All 2 entries tagged Poem
January 28, 2010
I wrote this poem as a performance piece for One World Week, so it's related to World issues. I decided to write a poem against weapons of mass destruction, and linked it to nature to try and create the paradox between humans fighting against nature, and then fighting against human nature. I hope it worked alright, so let me know what you think.
Two days ago it rained like the skies were shattering
It rained, in beacons of trust like blood pouring from an open wound
It rained, and stained the ground
Like dominoes it barely made a sound.
Two days ago it rained, and we put up
Our umbrellas and moved in colourful rounds
Through the crowds.
Two days ago it rained, and we slept
Soundless as children in our beds
Two days ago it rained
And we brushed the water from our heads.
Three weeks ago it snowed, like crystallised diamonds
But soft, and feathery and icy and cold.
Three weeks ago we pulled out old cotton jumpers
And stepped like glass, fragile on the frozen grass.
Three weeks ago it snowed, and we
Caught the flakes upon our tongue
Complained of traffic and moved on.
Four months ago the skies were clear
The air was smooth, our eyes they peered
Into the light. The sun beat bright upon our skin
Upon the freckles on our chin
The days were warm, the nights were still,
And we were invincible.
And in three centuries, or three hours
The rain will go away
But rather than come back another day it will fall
On barren earth, if it dares
To drop at all, and rather than wipe it from our cheeks
It will streak upon our graves
And the sun will blind the hardened trees
The leaves will fall in empty eaves
And the snow will bury what we have done
We can look back all we want and think
God, what a cruel world they lived in
But now we’re on the brink of something
So hard to link to human minds it won’t sink in
We have wars that we don’t understand and
From human hands we have built
Weapons that can kill the world
And what do you want to massively destroy?
We are a game for the big boys to
Toy with until they deploy the final
Stage, the bloody page
We don’t live in an age of war but an age of
We’re all waiting for the final score
Waiting for the last eclipse
We have no idea what’s in store
Two weeks ago the Earth shook like a
Titan it took solid concrete from
Beneath human feet, the streets
Creaked and teetered on the edge as
Mothers clasped babies to their chests.
But at the end we did not fall
The human race stood tall
We would not crawl to
Nature’s call or stall the
Anguish of us all. The earth
Can shake and shake again
But in two weeks time there may be no
Mothers to grasp children near, no
Dear sweet parents to wash away the
Tears there may be no humans left
To walk in fear there may be no
Humans left to persevere
To steer us down the last frontier
There may be
No humans left to hear the Earth
Fall from the sky
As we all die
There may be
No humans left for humankind
For we shall leave no souls behind.
December 08, 2009
Hi! This is my first entry (scary :S) so I thought I'd start with a poem I've read out a few times now, because that's slightly less intimidating than putting up new material. This piece is called 'How to Not Write a Poem'
And what shall I write?
It could be a haiku that I tell to you
Of observations made that we once knew
Or imbue the strange hue of society’s view
And two dead men shall talk to one another
As we stand out cold in the blue.
The schools chew out new prisoners
And 2 plus 2 makes 5 now,
Or some crap like that.
But they also said that we were through, and every day
The numbers grew and the coffins queued
Outside the cemetery gates. The soldier crew
Made their debut to force the
Enemy to subdue. All this
Hullaballoo has gone askew, and what,
We gonna bomb them back
Into the stone age again?
At the end leave only a baby’s shoe.
But that’s a little bit taboo, and so for now we’ll say adieu.
I could write a sonnet but it’s so cliché
And I wouldn’t know what to say.
A ballad too, a Mary-sue:
It’s just not really my thing thank-you.
A nursery rhyme? How sublime!
From times that have now passed
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall?
Well it’s his own bloody fault for sitting on the wall
When he didn’t have any balance at all.
And I wouldn’t have cried at Georgie’s kisses
But how he ran from those boys’ hisses
And how cupid’s arrow truly misses its mark on me.
And why put a baby in a tree
When it’s gonna break? You must agree
It’s lunacy! I plea to hush them any other way.
And I never lost my pocket, though if I had
I bet that Kitty Fischer would have nicked the lot,
And when did the bells of London start to talk?
I walk the streets without a squawk from them
But I pray that they will say something today;
But that’s only child’s play.
And the tradition every year to get together
And sing remember remember about a man
Who had a plan and burn him on a fire.
What a fun night, kids.
Maybe you should’ve sung the last verse, Mum, in which Molly Malone dies.
I don’t think I would’ve cried.
But is this what you want to see?
Shall I write of birds and love and trees?
Is that what you want of me?
Am I now writing poetry?
And do you expect us to sit in coffee bars
And discuss Joyce and beheaded green knights and –
Okay, well, we have done that. But we’ve also
Sat in pubs discussing Twilight, so it’s all in balance really.
And what, do I have to quote like Eliot? Sell it
In hits of nature with some wit.
Will my message then transmit? Is it now legit?
Booze by any other name would taste as sweet
And get you just as drunk
How low now have I sunk?
Okay, so I will write of love from heaven’s above,
Except that it doesn’t work like that.
We date, and I have to say I think it is going well;
If by well I mean swell we could dwell
On the ways by which my heart is
Bewitched, and count - by clock - the mount
Of my beating tock. But to ascertain
Affection as though it were a mathematical
Equation - by Jove, we couldn’t and shouldn’t,
Wouldn’t assess the invasion of Cupid’s dear
Persuasion. And though downpour could take
Its toll and let us loll apart, it’d be sheer
Folly to hide beneath separate brollies; because,
As I’m sure I’ve said, it’s been quite pleasant
And if perhaps I had to desist
Would it be my eyes that resist, and
Dismiss your jist, or rather my lips
That persist in missing your kiss.
Could I list the ways in which
I slam my fist?
Oh, but why would I want to fly out of my
Pure sweet lure, I cannot know. For so far the
Fire has boiled with desire and I’d be a liar to
Call the situation dire. Or even risk the brisk
Pace with the face of our decisions.
It’d be a crime. Oh, it’d be a crime.