft silken raindrops
Alight on my soul
As the dance of life begins
And you curl around my core.
In the world, yet scarcely,
Carried here on Angels’ wings
Tenderly entwined are we
Through life’s ecstatic symphony.
 
Sweetest of teardrops
Fall on your gaze
As my heart implodes with love
At your tiny embrace.
In the world, so bravely,
Brought here by God’s grace.
 
My restless heart no longer aches
As in drowsy contentment
I vow to love and protect you
Each step of the way.

Listen to the spoken poem.

The Storm’s Coming

The Storm’s Coming

Warm Sahara air billows its way from the south

Snaking a path through the thermals

Gently, insistently, nudging life on.

Crickets message the approaching storm

Grasses bristle, gasping for air.

The storm’s coming…

Timber shutters slap with annoyance. Thirsty. Dry.

The sensual coiling of the flagpole chain

Chinks rhythmically to the quickening

Heartbeat of the wind.

The storm’s coming…

I sit at the window watching clouds march closer

Like a cohort on patrol

No taking prisoners, no giving way.

What greater spectacle than the approaching storm!

That freeze-frame of energy

Between scenes; nature’s stagehands

Dismantling one view to sketch out the next

In glorious sensory pleasure. It’s here..!

The Meadow

Good morning everyone!  I was sitting in my sun-room this morning looking at the meadow opposite our home.  The colours were glorious: yellows and greens, dotted with pinks and blues and every colour in between!  Swallows swooped about amidst this idyllic scene, seemingly for the sheer pleasure of flying.  The puffy white clouds against a backdrop of the bluest sky were pushed off stage-right by an insistent wind while stage-left, the next glorious scene arrived.  It was truly mesmerising and I felt so blessed to live in such a healing place.  We live on the edge of a large town, but it can seem as if we are fully in the countryside here on days such as these (in fact, every day).  This is a poem I wrote for summer solstice last week—better late than never.

The Meadow

Meadow-sweet grasses trampled underfoot

Releasing herbal scent-pods

To swirl in our midst.

Summer heat rising –

Shimmering nebula of movement and sound

A symphonic concerto in my mind.

Seed pods acquiesce

Their progeny dispersed

By the languid breeze.

The world is at ease

On this Midsummer’s Eve.

And the meadow shares her beauty

With all.