Heart heavy as hallowed space is again desecrated,
Spilling blood at worship,
Taking life before it’s due,
To feed the hate machine
–The machine churning out young angry men,
To do its bidding,
Placing blame for economic shame,
Hardships, losses
On those who have no input,
No contribution to another’s plight,
But hate blurs
And conspiracies abound,
To feed, feed, feed, the machine,
For she is hungry,
And hate only breeds more hate,
And soon more will be shed,
Until the machine is brought to heel,
But it’s inner workings are a maze,
Of white supremacy, antisemitism, islamophobia, vengeance seeking,
All vying to make their bullet marks,
Where heads are bowed and guard is down,
Where peaceable minds are taken advantage of,
And turning the cheek is being abused,
Our sanctuaries are fortresses now,
Guarding from unknown,
as yet to be hostilities,
We come to worship peacefully,
May it be in peace;
And for those lives lost,
may they be at peace.
Category: Poetry
The Siren’s Love
She sings ever so softly
Some might call her a monster,
But she knows only love
In it’s deepest forms,
She does not wish to cause pain
To confuse
It is to love that she does obey
And she sees her love from a distance
So close,
And yet…
So she sings because she knows
This he will hear,
This may make his heart swoon,
Despite the odds that keep
Them at a distance,
The others could never understand
The feelings that a bare song evokes,
The way it makes his heart flutter up into his throat,
And this is what it’s meant to do,
Make the one you love
Too love you
But she wants love not against his wishes,
She wants his love
But not by trickery,
She wants him to fall in love
With the siren
For the very beauty
Of her, and her song
Metamorphoses (Find Me)
You always find me
Buried ‘neath the words I write,
You know me truly
And I watch in awe
As you undergo Metamorphoses
Whilst examining every inch of me
Old Pages and Curiosity
The usual spots,
We find solace in their depths,
Mine? The library;
In the smell of old pages,
There is knowledge kept in here,
Waiting to be found,
To be known by hungry minds,
Here I am starving,
There is knowing to be known,
So leads curiosity
“Artist” by Name
I am an artist
Of various mediums,
I stake my claim.
Long denied myself the title,
Without profession or degree,
But artist needs no authority,
I just am,
And so I will be,
I will write with paint,
And pen my portraiture,
I am an artist,
It is the creative force alone
That controls me,
Where it sends me,
I am yet to know,
There muses sing,
My hands work feverishly,
Between word and visual art,
The paper is my stage,
And this art is my ballet.
Earth Mother
In her soil I plunge my roots,
In her showers I cleanse my soul,
In her breeze I dry my tears,
From her exhalation I take my breath,
On her pillowy hills I rest my body,
I find solace in her arms’ embrace,
Knowing she unconditionally opens her body to be my home,
She is a nurturing Mother,
Who feeds, and tends, and teaches,
And we the children are at her breast,
As close as we can get,
And yet we can become closer,
The more we recognize
That the mother is also inside
She the Earth Mother,
Of which we are made,
Whom we may find, may feel
In and out
She of Letters 