Writer’s Block
These past few months I’ve been far away -
To the Gobi and Sahara, and to all the arid places
Of the world.
No rain has fallen there - or on me,
For I’ve only visited those places in my mind!
As exciting as it was, I still couldn’t write about it,
But today, small beginnings splatter onto this page.
© June Maureen Hitchcock December 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Eurpa Poets' Gazette No. 69, January 2010
God: Said to have supernatural power, a Supreme Being to be worshipped; an idol.
On God
Through revelation’s fiction we may see
With fables, parables and short stories
The theories of the brain as deity
That may alleviate life’s worries;
To elevate us all from earthly pain
Where miracles defy all nature's law;
To show a slight confusion in their aim
As violated sense is what they saw.
And then one prays for proof and hopes in vain
But often dreams of cure and fame that lift
A spirit that has sunk to fearful shame;
Only then the light of hope may be a gift
That drives the spirit and may clear your name,
When life becomes the God’s own game.
Being: Existence; that which exists; creature.
On Being
I am the essence of ambitious themes,
A quality of much intrinsic worth;
With attributes of light and colour schemes
That quantify my spirit towards terse.
Relationships within me are obtuse
All space is filled by some organic work
Where heartbeats pump to drums that are abstruse
There, in a tunnel where diseases lurk.
But in this state where skin, like leather, hides
The churning mills that actively enrage
The enemy of life where rape abides
And through affection, warring cells engage.
Where my survival is a way of life
To make my cells a ubiquitous hive.
© Joe Lake
On God
Through revelation’s fiction we may see
With fables, parables and short stories
The theories of the brain as deity
That may alleviate life’s worries;
To elevate us all from earthly pain
Where miracles defy all nature's law;
To show a slight confusion in their aim
As violated sense is what they saw.
And then one prays for proof and hopes in vain
But often dreams of cure and fame that lift
A spirit that has sunk to fearful shame;
Only then the light of hope may be a gift
That drives the spirit and may clear your name,
When life becomes the God’s own game.
Being: Existence; that which exists; creature.
On Being
I am the essence of ambitious themes,
A quality of much intrinsic worth;
With attributes of light and colour schemes
That quantify my spirit towards terse.
Relationships within me are obtuse
All space is filled by some organic work
Where heartbeats pump to drums that are abstruse
There, in a tunnel where diseases lurk.
But in this state where skin, like leather, hides
The churning mills that actively enrage
The enemy of life where rape abides
And through affection, warring cells engage.
Where my survival is a way of life
To make my cells a ubiquitous hive.
© Joe Lake
Eurpa Poets' Gazette No. 69, January 2010
Aloneness
Rain pelting down outside
Eerie reflections in puddles,
Silence crowding my mind,
Aloneness threatening to throttle me,
And all the while I keep wishing for miracles.
My past torments me, my present stifles me
And my future threatens me -
age creeps upon me
Like a creek choked with weeds,
Skies that are blue seem constantly slate
And grass that is green seems dead or dying.
When night rolls up, and morning creeps in,
I pray I will see the world in a new light.
© June Maureen Hitchcock
September 2008
Rain pelting down outside
Eerie reflections in puddles,
Silence crowding my mind,
Aloneness threatening to throttle me,
And all the while I keep wishing for miracles.
My past torments me, my present stifles me
And my future threatens me -
age creeps upon me
Like a creek choked with weeds,
Skies that are blue seem constantly slate
And grass that is green seems dead or dying.
When night rolls up, and morning creeps in,
I pray I will see the world in a new light.
© June Maureen Hitchcock
September 2008
Eurpa Poets' Gazette No. 69, January 2010
My View with Joe Lake
In this new year, I have no resolutions. I’ve done all I can and will ever do.
I’ve just finished my Philosophical Sonnets 2010 and you can read two of them on this page. These are general western philosophical ideas that have been around for thousands, if not hundreds, of years but each generation does its best to ignore them.
In the sonnets I have avoided telling you what I believe in relation to the existence of God. You can read about this in my Basic Postmodernism.
In the new year love yourself and everyone you meet that humanity may prosper and resolve its problems. Because if anything, God is the totallity of mankind just like an anthill is one total being, or a beehive, so humanity is one entity that survives best by loving their neighbour as themselves.
