Peace Now

Peace is all I hear you say
most people want it now.
But peace cannot really start
while murder stalks the earth.

The war torn people daily mourn
their latest loss and pain.
Children torn by cluster fury
the bombs of greed still primed.

Sudden lives are ended hourly,
arms dealers count their cash.
Our leaders say we will succeed
while endless misery prevails.

Look, the shattered townships lie,
look, the graveyard’s full.
Has not the time finally come
for all this killing to stop.

Let the sun peep out the cloud,
Let light shine strongly out,
illuminate the darkest of hearts
to put violent thought away.

Peace is all I want to hear
most people need it now.
But peace cannot fully start
while murder stalks our path.

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The War Hero

Dismembered body
as a cage of pain,
trapped youth
with gasping breath.
“Let me see
and feel
and walk
and talk.”

Limbless life
blinded man
mortar blown
shell shocked.
“stop the noise
from screaming
in my head,
my bullet came.”

Suspended life
with tubes
and wires
fed life.
“No way out
I am here
till I die
let me die.”

Does he know
where he is
can he feel
who he is?
“I know they’re there,
touching me
so near
yet so far away.”
War

Drums roll, guns shout
the mighty army’s feet
are heard on wet roads
swishing like souls
as they are taken away.
Proud warriors of peace,
fighting to stop all wars,
it’s folly can speak
of blood innocently shed
as your child dies.

There is no glory in this,
it’s death to one another.
Why does man fight man,
for a little parcel of land
that no one seems to want
if your enemy wasn’t there?
It just makes little sense
of all this brave sacrifice,
to gain nothing but death,
carved in pride on stone.
The Big Bang

The pen stopped over the paper,
the scissor halted with the draper,
the record slows, sound fades
a dull roar of shooting fire blades.

The play unwritten remains un-acted
the writer’s meal still un-tasted,
lying here a monument to waste,
left behind by the escapers haste.

Broken contracts, unsealed bonds,
scorched water stands in ponds,
where business ended, or suspended
from the company’s course intended.

A lonely tree flutters in a gale
leaves burst like a rotten sail,
over the barren windswept land
abraded with the blowing sand.

Sun shines down through the cloud
on buildings all reverently bowed,
a scene of wrath, a complete shambles,
where, no longer, the wild rose rambles.
Tomorrow’s Walk

Somewhere in the vastness of space,
wanders a dead planet spinning,
whose people could have stopped
and thought a little
and cared.
But they didn’t.
so men grow trees
of blasted ash
and love wasted
the song of the muse.

I wish they had told us
the day the fire fell
that I would see,
men walking trees aflame;
visions of hell,
roasted eyes
and wasted peace dream

I said politicians were blind
safe in burrows beneath,
for nothing they plan
since our children hate,
unforgiving,
dying at birth.
Someone forgot to tell us
that fire would consume
our emotional bankruptcy.

Then the world went dark,
the clouds kissed the sun farewell
and cold as intense as the heat,
rolled the bone dust
into senseless heaps,
while taking a walk to oblivion
for an ideal, forgotten.
The Day After

Those fantastic dawns
whose maidens played
staccato veils on my sight.
These brilliant Chariots of Wrath
Whose horse’s plumed spread
till earth fires consume
the furthest shadow.

Bright the liquid gold,
as serpents in conflict
metamorphose to lava;
sceptical spectres spasm.
Black stallion of the night,
the white mare’s tail of day,
proclaims this day’s worth,
caring not for revelation.

Rare virgins softly
come to the dawn’s bidding,
pure white pillars,
uncover your vulnerability.
Soft rose fingers rotate,
to secure the bonds of steel,
to the sacrificial womb,
to prevent the birth.

The virgins walk on
in heavenly robes
where harps proclaim
the cleansing purity
of their earth-bound calling.

And so the day breaks
to a shattered world
whose broken maidenhead
is yesterday’s folly.
Waiting in Amsterdam

High in a window she sits,
perched above the streets she waits,
ever watchful and awake
on a corner in Amsterdam.
All night long she sits and thinks,
of visions far passion gone,
the voices of the dead dance
before her elderly eyes.

