Poem of the Past: Coriolanus


I have really neglected these posts for the past few months. I don’t have the excuse of saying I hardly have time to write or paint, but that’s summer life really, always filling the day with work and play. And of course more than a few shitty instances that have occurred since my last post have hampered some inspiration. I can see how some people like to write through the grief of saying goodbye to loved ones, but I never could do it. It brings up too much that I’d rather just push away, forget about feeling bad and move on.

So until I get my act together and start something (possibly get a few short stories going, complete a few outlines… the normal stuff that writers wish they’d do but never do until that final push of “I need to get this done” occurs), here is an oldie from earlier this year. 


With a sword in his hand
he must be strong;
With a powerful yell
he must command;
With resolve in his eye
he must be leader;
though it can’t be so.

His stride is long
but steps are faint;
his tracks are washed out,
a stomp easily forgotten
as the ground rises around
and the rain falls;
flash-floods in his wake
not of joy, the fearful
path is washed out
with his back to us
slowly, far away
and we can breathe.

His thrust is resilient,
yet it’s a glancing blow
a poisonous strike,
determined to win
can it be precise; he falters
with the sun is against him
and it twitches, one stray glare
and the blade is weakened;
dropping now, drilled to the ground
with a grip lost, it slips
slowly, down
and his hand is outstretched
as one we can ignore.

But he is only that: just a man
consumed by pride and vanity
burning away until a tunnel,
his only vision, remains as
he is human;
He is one of us
and reaching out,
never sought or seen
in a plead to be drawn in,
embraced for one last time
proved worthy and finally

Poem for the thoughts – Kathryn


I’m back! But only for a little while. Lots of readings to do for the semester ahead, oh boy. BUT I had a creative streak, and offer a new poem, written about 10 minutes ago, as a gift… and a bit of a plea. It’s in response to a movie I just watched called The Whistleblower with Rachel Weisz. Very sad story, don’t watch if you can’t stomach human torturing (even though not much of it is shown on screen). I do recommend it though, very well done and really makes you wonder about the world… Anyways, onto my verse, enjoy:


Stand outside the building
and watch painfully still.
Watch the flames billow
touching and tasting the wood around
until a suitable plank
is found.
The air grows hot
from the rising fire
waves of warmth in pulses
do not turn away
a sudden swell of heat
pushes outwards
as the wooden structure slowly
built on foundation too frail
from the debris of the war.
A crowd has gathered
cheering the burning on
hollering in praise
and having a merry time
paid to watch
not paid to act.

A few stand in the background
silently gazing on
as the wind howls through the cracks
of the house
gathering force
it’s enough noise for them.
The gale becomes stronger
and smoke from the flames
is pushed out to the crowd
the hollering ones gasp
as thick and toxic fumes
penetrate their lungs.

And all the while
the bystanders are silent
but internally
egging the wind on
kill the betrayers
the would-be protectors
and let us rebuild it strong.
The flames collapse and the crowd moves on
whoever is left, crawling away
in shame
the embers settle down
planks precariously leaning
supporting each other
the only way they know how.

And that’s where we come in
to lend a supporting hand
for the need is greater now
than ever before
that poorly assembled house
can never be a home.
But in the end, it’s only one
of many waiting around
the fire has moved on,
waiting to surface again
from the underground.

picture by ME!

Poem 7/12/13 “Bury”




‘Underwood’ c. AG, April 2012

Hidden no longer
a voice so enchanting
strong, passionate, excited
heard by most in a charming form
a repression of the brave
it pours out no longer
.the marshland’s dry
not even a downpour can bring it back.

But the melody is refreshing
a new twist for the greater people
this isn’t an age of acceptation
no matter what is said
instead of strength is cowardice
hiding behind false words
.no truth left to tell.

And when it does show
we notice in an instant
some are drawn to it’s beauty
others turn
such a curse
.the inevitable words
a slip, trip and fall ahead
even as stardom is promise.

So we lie in wait
for the true emergence
the only life form to fight change
especially for betterment
the words left naked
and flowing smoothly from caged tongues.