Monthly Archives: September 2013

Pass the Scissors, Please

There was a reason, once,
for letting it grow — a statement
about nature and non-
conformity — to Samson-like
lengths. But, after a time — as with
the ancient warrior — it
became and increasingly heavy
burden and tangled mess.
Eventually, the solution
became clear.
The effort of sweeping
the fallen locks from the floor
was therapeutic, and the weight
much less than expected.



Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts


She thinks it wrong
for the beach
to be monochrome,
wishes to paint
it in bright blues
and greens.
I find no fault
in her desires.

English: Sidmouth sea front Agrey sea, a grey ...

English: Sidmouth sea front Agrey sea, a grey beach on a cold grey misty february day (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Not the Light

It is not the light
so much as the heat
which draws her.
A need to be consumed,
charred and scarred
by a heat too intense
to control.
After a time,
the pain becomes
a comfort,
a desire,
and each scar a fading memory,
scattered embers
of forgotten fires.

for the awesome image at The Mag


Filed under Poetry

At What Price Peace

so simple an idea,
so difficult to achieve.
Well, maybe it is not so simple
a thing, for reality is full
of complications and contradictions.

The first dictionary definition
is the normal, non-warring
condition of a nation, group of nations,
or the world. Normal.
It is of interest how diverse
the interpretations of definitions can be.

A nation, perhaps, may be in a state of peace
in relation to other nations, at least from
a militaristic point of view,
but a government is not a thing of peace,
it is a being of rulers and subjects.
To be at peace, you must be one or the other.

Religion as a refuge of peace is, to be polite,
a misnomer. Islam calls itself the Religion
of Peace, yet every active war has an Islamic side
and every terror act of the last twenty years
has been committed by a follower of Islam.
Christianity teaches the tenets of peace, love
and acceptance, but so many atrocities
have been committed, and so many wars fought,
in its name thoughout history that the world
cannot forget.

The slave is said to know peace. There is no conflict
in his life, as long as he accepts his station, obeys
commands and performs as his master expects.
Man, as a species, seems perfectly willing to accept
this arrangement; provide for his needs with no
expectation other than subservience and he will
gladly attach his own shackles. Freedom, however,
requires sacrifice of another kind. Which price
are you willing to pay?
“Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased
at the price of chains and slavery?” Patrick Henry


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A Synopsis of a National Geographic Article on Fire Investigation

The forensic fire expert
was matter-of-fact
in his responses to the interview
questions about how fires
are investigated.
The key, as with most things,
is to start
at the beginning;
to backtrack through destruction,
knowing by colors
and patterns and the amount
of damage,
how the fire burned — how hot,
which direction,
how fast — and from
where it came.
Once the point of origin
has been determined
you can concentrate
on cause: flammable liquids,
lighting strikes, curved
bottles in the sun, unattended
fires…the list is rather long.
Starting points and reasons
are his focus. He never
mentions ‘what’ is burned,
only the ‘how’ or the ‘why’.
I would imagine personalizing
the charred remains
of another’s life would
make the job unmanageable,
and the nightmares


Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts

Daisies and Ragweed

Daisies and ragweed bloom
next to each other
by the road
in the shadows
of evergreens
thrust into a sky
of a blue
which has yet
to be named.

The windows are down
sunroof open
and Leonard Cohen
dances me to the
end of love.

The first falling leaves
dance on summer’s
last breezes.


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It is tomorrow …
the list are put away,
flags are folded
the echo of speeches,
names and taps has faded,
flowers in the wreaths
have begun to wilt.

It is tomorrow …
heroes will fall,
they will hate us still,

It is tomorrow …
and you have already forgotten.

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names of victims are read …
for hours.
wreaths are placed
and taps is played.
the fallen are remembered,
tears are shed.
speeches are made
and the flag is waved.

we will forget again
and pretend the world
has not changed.
heroes will fall
for the names
that were read.
we will pass
by the flag
without a respectful pause.
politicians will make
excuses for those
who hate us still.

names are read,
wreaths are placed,
taps is played.
we will forget,
heroes will fall,
and they will hate us still.


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Doubt slices through inspiration
like a well oiled blade separates
flesh in a scarlet spray,
leaving wet marks on the wall
in indiscernible patterns.

I burn my hands in an attempt
to catch sparks, hold them
close, nurture them to flame,
but flesh in not fuel for fire —

vision and direction hold sway
while passion and imagination
are trimmed like shoots
of unwanted growth —
feathery wisps of smoke escape
from my clenched fists.

Aspiration is taken deep
into the forest of necessity,
to be buried and forgotten
in an unmarked hole.

In the inky dark
of negotiations between
yesterday and tomorrow,
I lost today.



a late entry for the Sunday Whirl
Shared at the Imaginary Garden
and the dVerse pub


Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts

Understanding Birds

I watch from behind high
as she spreads
her wings,
and wonder how well
she will fly,
or, indeed, why she
would try, for I have never
the tops of trees.
It is impossible
to understand
if you never
leave the ground.


for the image prompt at The Mag


Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts