"pacem" poems
Decked out in chiffon and lace
young Ella, called after mom,
never felt so grown,
rushing to mother’s call
to pilot the stroller today.
The streets to market were bare
save for a frail widow
guiding her walker to their right -
smiling at the girl in chiffon.
Without a sign, electric shocks
seized the old woman's frame,
spreading her supine like a crucifix
beside the irrelevant walker.
Battling through glazing eyes,
she clung to images of mother, stroller
and the girl in chiffon -
their cries a distant echo.
But their images presently faded
and old dear Ella returned to primal dust.
July, 2006
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
The second amendment might
As well be the sixty-ninth, for all
The life-long days it saves by
The transparent and glossy shields
Adorning blue-skied uniforms.
The strike zone is limited to the
Mobility-enhanced limbs, out of
Reach of the cardiac plateau, in
A line guarded by “I heart NYC”
Leftover campaign buttons.
Crowds question the timeless yet
Disintegrating rhetoric, and they
Sing along with misspelled threats
To sanguine attempts at love and
War, while grade schoolers watch.
What’s missing from this libretto
Is a slogan like “if they go low, we
Go high” and the money to borrow
It, or the right to use the copyright,
As long as it doesn’t get ******
“Now hear this,” bellows the man in
The crow’s nest, stepping in front
Of his stepson who brandishes a
BB gun proudly in his arms, “the
Curfew starts at midnight!”
Dona nobis pacem, a canon of
Faith, is hummed by the last ranks
Of veterans in camouflage, hoping
To initiate a temporary calm among
The bleak and ****** crew.
A clown-faced poet attempts to draw
A smile, as she calls for an absentee
Ballot, a circuitous frontage road
Away from destiny, some think,
And a short breath of recess.
“Take away their weapons,” hollers
A very pregnant woman, who goes
Into labor, blaming the guns for her
Untimely reward, and for a moment,
Just minutes, the midwifery begins.
All this while a small coterie of men
Gathers, silently taking in the show,
Unnoticed in their pretense, but
Sporting the heritage caps of the
NRA, stars and stripes in their lapels.
The disingenuous players in this sad
Drama are about to fold their tents,
To chicken out, to return to tacos
And beer, when stillness breaks,
So much so that crickets rule.
A small boy crosses the street, his
Smile contagious, his gait strong
As he approaches the men and
Says “I am you before now, be
Of peace and good cheer.
“My commandments have no
Amendments, no magic exceptions,
No golden calves, no wicked step-
Mothers, only a heart and soul,
I am the moral of your story.”
© Lewis Bosworth, 2016
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 12:40 AM UTC
Si vis pacem, para bellum - Vegetius
"If you want peace, prepare for the war."
I have been at war for a lifetime.
At war with myself,
At war with the world.
I am tired of fighting,
Exhausted by this agonizing war.
Please let it end.
I just want to be at peace.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
Amo el campus
universitario,
sin cabras,
con muchachas
que pax
pacem
en latín,
que meriendan
pas pasa pan
con chocolate
en griego,
que saben lenguas vivas
y se dejan besar
en el crepúsculo
(también en las rodillas)
y usan
la cocacola como anticonceptivo.
Ah las flores marchitas de los libros de texto
finalizando el curso
deshojadas
cuando la primavera
se instala
en el culto jardín del rectorado
por manos todavía adolescentes
y roza con sus rosas
manchadas de bolígrafo y de tiza
el rostro ciego del poeta
transustanciándose en un olor agrio
a naranjas
Homero
o *****
Todo eso será un día
materia de recuerdo y de nostalgia.
Volverá, terca, la memoria
una vez y otra vez a estos parajes,
lo mismo que una abeja
da vueltas al perfume
de una flor ya arrancada:
inútilmente.
