Pull it from the stone
And press it to your heart.
Take it from the fire
And cool it with your tears.
Lift it from the waters
And sing it into life.
Raise it high into the air,
Brandish it above your head,
And show your gift
For all to see and share.
© jsmorgane (May 2010)
No food, no food,
So hungry, mother.
I know, I know
I’m sorry dear.
Let’s travel down the road
Which road, which road
It’s crumbling, crumbling
Into no man’s land.
What’s no man’s land
What is it father
Where does it lead
This crumbling street
No street, no road
It doesn’t lead to any man
To anyone with any food,
With any work, not anything.
Just anything would do,
I know, just any work,
Just anything to eat,
Just any man, on any street.
On any road
That leads to anything
That leads to any land
Where I can eat.
© jsmorgane (Jan 10) from “War Poems”
Every time I see you I become less honest.
With so much life between one visit and the next,
Had I not rather flatter, than fluster you with candour?
No, I refuse.
I go for less polite and slightly grating,
And speak my mind uncensored, as before.
More to the point than pleasantries.
So when I see you next and say
“What awful perfume!” and
“What dreadful hair!” you understand
I mean to say
I love you still.
© jsmorgane (April 09)
