Personal

                                

              Continuing the theme of poetry and personal thoughts, a couple more personal views.

Image courtesy of Design You Trust.

 

Who Am I. 

Who am I
This son of a waitress
son of a miner
statistic from a Glasgow slum
digit in a National Health Service
walking in a fog
endeavouring to separate heaven from hell
reaching out to hands that aren’t there
sailing in the wrecked hull of hope
seeking a safe harbour
a soft beach to land
trying to forget yesterday
hoping too fashion tomorrow
who am I
I am a camera with ears
seeking a voice
wanting to be heard
in this tower of Babel

Image courtesy of Independent
 

Compassion.

Sometimes our strength breaks
not because of the burdens in our life
but because of our compassion
As year in year out we bear witness
to the savage claws of poverty
rip into the hearts of a legion of children
watch our green Earth stained red
with the blood of innocents in endless wars
standing silently by an see the young and old
die slowly from avoidable disease
and tragedy of human created disasters
compassion a necessary component
of that better world we all crave
but a crushing burden in this world
fashioned by greed power and privilege.

 

Visit ann arky's home at https://spiritofrevolt.info 

We The Poets.

April, poem a day month, draws to a close with just a few more poems to come.

WE THE POETS.

We the poets

must rise to hold the mirror,

not at romantic moon

dressing trees in silver web

but,   at sadness in a child's eyes

helpless face festooned with flies,

the listless look of hunger.

We the writers

must rise to hold the mirror,

not at hopes of superstars

pandering to an ego of selfish greed

but,   at misery of the world's maimed

duty done by smart bombs, computer aimed;

peoples crushed by pitiless power.

We the artists

must rise to hold the mirror

not at views from penthouse windows

of meadows green and lush

but,   at peoples broken by starvation,

at war, its brother deprivation,

capitalism's bastard twins.

If across the planet as a whole

we don't stand up and play our role,

poet;   heart of compassion,

writer;   voice of conscience,

artist;   eyes of justice,

we've cheated tomorrow's generation,

hurried the planet to extinction.

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

For The Love Of Poetry.

    Like the title says, for the love of poetry.

For The Love Of Poetry.

To you who love poetry,

whose eyes I try to see,

whose mind I try to reach,

whose heart in tune with mine,

see the weeping, the wounded,

I don't offer the grand plan, the blueprint,

only a heart, a hand.

Like you, I know our world as a beautiful garden,

a bounteous Olypus,

exploited, abused.

Like you, I see vicious claws of poverty

tear the dreams of youth,

pillage the pride of age.

Like you, I hear the heavy tread of tyranny,

shake the humble heart,

crush the human spirit.

I don't offer the grand plan, the blueprint,

only a heart, a hand.

Perhaps, with enough hands, enough hearts

we can at last

stop the weeping, heal the wounded.

ann arky's home.

SHE IS BURIED CHEST DEEP.

             Across the globe, for centuries, religion has bound the lives and warped the minds countless millions. Here in the West we have had centuries of sexual abuse by "holier than thou" tyrants preaching meekness and obedience. we also had our witch burnings and our brutal Inquisitions. However though we haven't eradicated the mind distorting institution of religion, we have to a degree tamed the beast.  Not so in Muslim countries where we still hear of beheading, amputations and stoning, in the name of Sharia Law, there the beast still runs rampant, trammelling minds and brutally destroying lives.

         How long must we wait for a wave rationalism and compassion to sweep over the human race.

 

ann arky's home.