Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 May 2017 martin
John F McCullagh
The bar was closed,
Midnight approached
like a scythe swept silently.
Jim placed two glasses on the bar
one for him, one for me.

Black Bush shimmered in each glass
golden in half light
I proposed a toast to Da-
thirty years gone this night.

That day We'd brought you to the church
and the graveyard just beyond.
Larger than life you always loomed
to think its been so long.

They say that when a father dies
a boy becomes a man.
If it didn't happen right away
I hope you'd understand.

I'll never hear his voice again
or share a hug and kiss.
I'm drinking to remember
It was such a night as this.
Remembering responsibly
A bee here
another there
the bee catchers busily chase

enjoy every bit
hit and miss
miss and hit

the urge to live is the sugar
sweetens the grind
keeps death out of mind.

If you keep death in mind
high is the cost
in the momentary dying
life is lost.
 May 2017 martin
John F McCullagh
On a splendid sunny day with the Gestapo standing by,
A Munich Co-ed, the condemned, Sophie Scholl spoke for the last time.
Sure of her cause, strong in her Faith, the last petal of the White Rose
Bared her neck to the guillotine already wet with her brother’s blood.

Opponents of  an unjust War. The White Rose defied the Fueher’s rule
In their pamphlets they exposed the horrors of the camps
until they were condemned in a court of law.

Not every German was complicit; not all revered the red and black.
Some still thought for themselves and secretly they fought back.
Like Antigone of old, Sophie stood against the State:
certain, to the very last, of Love’s victory over hate.
“How can we expect righteousness to prevail when there is hardly anyone willing to give himself up individually to a righteous cause? Such a fine, sunny day, and I have to go, but what does my death matter, if through us, thousands of people are awakened and stirred to action?”- reported last words of Sophie Scholl
 May 2017 martin
Robert Andrews
I have a garden
And it's very large
And I must tend it all the time
It's work
But it's beautiful work
So I don't really mind
I turn the soil
Digging stones
To plant the seeds I hope will grow

I trim the hedges
Tend the lawn
Pull the weeds until they're gone
But I don't mind
Its peaceful there
I'm free of trouble
Free of care

I walk there often
Most often alone
Shepherding the things that grow
I talk to the bees
And sing to the birds
Rarely am I ever heard
No one wants to walk with me
To enjoy the flowering cherry trees

I love my garden
Would you like to go?
It grows inside me...
It's in my soul.

Roosty
Next page