Victory.

 A thought for the day;

Victory.

Nature recoiled from the savage beast
A beast so fierce on its war horse of progress
Sweeping aside all the was natural and beautiful
This blind beast conquered meadow and stream
Banished the fish from the seas
Left a trail of barren concrete and tarmac
Filled the air with odious gases
Eventually the beast conquered the earth
Now master of a dead and lifeless planet
A world that nature, maimed and bleeding
Finally abandons to allow the beast to slowly die.

 

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

Quiet Bye-way.

     We live in a world where Covid19 casts a dark and frightening shadow, where the blood of imperial conflicts colour the seas and stain the land, where armies of innocent flee across man made borders to be greeted with cruelty and humiliation, where hunger's cruel claws tear at the young and the old. It is our world, a world we can't escape from but can try to alter. However from time to time I take a walk down another bye-way and seek a little respite in the land of poetry. Today I'll take that stroll.

     Though I like a laugh and a giggle, most of you who have read anything I have written will realise that those features seldom, if ever, find their way in to my written word. 

    The following poems are all from a wee book called, "They say I'm Crazy."

A couple on my mother's death:

The Lonely Wynd.

At the bed, death's waiting room,

the family muster,

with empty words wrapped in thoughts of death,

gaily chatter.

Outside, hungry birds feed, sing and fly,

their chirpy songs seem to call her death a lie,

but summer's sun

reaching through the window pane

sadly smiles,

knowing they'll never meet again.

I wonder,

in coma wrapped, what were your thoughts.

Pleasure,

looking back at what used to be?

Pride,

at how, to this life happiness you brought?

Perhaps it was a welcome rest from pain

a just pause in your long struggle,

alas too late, this enigma with me remains.

So rest, in your rest peace be your gain

for you dear mother, an end to trouble

as love's boundless force could not break

death's firm grasp upon your heart,

passionless devouring cancer 

unmoved by prayer on our part, 

took your hand along that lonely wynd,

death took time

fused the moment on our mind.

In the midst of family

alone dear mother you had to die.

That Part Of My Life.

Everywhere I walk,

she dies.

I walk the leaf covered park alone,

she dies.

In each glen, by each loch,

she dies.

In the midst of each merry throng,

she dies.

With everyone I meet,

she dies.

each time I think of times gone by,

she dies.

When the future I try to grasp,

she dies.

There is no place  can hide from

her death.

There is no act that can obscure

her death.

My life is now marked by

her death.

Her death now shapes my life.

On Western imperialism.

Remember Iraq.

Mammon, God of the New World Order

has spoken:

Any nation who blasphemes 

against the scriptures

of the Holy Free Market economy

shall find its people scorched by fires

that rain out of the western skies

and the people shall suffer perdition

through all eternity. 

All the world shall see

Mammon's hi-tec retribution.

A couple of personal views.

The Illusion.

How frail we are

how tenuous our hold,

what a strange trick of nature

that we should feel so bold.

To life tied by a silken thread

burning youth,

a new world vows to mould,

oblivious, as fate blindly cuts the thread,

without a sigh,    leaves sweet youth so cold.

Middle age with confidence comes,

experience expands the illusion.

We cover the world in words of wisdom

believing we

lead nature to the right conclusion,

but she with ease, a beauty all her own,

shows our naive plans as utter confusion.

At what age will we realise,

we always pay for our arrogant intrusion.

In old age we accept the fact

our time in nature's span is small.

How rich, life in nature's domain could be

if to foul greed we refuse to fall.

Accept, we as beggars in her presence stand,

man can flourish and grow tall,

act as her lord and master,

she'll cast man aside like a cheap rag doll. 

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 sparkled and flashed

bringing 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,

outshines a prince's throne.

A couple on the death of my dad.

Ten Years.

It's been ten years since, dad,

do you still remember,

how your coaldust cover body

clawed in that dark abyss

for your share of sixpence

to feed your hungry kids?

I do.