Pero esa luz no se extinguirá nunca:
llamas que aún no consumen
...ningún presentimiento
puede quebrar ]as risas
que iluminan
las rosas y ]os cuerpos
y cuando el llanto llegue
como un halo
los escombros
la descomposición
que los preserva entre las sombras
puros
no prevalecerán
serán más ruina
absortos en sí mismos
y sólo erguidos quedarán intactos
todavía más brillantes
ignorantes de sí
esos gestos de amor...
sin ver más nada.
1.2k
The second amendment might
As well be the sixty-ninth, for all
The life-long days it saves by
The transparent and glossy shields
Adorning blue-skied uniforms.
The strike zone is limited to the
Mobility-enhanced limbs, out of
Reach of the cardiac plateau, in
A line guarded by “I heart NYC”
Leftover campaign buttons.
Crowds question the timeless yet
Disintegrating rhetoric, and they
Sing along with misspelled threats
To sanguine attempts at love and
War, while grade schoolers watch.
What’s missing from this libretto
Is a slogan like “if they go low, we
Go high” and the money to borrow
It, or the right to use the copyright,
As long as it doesn’t get ******
“Now hear this,” bellows the man in
The crow’s nest, stepping in front
Of his stepson who brandishes a
BB gun proudly in his arms, “the
Curfew starts at midnight!”
Dona nobis pacem, a canon of
Faith, is hummed by the last ranks
Of veterans in camouflage, hoping
To initiate a temporary calm among
The bleak and ****** crew.
A clown-faced poet attempts to draw
A smile, as she calls for an absentee
Ballot, a circuitous frontage road
Away from destiny, some think,
And a short breath of recess.
“Take away their weapons,” hollers
A very pregnant woman, who goes
Into labor, blaming the guns for her
Untimely reward, and for a moment,
Just minutes, the midwifery begins.
All this while a small coterie of men
Gathers, silently taking in the show,
Unnoticed in their pretense, but
Sporting the heritage caps of the
NRA, stars and stripes in their lapels.
The disingenuous players in this sad
Drama are about to fold their tents,
To chicken out, to return to tacos
And beer, when stillness breaks,
So much so that crickets rule.
A small boy crosses the street, his
Smile contagious, his gait strong
As he approaches the men and
Says “I am you before now, be
Of peace and good cheer.
“My commandments have no
Amendments, no magic exceptions,
No golden calves, no wicked step-
Mothers, only a heart and soul,
I am the moral of your story.”
© Lewis Bosworth, 2016
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC
Theme/Chorus,many voices,(call and response)
is it the worst thing ever?/ITS THE WORST THING EVER,is it the worst thing ever?/ITS THE ****** WORST THING EVER!/
Sample Ice-T
"I stare at them blue lines,I think I'mma go blind"
I'm goin crazy cuckoo,finally losing it,
trapped in my gravel pit,rehashing my own ****
my old shit-still holding me back,
may as well get a pipe and start puffin' up crack,
cos I've cracked,and frankly don't give a ****
I'm so sick of bangin' my head off this mental block,
its the size of a freight train-Strength of the Hulk,
you really think I wanna fuckin' sit here and sulk?,
you leeches... keep preachin' deceit,
one more fake smile,OOPS there go teeth...
was that a piece of your jaw on the floor that I saw?
was that real or a dream, I can't tell any more?
each rhyme I write-so god **** tight,
like your first piece of ass-first nasty fight,
first make up *** first broke up ex,
my mates just stare at me perplexed
when I bare the holes in my soul to all,
I dunno whether I'm gonna get cheers or catcalls,
but don't worry bout that I got plenty of boots,
and I'll kick your ****** ***** til they're bigger than grapefruits,
I'm a live grenade throwin serenades,
So god **** sick I gave cancer aids,
Sandman-sicker than cancer cells in the cerebellum,
Si vis pacem, para bellum ,cause I'm prepared for warfare
I don't advise goin there ,
you'll find limpet mines in your ***** hair,
I'll blow the scabs off the ***** on a filthy *****
if I have to- I have to to scratch this itch
in the centre of my mind like a black hole Sun,
this mental block has got me all undone...
