The Cock

The crowing cock,
Oblivious of the wok,
Struts in blissful ignorance,
Of his short-lived existance!

Mum - My Inspiration

A year ago the flowers lost their bloom
And my sun went out far too soon.
I tried to be strong like the trees so high,
I saw you in every floating butterfly

Soon, I felt your spirit free in the breeze
Gentle, calm and quietly at peace
I felt your love keeping me safe and warm
My guardian angel to a new life born.


Dearest Mum
My deepest love is with you always
Your loving daughter.

This was written by my sister to commemorate the 1st anniversary of our mother's passing.

Mother

When we came into this World, you were there,

To kiss our cheeks, hold our hands and stroke our hair.

Throughout our lives you were there to pick us up when we fell,

But one thing you couldn’t do, was teach us how to spell.

When newly wed you left old England’s shore,

In a single engine Auster just after the war,

Kenya bound and your future uncertain,

Upon your life you lifted another curtain.

And with you we did share this great adventure,

Always never less than loved or ever insecure,

From fertile highlands to the Mara River and Indian Ocean,

Our life moved fluidly forwards in perpetual motion.

You our loving mother and to father faithful wife,

Took us on the oft happy journey of your life.

It was not always easy for you it’s true to say,

But you bravely battled all the way.

Mother, teacher, such as you a Mara buffalo had never seen,

Bloodied, bruised you walked away, forever known as Buffalo Queen.

In sickness and in health and every trial or tribulation,

Your courage filled us always with loving admiration.

Every day of our lives we were blessed that you were here,

With us your compassion and wisdom you did gently share,

And when finally you left this World, we were there,

To kiss your cheeks, hold your hands and stroke your hair.

Osama And The Blackbird

Now here’s a story, I have to tell.
Pray excuse me, If I do not tell it well.
It was a warm spring day,
Not long ago,
I happened to gaze, through a window,
And in the garden,
A murderous scene was set,
One I saw and shall not forget.

I saw a blackbird trapped upon the ground,
From his open, orange beak, came not a sound,
Over him talons upon his throat,
A Sparrow Hawk stood,
Wings spread like a hood,
Hiding his dark deed,
From the neighbourhood.

Deadly claws held firm the prey,
Remorseless, almost sanguine,
Was he in his way.
His stranglehold tightened,
Upon the blackbird, frightened.
Its small feathered body,
Struggled and fought,
Though it seemed, all for nought.
With every sinew, it struggled and strived,
Fighting for life and the strength to survive.

It flittered and fluttered,
Gasping for air,
Afraid to die, in the Hawks lair,
Fighting for time,
For time was life,
Worth the pain and all the strife,
Till the blackbird,
Could fight no more,
And death upon him,
Closed the door.

Whilst feathered friends looked on alarmed,
The Hawk, feeling its prey becalmed,
Winged effortless into the cloudless sky,
One last time, the blackbird to fly.

Then Osama,
Your words came to me once more,
The words I have heard, many times before.
We prefer life but you prefer death,
You said.
The blackbird was gone,
The blackbird was dead.

No longer do we hear his song.
Nor see him fly among the hedgerows,
Nor over fields where the thistle and the nettle grows,
No longer does he scamper on my lawn,
Picking up breadcrumbs in the early morn.
Ah! death, I’ve seen it clear.
Is the end of life, God holds dear.

You see Osama,
Nature’s laws are unbending,
The struggle for life, is unending.
It is not death the Blackbird seeks,
Though he live for years,
Or merely weeks.
It’s life, the Blackbird cherishes,
Not death by which he perishes.

Osama, if it is death you prefer,
Then why this life do you suffer?
If death Osama, is so glorious,
Why is Allah’s work so laborious?
If it is in death we are living,
Why is Allah in life so giving?

If death is God's true light,
What need we of miraculous sight?
If death is glorious sensation,
What needs God of wondrous creation?

So why Osama, would you flee,
The deathly talons of the Sparrow Hawk,
Swooping down from the tree?
Without life Osama, there is no God,
And without God, there is no life,
That’s why the blackbird struggles and strives,
And why humming bees toil in their hives.

It is not for death, they suffer strife,
It is for time, for time is life.
And every time, has rhyme and season.
If blackbird lives, he lives for reason.
Blackbird is born of God’s creation,
Wondrous, beyond our imagination.
Our soul to God we give,
Not to wastefully die,
But rather that we might in glory live.

In life we hear the blackbird’s song,
But in death, his music is forever gone.
The mournful silence of death, cannot be heard.
Unlike the song of a singing blackbird.
So who, Osama, chooses to die?
Not the Blackbird, not the Sparrow Hawk, nor I.