Do you still remember,

how each day you descended into

that dark hell, laid your life

on the line, just to clothe

your family and your wife? 

I do.

Do you still remember,

how throwing crumbs from the window,

with skill the blackie's song you imitated;

settling down with a smile,

the humble comforts of our home appreciated?

I do.

Well dad,

it's been ten years since you died,

I still remember this and much more.

Then I always will ------- for a portrait

of your humble courage

hangs on a wall,

somewhere in my heart.

The Gift.

You promised me Jerusalem

a socialist paradise,

I have world

of greed,

brutality and lies.

You promised me Jerusalem

a land of hope and plenty.

I have a world

of want,

fear and envy.

Still,

from the bottom of my heart

I thank you for your gift,

a precious dream. I thank you dad,

for all your life you tried. 

Just a thought:

The Seasons.

When you look, it's plain to see,

spring has crossed these mountains,

--------------many years before;

kissed their slopes, with shoots of hope,

promised so much more.

Then sweeping in, in a blaze of life,

summer saw the promises bloom,

---------------many years before;

bathed the dreams, in bounteous streams,

birds began to soar.

So with stealth, and deceptive charm,

autumn cooled the gurgling streams,

-----------------many years before;

slowed their pace, to one of grace,

quietly closed a door.

Now with vulgar haste, and callous force,

winter assaults those mighty peaks,

----------------of many years before;

as gathering clouds, spread their shroud,

memories start to pour.  

       I hope my little wander down that bye-way brought something to you, and prodded you mind away, for a while, from our Covid19 plagued and trouble strewn world.

Visit ann arky's home at https://radicalglasgow.me.uk

Our Home.

       Once again some quiet words of wisdom from "Not Buying Anything", thanks Gregg.

Nature Is The Essentialist Of All Services

Nature is not a capitalist system: These are the services she provides absolutely free.

Stock markets tank, erasing trillions of dollars of make-belief wealth.
Nature rolls on.
The cogs, gears and levers of the "unstoppable" capitalist machine finally stop - with a whimper.
Nature rolls on, better than ever.
Bars close, gyms close, toy stores close, all the non-essential crap closes.
Nature rolls on.
Nature
is the
Essentialist
of all services.
No Nature,
no economy.
Let crony capitalism fail on its own.
Bail out Nature.

Visit ann arky's home at https://radicalglasgow.me.uk

National Poetry Day.

      Today, Thursday 6th. October, is National Poetry Day, so let's enjoy.

        This one is by Claude McKay, Black American poet, 1890-1948. It grasps a brutal scene form a not too distant America, and an aspect of society which here and elsewhere is once again on the rise, "racism"

The Lynching.

His spirit in smoke ascended to heave,
His father, by the cruellest way of pain,
Had bidden him to his bosom once again,
The awful sin remained still unforgiven.
All night a bright and solitary star
(perchance the one that ever guided him,
Yet gave him up at last to Fate's wild whim),
Hung pitifully o'er the swinging chair,
Day dawned, and soon the mixed crowd came to view
The ghostly body swaying in the sun:
The women thronged to look, but never a one
Showed sorrow in her eyes of steely blue;
And little lads, lynchers that were to be,
Danced round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee.

 

       This one, from much further back, speaks a truth that has been known by some for centuries. It is by Tommaso Campanella, Italian Philosopher, 1568-1639, translated by John Addington Symonds.

The People.
 

The people is a beast of muddy brian
That knows not its own strength, and therefore stands
Loaded with wood and stone: the powerless hands
Of a mere child guide it with bit and rein;
One kick would be enough to break the chain,
But the beast fears, and what the child demands
It does; nor its own terror understands,
Confused and stupefied by bugbears vain.
Most wonderful! With its own hand is ties
And gags itself- gives itself death and war
For pence doled out by kings from its own store.
Its own are all things between earth and heaven;
But this it knows not; and if one arise
To tell this truth, it kills him unforgiven. 