A breeze blows a ripple; She sees!
A late wanderer singing; She sees!
A plane overhead; She sees!
eyes darting never sleeping;
The secret of the grey eyes of dawn,
where screaming herded children die
and ghostly haunting memories pass
before her elderly eyes.

A commotion in the street below,
the dark shine of a limousine;
a door is opened, footsteps on stairs
Panic…Sweat…Dread…
A door two flights down closes.
Then silence. She turns back to the street,
back to the canal and deserted bridge,
before her elderly eyes.

Her youth returns in shades of night,
the girl with open horror eyes
and the secret scream held back
before the terrors of yesterday,
sink thoughts, be still the mind
never again the jackboot at dark,
the dreaded foot upon the stair
the Swastika before the eyes.

She sits there still I fancy,
the nightly vigil faithfully kept,
while pangs of youth grow old,
the curtained face of age
draws memories of those hideous nights
when screams of fear and panic past
still invade the darkened tranquillity
before her elderly eyes.
The Centre

There is a point in space
where swirling fogs spin
and the mind confronts
the flashing lightening
of creative energy.

In this moving vortex
a path is laid for us,
over safe stepping stones
where one has gone before
and asks us to follow.

I know the journey’s end
where all spokes meet
and all paths lead
at the centre of our universe
there is this real person.

Gracious figure of beauty,
stands waiting patiently,
for us to cross the stones
without tripping
till we reach his hand.
What is Man?

What is man?
A mass of cells
trapped
in the fragment of time
then gone
leaving creation a helpless ruin.

What is man?
This chemical bond
united
then gone
leaving decay where beauty grew.

What is man?
His reasoning mind
searching
for grains of truth
then gone
leaving the dust of elusive thought.

What is man?
With love sublime
marring
his statue with greed
then gone
leaving hatred’s womb filled for birth.

What is man?
Oh naked man
defenceless
in a storm of self
then gone
leaving tombs for all his grief.

What is man?
A broken idol
rejected
by those nearest
then gone
leaving wood and blood and nails.
No Room for Hate.

There is no room within my heart
for revenge, fire or hate
there is no room within my mind
for any thoughts like these.

I cannot find the words to say
just how it is I feel
but I know from deepest hurt
I must forgiveness find.

The hurt that’s been done to us
cuts sore like a knife,
but we must not, repay in kind
what has been done to us.

Instead we must try and find
the way that is so hard,
and reach out our loving hands
to find some friendship now.

There can be no more healing thing
than opening wide our eyes
and seeing that most other folk
are really just like us.


David © November 2006
The Song of Doves

Their summer voices linger
As footprints in our minds
Their well remembered tones
In every breeze we hear.

Their summer voices linger
As laughter in the air
Their special little phrases
Imprinted in our minds.

These summer voices gather
As unified they turn
To soar above in harmony
In the ancient Song of Doves
Though we are many, We are ONE

From every corner of the globe
Talking all of our fabulous tongues,
From every walk of life we come
From East, West, North and South
From every direction we come
To join together as One
Though we are many, we are ONE

Our cultures and cosmologies differ
Our customs, habits and rituals differ
Our clothes, jewellery and food differ
Our homes, hair and make up differ
And yet for all these many differences
We are the same, our cause is One
Though we are many, we are ONE

The way we pray, and where we pray
The words we use and direction we face
The gifts we bring and we receive
All may seem different to the casual eye
And yet there can be but one Creator
Whom we have all learnt to serve
Though we are many, we are One

Our diversity brings many bright hues
To this our land of green and grey
Here our aim is wide inclusiveness
Rather than other’s narrow exclusivity
For to include is to honour and love
To accept, welcome and to receive
Though we are many, we are ONE

Today, our hands are joined
Our thoughts, joys and sorrows joined
Our hopes and our wishes are joined
Our friendships and families are joined
For we come together as one
To learn from each other as one
Though we are many, we are ONE

Written for the Culture Bazaar 2008 By David Gould ©
An Open Hand

Here is my open hand
please take my only gift,
I have nothing to give
but my loyalty and love.

I am poor and simple
I have no gold to give
but here is my heart
within this open hand.

Clasp my hand please
and share friendship now,
we will be so much stronger
helping each other together.

By David Gould © 18th August 2008

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