Poetry

Can You Not Remember?

When did this brutality grow? Can you not remember?
Go back to the place where you left that man dying.
This time you must bring him back with you.

I see you in my dreams. Your face is edged with battle.
I touch your forehead from a distant land.
The Earth glare is so bright. It washes the white memory from your mind.
Have you forgotten we come from the same place?
Settle, settle, peace, peace.

When did this brutality grow? Can you not remember?
Go back to the place where you left that man dying.
This time you must bring him back with you.

You are looking for something, demanding to be found.
Make your way back from that broken land. Return from that empty place.
There is nothing there for you. It holds a million shadows.
There are no friends there.
Settle, settle, peace, peace.

When did this brutality grow? Can you not remember?
Go back to the place where you left that man dying.
This time you must bring him back with you.

It is warmer here. Can you see the light? Trust it. It is safe.
It has lived a long time. It has seen much more than you.
You fight a demon that you once knew but the demon is already slain.
And from the corner of your eye you will see the scattered, sacred fire reform again.
Settle, settle, peace, peace.


Silent Like Sleep
You appear by my side,
silent like sleep.
Soft hair, a little wild.
No fear, gentle like a calm river.

I turn and catch your gaze,
before you have time to look away.
Your eyes are searching inside mine.
Perhaps, they are mine.

More than nakedness,
for there is no cover to take.
The fire in your eyes
is ringed with water; wide and cool.

We are far from the brutal place,
but you do not think so.
You take my hand
and disappear like you were never there,
except that I am now somewhere else.


The Great Death
I stood at the back of the funeral room. Very still.
Black dress. Black coat. It’s cold.
Purposely alone. Ears closed.
Not wanting to hear the tirade of sweet lies.

Did they not know you were already dead? I think they did.
They walk with the dignity of a funeral crowd into the tea room.
I can see them chatting happily through the window.
“What a fantastic guy he was. Cheese or meat sandwich?”

I sit outside, next to you. No one can see. No one bothers to look.
Sinking to fresh earth, I ask you why you did that to yourself.
Why did you cling to that which fed you a slow poison?
Why did you betray that which was guard to your soul?

There is no reply.
The words get taken by the chill wind.
You cry in your sleep.
The tears never see the light of day.

The sadness is not this death.
You are not even dead. You are just over there.
The sadness is the other death – the death that doesn’t end.
The one that follows behind, ever present with its grey, hollow touch.

Walk a bit further. There is a different land not far away.
The people in it have the magic to break the icy fingers of the great death.
I heard that you don’t even have to pay. However, you have to find their door.
It is only found by those who pay the other price.


The Mist
They fell asleep and dreamed a fog.
They had words but not meaning.
With the mist came the fear of being discovered.
The mist grew thicker.

A whispered voice from the Great Beyond.
Love will heal the people. Silently, it crept in.
It washed away the pretence and the scent of shame.
No one said, “It should not be so.”

There was silence. No breath.
What is it? A strange feeling.
Foreign at first but now becoming familiar with its warmth.
Everything is alright. We are not so bad. We do not have to hide.

The crystal, thin rays of light extend further.
Growing rapidly, unreservedly, pulsing with aliveness.
Resonating with the beautiful light, the memory of pain passes.
What were we so afraid of?

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5 Replies to “Poetry”

  1. HI Donna

    They are all wonderful and so different. But I love “The Great Death” the most. ❤️
    Writing is so good for the soul. So personal. It am so impressed with your writing and what you are doing with it.

    All the best in the competition.

    Regards

    Jody Goddard

    1. Thanks so much Jody. Yes, I think that’s the thing about writing being personal, isn’t it. We have to draw on our own personal feelings and thoughts and share them in a way which includes everyone and doesn’t turn into a self-absorbed bore😀

I would love your thoughts.