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When you cannot afford to look back to where you started
Yet you cannot contemplate forgetting that they once cared
When the ache hurts worse than the day you parted
And you lost the warmth and complements you once shared

When the melancholy in your bones is fracturing
Whatever little piece of hope you tended in your marrow
When the best memories you are re-capturing
Digs into your flesh and stings harder than a poisoned arrow

When you realize you are more shattered than you thought
With septic wounds which glare like they won't heal
Because you never looked for cure when you should have sought
And you realize that  your virtues is what they did steal

When you want to believe you can happen again
Because you need to string that bow to share your pain
 Oct 2015 glenn martin
niamh
The shoulders that soaked young tears,
A place to hide from childish fears.
Once so straight and proud and high,
Cruelly stooped as the years marched by.
Still the strongest shoulders ever known,
Still the perfect cradle for a daughter now grown.
When I was eighteen I wrote “The Bedrock”
In which I said
The Priority is to Survive.
But I’m sixty three now,
And that’s not enough.
It’s not all about Me, so
It’s time to decide
What is Good.

Well, my friend
All Life is Good.
Every living thing.
From enormous whale
To spiteful wasp,
Bacteria
To Ecosystem.

Yet some beings must be extra-cherished:
Those that are conscious,
Sentient and smart.

Intelligence as such is there to be nurtured
And knowledge learnt.
So too wisdom,
But above all
Love.
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you:
A great old saying.
Be a Humanist indeed,
But better still,
A Lifist
Who Loves Life.

All else follows on from what I’ve just said.
Go figure.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\9\2015 (2).
No more pondering. Time to decide...
 Sep 2015 glenn martin
Savion
You really have to watch those liberal males,
they'll spend hours and hours with you having
deep intellectual conversations.

They'll discuss deep ideas, contemplate esoteric
theory and spiritual ideas. They'll make love
for hours and write deep and meaningful poetry
about you. Sure, they will probably wear their hair
long and most likely won't own a television.

But, they'll understand art and architecture and
literature. It's true that they probably won't give two
shakes about who won what football game, but they'll
dance with you late at night under the stars and they're
always looking for new ways to please you and usually
understand your deepest thoughts, often before you
understand them yourself.

They'll be your best friend and always treat you as
an equal, in fact, it will never even enter their mind
that you're not. They're almost always physically fit, too,
because they're usually the outdoorsy type and love to hike.
They never make fun of others, or discuss small ideas.
They enjoy discussing ways to improve the world and
the lives of others.

Sure, they won't slap you on your *** and tell you to get in
the kitchen and cook them some dinner and bring them a beer
while you're at it like those macho men on the right. Instead
they'll probably tell you to relax while they whip you up a
gourmet meal and serve it to you on the best dishes.

Yeah, you really gotta watch out for those liberal males.
I wrote this in response to a derogatory comment about liberal men.
 Aug 2015 glenn martin
Polar
It's not who you are or who you know,

What you wear or where you go.

It's not your friends or family,

Its words on a page,

In this community.

The words we use can settle scores

or open doors.

So hear a heartfelt plea from me,

Let's stop the wars and do poetry.
 Aug 2015 glenn martin
HRTsOnFyR
Eyes cast down
I walked with shadows
Only the boldest rays
Cut through the forest of my pain
Elusive glimmerings dance upon the path before me
Cold red eyes stalk me from the thickets
Fear creeps up my spine
The Angel within arises
Wings of power unfold
The ancient call resounds
I throw off this cloak of uncertainty
Pain once had a place,
a necessary lesson
But NO more.
I am not a child of sorrow.
I am a Warrior, a Survivor.
A strong, courageous Being
With scarred hands and a bleeding heart
I take up my Sword
I revel in the magic of my own existence
Looking past the shadows,
past the light
To where the horizon blends
Earth to Sun, Sun to Sky,
Sky to Sea
And the All becomes the One
A symphony of triumph
A trial of tears
Stardust and clay line the edges
Beautiful Divinity undefined
A tangle of lines and angles
Mark the road
Throughout our star crossed minds
When you write in prose, you cook the rice. When you write poetry, you turn rice into rice wine. Cooked rice doesn't change its shape, but rice wine changes both in quality and shape. Cooked rice makes one full so one can live out one's life span . . . wine, on the other hand, makes one drunk, makes the sad happy, and the happy sad. Its effect is sublimely beyond explanation." - Wu Qiao
D minor
Rembrandt's finer
Paint, oils, a breakfast
of red grapes and green olives
with Homer
Aristotle gazes
Admiration for a bust
An odyssey of emotion
Somewhere in the dust
Bach's fugue is overwhelming
Travelling back in time
Moving skulls around
To rest and surround
Socratic dialogue
resounds
leather-bound, a work of art
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