I swear if I don't finish a track I'll drop dead...
wait a minute...I just fuckin' well did!
so much for mental blocks Mhmm?
but seriously-y'all ladies and fellas-
is it the worst thing ever?/ ITS THE WORST THING EVER ,
is it the worst thing ever?/ *ITS THE ****** WORST THING EVER!* /
"then the beat becomes me,sit in the dark and write a whole fuckin' LP"
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 10:01 PM UTC
*talking to ritchie (a scaffolder on the Whitechapel project of the cross-rail) and his girlfriend nicholle, the smurf who i told about gargamel... while almost begged the sri lankans to buy a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of diet pepsi, past the allowance for the shop's opening hours and catching the last bus from chasing the cross... me and ritchie got talking randomly... hugged and shook hands by the end of the encounter, i don't know why; ritchie was a scaffolder... i told him i was once a roofer... i don't know why i have a healthy affiliation with scaffolders;
nicholle the chihuahua walking in front of us reminded us of drug testing on the building site, i said a day off, she said a day without pay and randomised crap like curtains... now i remember why i didn't join the crew with girlfriends, i'd be in a mental asylum by now, should they exist, otherwise with the failure of community care projects... maybe that's why women look amazing in ***** but cats look better in real life; i'm not even trying to be sexist, it's just too much reality.*
i have only a few words
for her:
why won't she touch me?
why am i to resolve
my objections like this,
ah, i see, because they are
objections to that
subjections that are of man
succumbing to woman
and the ordeal of chore;
that are, man objectifies woman
with all that ***********
while woman makes countless
subjects from him to appease her,
while the world around sees no
appeasement...
indeed in the crusader's song to
later show, as a psychosis
(elevation of soul via the body's
non-existence, a funny atheism)
i'll show you a levitated stone,
that doesn't require stones or loafs of
bread for proof of alchemy;
cup my hands in tears to capture
tears like rainwater...
make my eyes a convent....
i say a convent not a covenant!
da pacem domine -
and i see the mother nuns ushering the flock
into carcass of obedience,
a volume of body as tall as the pyramids;
why are we the defending?
what pleading would craft an altar
if not to compare
idle prayer crafted as a larger spectacle
to allow marriage in its eyes
permitted...
when i'm the sparrow of sorrow
i sound like my mother, because of you,
it's what i see that's to come
that makes me disbelieve the magic of
the advert, and embrace the advent of the saints
in petulant prayer.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC
Incense in the abbey church
old monk in choir stall
mediating in the stillness
and silence
I watched
his tonsured head
bowed,
Ipse primus in pace
et tunc alios
quoque pacem
Thomas A Kempis
in Imitatione Christi
so I read,
common room
warm and cosy
book case
old sofas
stood looking down
into the cloister
just the tick ticking
of the clock,
la foi croit quelque
chose de vrai sans
preuve ou preuve
the French monk said
in the guests'
breakfast room
after lunch,
if there was proof
or evidence
we wouldn't need faith
the Colonel said,
plainsong Vespers
sensing the world
beyond the high windows
voices chanting
from choir stall
to choir stall
back and forth,
prayer è operazione
spirituale
con il Creatore
del Cielo e della Terra
Italian monk said
quoting Spurgeon
as I helped him
**** the cloister beds,
a spiritual transaction
is prayer with God
he translated for me
his fingers covered in earth
his dark eyes on me,
cloister in evening
walking with moonlight
causing shadows
where moon left untouched
and peacefulness
and a feeling of sanctity,
faith is accepting
without proof
Dom Joe said
and I conjured
these thoughts
like a *****
in my young head.
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 6:59 AM UTC
What good is peace if war is not a possibility.
Fool's gold though old men get to sit out while the young
are minced,vaporized.
