Come, Shield and Charger
Set yourself to steel; a shield is needed
And we can have no spike against the hand,
No weakness to bring harm to the bearer,
Or Death will have a merry feast this war.
Your troop is doubting, and are they correct?
Come, Charger – leader of the family – ,
It is time to ride to battle, and prove
That, though with faltered step, you lead with love.
Furious at questions
(Which mildly hint
Toward a suggestion
She slams with a tired tongue,
Crying, for she is young.
Forgiven for the same;
And Mother’s love
Gives on beyond the pain,
For hope above
Drives her soul onward now
– Praying the seed sown grows.
There was certainly something subtle
About a person who – refusing speech –
Sang of heroes, supermen, rebuttle.
Hatred pours the way of the challenger;
Never rightly fired, like magma marks out
It’s source. Beware your tongues wagging danger.
ALL WE ARE NOT
It doesn’t take many careless phone calls
To break that sweet woman’s heart into two.
We young fools think the text reads fine – though small –
“So send it!” we rush for something to do.
Bats aren’t blind, but impetuous youth is,
With its ‘look at this knowledge’ and tooth rot.
You remember Nelson’s lion, her kiss;
A careful call of hope – all we are not.
Wow, it’s getting late in the day – can you get much later when the day has passed into night?
I’m getting quite excited about my poetry collection. It’s growing and making a shape of some sort; what it will grow to who knows but it’s growing all the same! I’ve managed to get an idea of the layout, font, text-size, extra bibblybops I want in there, and I may have had a good thought on adding a little visual to the whole book. If I can organise a writing schedule I may be putting it up for pre-order on Kindle soon. The official release date I have in mind is October of this year, around a year after my last in fact. I think that’s quite nice.
Well now, for today we have this poem. It formed around a line which came in a lovely moment a few minutes ago.
Holding release, a feeling peace;
One second is enough sometimes
To have what you need from a hug.
Last week I was able to run a class for terminally ill children, and it was a touching experience. To see them interact and play and imagine just like any other child, it showed their strength, innocence, and joy. So this is dedicated to each one of them, and to those who are there to help them.
FOR THOSE CHILDREN
Playful smile, playful child, playful mind,
But she has to leave us soon we find,
And we mourn this loss behind our eyes,
But let her see smiles and not hear sighs.
Today’s poem follows in a similar vein to Wednesday’s piece. In London there are homeless people who are able to try and make money by purchasing one particular news magazine and selling it for a profit. This is approved by the company and is in fact their way of doing business. The magazine is called The Big Issue.
On Friday I met one of these vendors and began talking to her, so this poem is dedicated to that lady.
WHAT’S THE BIG ISSUE?
She’s got her own two legs, she says.
Tottenham to Liverpool Street
She walks, but don’t get her wrong, hey,
She’d never ask, but she’d accept
A lift in any direction.
As she studied, time silent crept,
Now she seeks the next road to take,
And he’s trusting that she means well,
As he lifts her toward her stake.