Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts

Saturday 6 June 2015

Heaven.


Heaven.

The heaven I seek holds no guarded gate
nor boasts no throne on high
has no host on bended knee
no king to call us nigh.

Death shall not be our road of entry
no trumpet blast to show the way,
has no frontier guards for man nor beast
nor some far off judgement day.

The heaven I seek is here and now,
where symbols of power crumble like sand;
standing upright all men shall brothers be,
no one privileged with high commend.

Vibrant life shall be our only passport,
the glorious morning sun our only sign,
with true love of man and beast,
we can have heaven in our time.

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk

Wednesday 22 April 2015

Buried Treasure.

As life glides on, what do we really value?

Buried Treasure.

Rich,     man I'm rich.
this life, this treasure chest of mine,
crammed full.
Those moments of ecstasy with forgotten names,
burning loves that broke the rules,
quiet meetings that burst into flames,
short lived loves
sealed with brittle vows.
Passions that sparked and flashed
bring warmth,    even now.
Ruby red anguish that shaped my heart
diamond friendships this world can't part,
a son that changed this world to gold
adding pride to my treasure chest.
A daughter brought radiance beyond compare,
of precious gems,    they gave the best.
These jewels, these precious stones
this bounty beyond belief
all mine,
outshine a prince's throne.

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk

Saturday 18 April 2015

I Want A World For The Soft And The Gentle.


       A poem can come from a thought, a word, something you saw, an inner feeling, a desire deep inside. This poem came from a deep sadness after hearing of the death by suicide of a dear friend's young son.

TO LOSE A SON.

It seems, in this harsh and callous world
There is no room
For the sweet, the soft, the gentle
Too many compromises to the inner self
Too many cruel realities pierce the heart.

How do you love
When survival bids you
Case your heart in an iron cask
Seal your skin in a titanium sheet
Fulfil the code and not yourself.

With pleasures locked in an inner chamber
Love hidden beneath a smile
Desires crammed in secret corners
All protected from the discordant demands
Of a rapid moving, confusing, pitiless world.

Where do the sweet, the soft, the gentle, find solace
Where can the heart float free
Where can the inner self blossom
Open for all the world to see
Accepted and un-threatened? 

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk
 

Wednesday 24 September 2014

I Was No Scot---.


      Sitting sipping coffee in a cafĂ© I came across the paper "The Glad Rag". It was an interesting read, I like poetry, and its pages were a rich kaleidoscope of prose and verse. One in particular, to me at any rate, blew away all that crap about colour, ethnicity, culture, race, nationality, and showed that common thread that links us all. 
YETHOLM DAY.

When I first fucked an England born
Her ethnicity
Was not the first thing that came to me
I loved her cos she was beautiful and she loved too
The warmth of desire
Lying so close to me
The Green dawn rush
On the Cheviots
We washed all things well
In the tranquillity of Bowmount Water
She was no Northumbrian
I was no Scot
We were gypsies, travellers, subjects of no high kings
Love is a free born thing
Her love was everything.

      (Yetholm in the Borders has been associated with Romani communities since the seventeenth century. The last "Gypsy King" was crowned in Yetholm in 1898)
 By, David Stakes. 
Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk


Friday 25 April 2014

Belonging.

What more can I say-----

BELONGING.

A gentle kiss that bears a promise
confirmed in that philtrf smile,
soft fingers like a breath on flesh
lingering, just a while.
Sweet words that caress
loving hands that speak,
these tell my wondering heart
here is the harbour I seek.
A closeness that needs no voice
a peace that stills the storm
this special human magic, can
an arduous world transform.

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk

Thursday 31 May 2012

I'M PROUD.


I’M PROUD.
I’m proud of my people, proud to be one of them,
that great mass on society’s bottom rung.
Those who, with coal-dust under their nails
in their eyes, in their lungs
claw at the earths entrails.
Their brothers,
cement in their hair
in their mouth, in their ears,
oil ingrained in their fingers,
on their face.
Sisters, glistening with sweat
midst the ceaseless noise of machines
that throw out shirts, shoes, toys, carpets
for other people.
Those with soil and sweat stuck to their skin
smelling of the earth, feeding the multitude,
grinding out their lives in a harsh pitiless system
weighted down
with a sack load of half-dead dreams,
sometimes brought to their knees
by a tidal wave of despair,
never defeated,
groping in the dark to find tomorrow,
keeping hope alive;
they amaze me.
Somehow, from somewhere
in this cold, cruel
unforgiving scheme of things
they find love for their children.
Not a teaspoonful, not a cupful,
but buckets full, to bathe them in,
to pour over them.
They seem to know
that one day this world will be ours
and to take care of it
we will need those who have been loved.

Tuesday 14 February 2012

IT'S TRUE, ANARCHY IS FOR LOVERS.




            There is so much going on in this world of corporate fascism, the struggle seems endless. As always, anarchists are at the forefront of any struggle for the freedom of the individual, the well being of humanity and freedom from the exploitation of people by wealth and power. Sometimes we are so involved in struggle and strife that we can lose sight of why we are fighting. It is not because of our love of fighting, it is not because the only way we can exist is by struggle. It is the opposite, it is because of our love, our love of freedom, not just for ourselves but for all, it is because of our love of the individual and their right to a decent life, it is because of our love of the coming generations. In spite of the bad publicity given to anarchists by the mainstream media, love is the foundation of anarchism. So on this day, February 14 we would like to take our rightful place among the lovers of this world and declare, anarchy is for lovers.


Sunday 8 January 2012

THERE ARE MEN TOO GENTLE ---.

       
         As the new year gets up and running and all the talk is of struggle and fighting, we should never forget why we are fighting. It is not for the love of struggle and fight, it is not for power and wealth, it is because of love and a desire to create a world where such beautiful flowers as justice, peace and love, bloom in the fertile soil of co-operation, so we can live in a world free from the fear of deprivation. We wish to create a world where the gentle can live and grow.


THERE ARE MEN TOO GENTLE TO LIVE
AMONG WOLVES

Poem by James Kavanaugh

There are men too gentle to live among wolves
Who prey upon them with IBM eyes
And sell their hearts and guts for martinis at noon.
There are men too gentle for a savage world
Who dream instead of snow and children and Halloween
And wonder if the leaves will change their color soon.

There are men too gentle to live among wolves
Who anoint them for burial with greedy claws
And murder then for a merchant's profit and gain.
There are men too gentle for a corporate world
Who dream instead of candied apples and ferris wheels
And pause to hear the distant whistle of a train.

There are men too gentle to live among wolves.
Who devour them with eager appetite and search
For other men to prey upon and suck their childhood dry.

There are men too gentle for an accountant's world
Who dream instead of Easter eggs and fragrant grass
And search for beauty in the mystery of the sky.

There are men too gentle to live among wolves
Who toss them like a lost and wounded dove.
Such gentle men are lonely in a merchant's world.
Unless they have a gentle one to love.