Lengths' Eclipse
Tuesday, 28 October 2014
Friday, 24 October 2014
There were no poems added for national poetry month.
Life got in the way.
Now there is the sad echo of a life taken without reason. A brave young man stood up for his country. For this he was shot in the back. His death will be forever entwined in grief and pain, not just for his family, but for all Canadians. This is the price paid for love of country, love of the people in it, love for earth. The fight for freedom does not gain just a patch of ground; it is like the ripples created by a pebble. It is for everyone everywhere.
Life got in the way.
Now there is the sad echo of a life taken without reason. A brave young man stood up for his country. For this he was shot in the back. His death will be forever entwined in grief and pain, not just for his family, but for all Canadians. This is the price paid for love of country, love of the people in it, love for earth. The fight for freedom does not gain just a patch of ground; it is like the ripples created by a pebble. It is for everyone everywhere.
Monday, 14 July 2014
An Out Of Season Poem
Nativity
Abstraction
by
Barbara Phillips
she
nods over the eggnog in her hand
face
lined, suffused with tree glow
so
long ago and yet I can’t forget
she
says, as she turns, eyes moist from the smoky
fire
or something else; it’s hard to tell
my
sister and I, on the run, in the forest
heavy
with bombs falling, drizzle, frost
more
dead than alive
I
was tempted just to lie down, let something kill me
then
the cry; I thought it was a cat or a rabbit
an
excuse to stop, roast something, try to camp
against
logs sodden, yet giving the illusion of shelter
the
body beside the child shattered, the child
in
rags, stained by shreds of flesh, and the blood
enough
to drown in, so thick, getting darker by the second
in
the twilight of that Christmas Eve, when a silence
of
sorts came back, as the seraphim of steel slipped
into
clouds falling through pain torn horizons
when
I picked her up I remembered what it was to be alive
we
cleaned her off in an abandoned house, and from a surviving
cow we got milk; we got so giddy, we cried
I
told people at the refugee camp she was my daughter
we
were each others’ angels; we went to the head of the
line
with families for emigration, away from
forests
hemorrhaging death, endings beyond reason
body
parts sown across the underbrush in bizarre abstraction
mercy
an alien unknown, tears another way of bleeding
Saturday, 5 April 2014
National Poetry Month
Because it is National Poetry Month, I am going to try to post a poem a day. If these posts amuse anyone, the purpose of this exercise will be fulfilled.
Because
Manifesto: We are So Lame
because
oaks don't bend to catch you
while
you stumble near their limbs
because
roads don't point the way
when
you can't read maps of places you don't know
because
you don't feel compassion in light
blinding
you while you
check
your rear view mirror
because
mountains show no passion
as
you scrape away their skins
we
are so lame when we want to say anything
full
of gravity or significance
I
am the apprenticed jester
my
mentor's gone astray
but
----
I'll
love you until
my
arms can't hold you
lines
invisibly converge
darkness
slows me down too far
loving
makes me raw
Barbara Phillips
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