For many the path to peace has been through suffering loss of loved ones or the observing of other's loss. Many have observed the loss of life at Lockerbie, 9/11, 7/7, Madrid, Bali, Ireland or the Middle East and been moved to join the peace movement. Others have come by differing routes. Although I have always been a peace lover it has been the profound effect of being a resident in Lockerbie on 21st Dec 1988 and again in loosing our daughter in 7/7 that has re-shaped my yearnings for peace. I have therefore included a few poems of loss in this section. Please feel you can add your own as well.

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This first poem was written in memory of all those that died in 7/7 but equally applies to those who lost loved ones in other tragedies....

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
This one was written for a young Palestinian girl who lost her whole family one day while enjoying a day on the beach...a stray artillery shell wiped out her family in a second...


Memories are always with us
we hold them very dear
but sometimes they haunt us
and fill us with their fear.

Anyone who has suffered
this terrible pain of loss
will never ever forget
this lonely walk of tears.
A Word

If words could heal the hurt
life would become a book
if a single word could cure
I wish I could tell it to you.

There is such a special word
but its power is not in itself,
it is most potent when given
in a hug, a look or a smile.

The word that I have in mind
really has to be lived each day
as through our selfless actions
it speaks direct to the heart.

This word has suffered much
but still it cares for us all,
and it is this tiny word
that embraces us all.

It the darkest hour,
when life is bad,
this little word,
says “Love”.
The Essence... you caught it... that one little four letter word. The word is


the space is


ever so pure...






He came as promised
and left his flowers
in a glass jar of water
here by your grave.

He was here today
his flowers bloom
on this hillside
where you lie

Still in their paper
his flowers say
I love you
I miss you

But more than that
his flowers say
Why you?
Dear sister
Why you?
Us Together

A year ago we were strangers
we’d pass each other unseen,
but now it is the warm embrace
of our shared comfort and pain.

A sorrow brought us together
and it is a grief that unites us,
tears, our common language
we speak it in lowered tones.

We face an uncertain future
our life plans set askew
whatever it may bring us
I am stronger for knowing you.
Life is a Circle

Life is a circle, a journey, a cycle
We travel, we revolve, we age, we die.

We are from the earth and we return
hopefully at the close of our span.

Our children should of course bury us.
It is so sad when we have to bury them.

Life has a movement, and slowly we travel
all too quickly through its moods and stages.

But a life cut short is unfair.
It’s wrong.

The tears are coming again
The unstoppable stream of grief
I seem to have cried an ocean
And still fresh seas appear.

Je souhaite que mon Lac de larmes abreuve le monde de mon amour pour toujours Bises
A Widow’s Cry

As I lay down starring at the clouds
I remember the good times we had.
Why did you leave me all alone
With a missing space beside me?

Why did you have to go on ahead
and leave me alone on this earth
without you and missing you
being there right by my side?

I feel the after-heat of the sun
I see the silver feathers of the moon,
where his shoes have trod
leaving only the memories.

I stare up into the sky and ask;
Where are you now, can you see me?
Is it better where you are,
than it was when you were by my side?

Written after the Lockerbie Air Disaster
The Lockerbie Widow

This little round dent in the ground,
that they said was formed as you fell
is all I have left to touch of your’s
it is the last place I know you were
how small it is to fit all of you.

On the hill above Lockerbie town
above I only see the infinite stars
while below there is only this dent
where my fingers trace the shape
where you found eternal rest.

My mind goes back over the years
to that frightful fateful night
when we heard but couldn’t believe
that your aircraft had come down
split asunder in midair blast.

So now this dent is all I have
to feel, to connect to your death.
I see how earth reached our her arm
and plucked you from the void
and brought you cocooned here.
When you have a female relative murdered this is what happens...this is a deeply personal poem but it is the way I feel tonight.

Little Black Boxes

They were handed to us
as if to sum it all up,
a small collection
of little black boxes.

It has all been cleaned,
sterile and lifeless,
neatly set within
the little black boxes.

And there it all lay
just as we remembered
seeing it, but not
in little black boxes.

And so now we have
all your jewellery,
that you wore then,
in little black boxes.

You never intended
when you put it on,
for us to get it
in little black boxes.

David © August 2005


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