One from the first world war, by an American poet, Sara Teasdale, 1884-1933.

"There Will Come Soft Rains"

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows calling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in pools signing at night,
And wild-plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done,

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she awoke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

This one with a little hope, perhaps, this time, we will get it right.

FROM GEORGE SQUARE TO TAHRIR SQUARE. 

In a global square, in a global village the people are gathering,
They want to sort out their village once and for all.
They have had enough of wild beasts stealing their chickens,
Of war lords pillaging and plundering their crops.
Though they labour hard, they live poor
While the wild beasts and war lords grow fat.
This time they will take the time and do it right,
This time they will finally and forever banish,
Wild beasts and war lords from their village.
This time all our chickens will feed all the children of the village
This time our crops will see all our people through the winter,
This time, all the fruits of our labour will be ours.

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

What if---!!!

 

Read this thought provoking little piece on "Not Buying Anything":

      The following quote is from someone who gets what is happening to us and our world right now. Derrick Jensen, in his book A Language Older than Words asks:

    "What if the point of life has nothing to do with the creation of an ever-expanding region of control? What if the point is not to keep at bay all those people, beings, objects, and emotions that we so needlessly fear? What if the point instead is to let go of that control?  

      What if the point of life, the primary reason for existence, is to lie naked with your lover in a shady grove of trees? What if the point is to taste each other's sweat and feel the delicate pressure of finger on chest, thigh on thigh, lip on cheek?  

      What if the point is to stop, then, in your slow movements together, and listen to birdsong, to watch dragonflies hover, to look at your lover's face, then up at the undersides of leaves moving together in the breeze? 

    What if the point is to invite these others into your movement, to bring trees, wind, grass, dragonflies into your family and in so doing abandon any attempt to control them? 

     What if the point all along has been to get along, to relate, and experience things on their own terms? What if the point is to feel joy when joyous, love when loving, anger when angry, thoughtful when full of thought?  

      What if the point from the beginning has been to simply be?"

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

There Are No Natural Catastrophes.

      We all know that there is something wrong with the way we live, the difference is in how do we fix it. Day by day it becomes more obvious that time is running out, when do we act.

This from Tabula Rosa:

There are no natural catastrophes.

    Thousands and thousands dead or missing, millions evacuated. So far. Entire cities swept away. As if it weren’t an earthquake that struck Japan, but a nuclear bomb. As if it weren’t a tsunami that laid waste to houses, but a war. In fact, this is so. It’s just that the enemies who struck so hard are not the earth and the sea.
These are not at all tools of revenge for a nature that we are accustomed to view as hostile. The war that has been going on now for centuries is not on between humanity and the natural environment, as many would like to make us believe so as to ensure our discipline. We are our own enemy. We are the war. Humanity is the war. Nature is only its main battlefield.
     We have caused floods by transforming the atmospheric climate with our industrial activities. We have broken down riverbanks by cementing their beds and deforesting their shores. We have made bridges collapse by building them with scrap material so we could win contracts. We have swept away entire villages by building houses in areas at risk. We have contaminated the planet by building nuclear power plants. We have bred jackals by aiming for profit in every circumstance. We have neglected taking precautionary measures against such events, concerned only with opening new shopping malls, new railroad and subway lines, new stadiums. We have allowed all this to happen and repeat itself by delegating to others the decisions that concern our lives.
     And now, after we have devastated the world in order to move faster, to eat faster, to work faster, to live faster, we still dare to complain when we discover that we also die faster? There are no natural catastrophes, there are only social catastrophes. If we don’t want to go on being victims of unforeseen earthquakes, unusual floods, unknown viruses and so much else, the only thing left for us to do is to act against the real enemy: our way of life, our values, our habits, our culture, our indifference.
     It isn’t against nature that we need to urgently declare war, but against this society and all its institutions. If we are not capable of inventing another existence and of fighting to realize it, we must prepare to die in what others have arranged and imposed. And to die in silence, as we have live.

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