If death is so glorious Osama,
Then please tell me why,
Why the great Allah, made you and I?
And why Osama, would you flee,
The deathly talons of the Sparrow Hawk,
Swooping down from the tree?

Drumbeat of Africa

Cercle Nautique Bujumbura

painted

by

Gina Archer

Pulsing through my heart is the drumbeat of Africa,
It calls me back to the shores of Lake Tanganyika.
My eyes yearn to see the bourganvilliia blossom and the mango tree,
My senses seek the sweet fruit of the papaya and Burundi tea.

I recall the rythm of those reggae songs we heard,
Drinking through the night at Half London with our senses blurred,
Never to be forgotten nights when the music never ends,
In Kampala with like-minded strangers and other close friends.

Oh my mysterious Africa, how will I ever forget,
The crickets clicking at night or your crimson sunset,
Your verdant hillside forests, the thorn bush on your grassy plains,
Your rusty red dust in my eyes or your tropical rains?

Oh Africa! Land of the lion, the leopard and the elephant,
No other land entices me with such enchanted scent,
No lover is more seductive nor captivating in her charms,
As you Africa, when you enfold me in your arms.

The gorillas in the mist, I would not have missed,
Nor the aroma of your coffee or the girls I kissed,
Nor the grazing Eland, the Oryx, or the Fish Eagle's screech,
Nor your palm fringed beaches, or the shining stars, beyond my reach.

Masai drummers

Frustrations Of A Golfer

Golfer

He awakes and bleary eyed,
Looks not at his wife by his side.
He cares not today for morning cuddles,
Only that the greens should be free of puddles.

Please God, he hopes it’s not raining.
All week on the carpet he’s been training,
Sinking putts by the score,
And chipping balls through the door.

No trouble today leaping out of bed,
Or clearing cobwebs from his head,
For today starts the week-end,
And the golf swing is surely on the mend.

No hoovering or washing dishes,
Just driving balls with elegant swishes,
Down manicured fairways far out of sight,
Scaring rabbits with his might!

Up and washed and ready to go,
A new set of clubs he’s anxious to show.
A confidant swing on the first tee,
But the effing ball goes straight up a tree.

His second ball finds a ruddy ditch,
Lost ball, a bit of a hitch.
Upon the green in six at last,
His handicap is disappearing fast.

The wind gets up and begins to howl,
Upon his face an evil scowl,
As swing and game fall apart,
He moves on with sinking heart.

When at last he hands in his score,
The shout goes up, a hundred and four!
What went wrong, me old sunshine?
I lost six balls on number nine.

Drinks all round I think old chap,
That really was a load of old crap!
Go on take the micky, many or few,
But next week, I’ll be laughing at you!

http://speakeezie.blogspot.com/

The Rock

This poem is dedicated to my aunt Barbara whom we loved and revered. My mother who is Barbara's sister called her the rock of the family.

Lighthouse on the rock

The Rock

The seas may rage and the winds may blow,
The seasons may come and the seasons may go,
But the rock stands steadfast, in the wind and the rain and the snow,
While ages to history pass, in untimely flow.

Upon the rock the lighthouse stands, with its beacon flashing light,
Guiding storm tossed ships to sanctuary, in the dead of angry night,
Lifting the hearts of despairing souls, who had lost all hope,
At the end of their tether, unable to cope.

Though the sands may shift and the tides may ebb and flow,
The rock stands steadfast in the wind and the rain and the snow,
Watching as ships sail upon prevailing tides of fashion,
Drifting rudderless, in empty oceans of shallow passion.

Oh I thank God, for the lighthouse that stands upon the rock,
Ageless, timeless, unaware of the clock.
Calling lost souls back from the sea’s deafening roar,
To the sweet sound of footsteps, upon the pebbled shore.

------------------------

We thank God for Barbara, who in foul weather or fair, was always there, for all of us. May the lighthouse beacon, now beckon her, to rest in peace upon a tranquil shore.

When

When the world around you has gone mad,
When you no longer recognise the good from the bad,
When right becomes wrong and wrong becomes right,
When we drink not to laugh but the courage to fight,
When instead of a smile we simply stare,
When we throw out the elderly from their homes of care,
When we spy every move through a camera’s lens,
When we lock every door and homes become dens,
When image is all and substance a sin,
When truth is lost to deceit and spin,
When no one cares and no one votes,
When we burn our bridges and sink our boats,
When we sell our heritage down the drain,
When all that matters is profit and gain,
When every day brings trouble and strife,
What is the point of living a life?

True Love

True love sees through outer skin,
To inner depths, hidden within.
Below earth like precious coal,
Is love buried deep in the soul.

True love lights a darkened soul,
Like flickering flames upon the coal,
Shinning light on buried treasure,
Giving warmth without measure.