In this new year, I have no resolutions. I’ve done all I can and will ever do.
I’ve just finished my Philosophical Sonnets 2010 and you can read two of them on this page. These are general western philosophical ideas that have been around for thousands, if not hundreds, of years but each generation does its best to ignore them.
In the sonnets I have avoided telling you what I believe in relation to the existence of God. You can read about this in my Basic Postmodernism.
In the new year love yourself and everyone you meet that humanity may prosper and resolve its problems. Because if anything, God is the totallity of mankind just like an anthill is one total being, or a beehive, so humanity is one entity that survives best by loving their neighbour as themselves.
Eurpa Poets' Gazette No. 69, January 2010
Renewed
Hear the distant mower, awesome,
And grass trembles
in this living nightmare,
A blade-beat,
And green is severed, shredded,
To die slowly,
And when earth has fed, sufficient,
Skeletons are blown away
as so much dust,
Thunder echoes close and clean,
No mercy in this meadow,
And yet?
And yet above the stench and din,
A stem reaches for loving clouds,
Renewed.
© Michael Garrad November 2009
A Slaying
Watch the smoke on the blaze and hungry calls through the haze
Watch the eyes in the fire,
Burning hot, full of ire.
Watch the face melt away,
The price of living, the price to pay.
Hear the throng chant rejection,
To kill the beast grants protection.
Hear the roar, hear the throb of excitement running through the mob,
See the tears evaporate and touch the sky
Where family and friends sadly fly.
See the chain that keeps him down to slay a dragon
The fear of a town.
© Dripping Ink (Lauren Hay)
Hear the distant mower, awesome,
And grass trembles
in this living nightmare,
A blade-beat,
And green is severed, shredded,
To die slowly,
And when earth has fed, sufficient,
Skeletons are blown away
as so much dust,
Thunder echoes close and clean,
No mercy in this meadow,
And yet?
And yet above the stench and din,
A stem reaches for loving clouds,
Renewed.
© Michael Garrad November 2009
A Slaying
Watch the smoke on the blaze and hungry calls through the haze
Watch the eyes in the fire,
Burning hot, full of ire.
Watch the face melt away,
The price of living, the price to pay.
Hear the throng chant rejection,
To kill the beast grants protection.
Hear the roar, hear the throb of excitement running through the mob,
See the tears evaporate and touch the sky
Where family and friends sadly fly.
See the chain that keeps him down to slay a dragon
The fear of a town.
© Dripping Ink (Lauren Hay)
Eurpa Poets' Gazette No. 69, January 2010
Your Death
I am your death,
This cold breath
upon your neck,
Lips that peck
flesh from bone
in a place, alone,
And blood runs
as setting suns
knife the sky,
For you, to die,
You are mine
Night, to dine,
Hail the feast,
Feed the Beast!
© Michael Garrad December 2009
I am your death,
This cold breath
upon your neck,
Lips that peck
flesh from bone
in a place, alone,
And blood runs
as setting suns
knife the sky,
For you, to die,
You are mine
Night, to dine,
Hail the feast,
Feed the Beast!
© Michael Garrad December 2009
Europa Poets' Gazette, No 69, January 2010
MY VIEW with Michael Garrad
Are we genuine about who we are? I think not.
We are as we wish to be seen. We comply with rules, written and unwritten.
We are products of what society expects of us.
We let our hair down, fired by the adrenaline of alcohol; we shop, sombre and focused on prices; we are the model of decorum at work; we love designer outfits at the gym, or just walking the streets. We are an image!
And the reason we are this image is because we have no choice. We must conform.
How different it is behind closed doors where, briefly, we can be ourselves. But, then, are we truly who we are, even in front of our children and, perhaps most important of all, with our partner? Are we ever able to be individual?
Are we genuine about who we are? I think not.
We are as we wish to be seen. We comply with rules, written and unwritten.
We are products of what society expects of us.
We let our hair down, fired by the adrenaline of alcohol; we shop, sombre and focused on prices; we are the model of decorum at work; we love designer outfits at the gym, or just walking the streets. We are an image!
And the reason we are this image is because we have no choice. We must conform.
How different it is behind closed doors where, briefly, we can be ourselves. But, then, are we truly who we are, even in front of our children and, perhaps most important of all, with our partner? Are we ever able to be individual?
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