Can You Imagine?

Can you imagine,
The screams of a mother on a train,
Separated from her child calling her name,
Herded away and never seen again,
Her child, still screaming out her name?

Can you imagine,
Your husband shot dead,
A pool of blood by the bed,
Your brother before you slain,
A babe bayoneted again and again,
His mother calling out his name,
Another act of unspeakable shame?

Can you imagine,
The pain of a daughter's rape,
Her pleas for mercy as she tries to escape,
Fighting for her honour but all in vain,
Her childhood lost in lust and pain,
Her father calling out her name,
One more act of unspeakable shame?

How can we possibly understand,
Those of us who live in this land,
Where justice reigns and men are free,
Where hunger never touches thee?
No fear have we of the tyrant's hand,
For he lives far away from England.

Apathy

Apathy has no voice. Apathy makes no noise. It passes unheard, unheeded and unheralded. Apathy is the enemy of democracy and the meat and drink of dictators. It feeds the greedy and the corrupt. It disempowers the people. It encourages arrogance and disregard in the powerful. It allows them to ensconce themselves in ivory towers and turn a blind eye upon the world outside. Apathy is the succumbing of one's will to the bidding of others. Apathy is the surrender of control over destiny.

Ideas

Flowing streams of illuminated imagination,
Sparks of genius igniting thoughtful speculation,
Ideas riding upon the crests of crashing waves,
Floundering upon the rocks and filling empty caves.

From the recesses of a curiously empty mind,
Ideas come and go of every conceivable kind,
As though conjured up by a mystical magician,
They ebb and flow, of their own volition.

Surreal Dream

Surreal




I dreamed the strangest dream,
A surreal dream.
I dreamt that time had all but run it’s course.
With pitiless intent and bewildering pace,
Time closed in upon people and space.
In swirling mists of receding light,
People disappeared without trace.
No sound or protest could I hear,
Nor stars or galaxies see,
I stood and watched in dreadful fear,
As time and space closed in on me,
And all that was left was a small dim light,
Like a torch beam shinning,
On a cold foggy night.

As the last few souls melted into darkness,
A few shadowy figures, still I could see,
Floating in the void of zero gravity.
And in the starkness of this reality,
I knew my family and me,
Were destined soon to disappear,
Without trace,
Without grace,
As though we were never here,
Had never been,
Never loved,
Never seen,
Never known anything,
No time past or present,
No future to await,
No line curved nor line straight,
No beginning,
No end,
No time in between.
No eternity,
Nothing before,
Nothing anymore!

And in my dream,
In terror struck,
I searched the labyrinths of my mind,
Racing against receding time,
Desperate to find the elusive key,
A bargain with God to make
That he would not us forsake
But bring back temporarily,
Fading time,
In space and harmony.
Then came strangely an answer,
Though not one I understood.
A price we must pay,
God seemed to say.
For every new tomorrow,
We must give one yesterday,
Till all our yesterdays are no more.
And when that day has come at last,
The chimes of time,
Will come to pass.

What choice was there to make?
This bargain I did quickly take.
Suddenly,
The closing darkness began to recede,
The past to the present returned,
The future to present,
Destined history to become.
Everything in its place,
Everything in its time,
Then came the dawn,
Thank God,
And the light of early morn.
We are!
We were!
And still shall be,
Temporarily!


Postscript:

Then tonight, a learned man,
On television said,
The sun is halfway through its life.
In five billion years,
The sun will be dead.
A thought cut me like a knife,
One new day,
For every yesterday!
One new year,
For every yesteryear,

The Butterfly

Butterfly

A butterfly flutters its wings,
A hurricane stirs.
In the deep blue yonder,
Clouds churn in menacing swirls.
The sleeping winds howl,
At being disturbed,
From peaceful slumber,
By an emperor perturbed,
The darkening storm opens a solitary eye,
Better to see the path of havoc from the sky,
As upon the land,
Its revenge it takes,
And in tempestuous anger,
All pity forsakes.

Beware my friends,
It is not there the story ends.
When you stir a grain of sand,
You alter forever, the lie of the land,
As when a butterfly, flutters its wings,
And the fluted air whistles and sings,
In rising concerto far beyond,
The rippling water of a little pond.

Postscript:
Would that my breath could stir the wind and blow away the clouds!

Future Been

The future has been!
Tell me what have you seen?
Have you seen the beginning as well as the end?
Were you once my enemy, are you now my friend?
Did we fight a thousand wars just to live in peace?
Did you fly with an eagle, did you dance with the geese?
Have you seen the beginning and the journey's end?
Do you know what awaits you around the next bend?
If it is not the future then where have we been?
If it is not the future what have we seen?


Time