Peace is a Noble aspiration and
well worth pursuing. Meanwhile The warrior must stand firm
To allow peace to have a say. Wolves are at bay not by happenstance
but by design. The devil will take the hindmost but will catch hell from the foremost who will turn and unleash havoc
Even at the highest cost.
It has always been. That way.
SEMPER FI.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 1:07 AM UTC
too much poetry decides on what's essential,
nothing, is, quite, necessary. although: existential:
too much borne from inexperience
and too much from anticipating it,
yet the fewest to mind the passing as it was,
anticipation reduced to vaccines on the ready,
so much ******* idealism that it makes me sick...
quiet likely... variation of the onomatopoeia yuck,
and there are plenty... da pacem domine...
or questioning Babylonian tactics:
hanging garden' madness remembering the pyramids
prior the Eiffel overcoming...
the tongue! the tongue! the tongue prior cranium!
knock knock... who's there? who's who? who knows?
no, who doesn't care.
i don't know why tilting on the Byzantine titling,
seemed appropriate, what are you?
the leftists who took apart communism
and want censorship to curb right-wing opinions?
Mary ******* Poppins from afar! Birmingham thus far
and so should Venice mind - no river... no flow.
the left are truly readying a box, two gloves,
tango of feet, a header in a football match is like an
uppercut, grey matter extending... well d'uh d'uh d'uh.
glossognomia - the alter to Heraclitus' tears or Logos
v. Gnome, the laughing one's, atomic Democritus -
both a cretin's fancy without a wife -
wisest speech of the *** without womb -
men and tombs, women and wombs... shame we were
born yesterday and certain scripts were deemed holy
and subsequently undecipherable, unquestioned,
requiring prayer, necessary Koran, poetic justices of
expression, Milton und Blake... well hello the idea
of photosynthesis! maybe an Aladdin pyramid or two
on the flying carpet! who the gold digger now?
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 7:39 PM UTC
Sit nos quibus pacem
Let us have peace,
tonight of all nights.
I know Time will not stand still,
I won't waste breath asking him to,
But, if, for the few hours,
till the break of day,
the guns could fall silent
the sharp tongues fall quiet,
and hate be taught for an hour, tolerance.
Sit nos quibus pacem
I know morning will break,
with joy for many, and with pain for more,
those to which this night,
is the same as the last, clanging with the hollow pains
of hunger and heartache and war,
but if we might,
for just one silver night,
have the peace
which you meant us to have from the start
I should be forever grateful.
Sit nos quibus pacem
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
Long before daybreak
With eyelids so heavy
Beseeching, let me sleep!
Never-ending, indefatigable thoughts
In waves, each more belligerent
Than its foregone,
Sang of tempestuous oceans
Of Winters of long-lasting darkness.
A bewail
- of bleakness -
For souls convoluted amongst alb foam.
To frank such thoughts
Dry them underneath moonlight
Obviate nefarious whims.
To coerce the ways of rational kin,
Eradicate rapt, impetuous
Combustions fired by
The cholera of heathens.
With herb and candle, enthrall,
With hammer and anvil, fashion!
Worming out the Eye of Dystopia
I wage war,
Quill in shivering fingers
- si vis pacem
para bellum.
Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 2:53 AM UTC
Because the day will come
where they come for you
and all you love.
They better pray to their god,
and beseech their idols of control,
that they are as dangerous as I.
Apr 11, 2023
Apr 11, 2023 at 7:30 AM UTC
Mourn, as the hour draws near--
I'll soon hear goodbyes.
Mourn, for the last petal from the dying rose fell.
Mourn, for thy time has come.
Mourn, not but a smile;
not but a tear.
I'll mourn,
requiescat in pacem
Dec 12, 2020
Dec 12, 2020 at 9:48 AM UTC
I followed the thick set monk
along the silent cloister
him white robed
hooded against the cold
hands hidden
in deep pockets,
in tasche profonde
hands formed into fists
to hold the cold in check
as I entered the work shop
where a tall monk stood
bearded un invité à voir
he said smiling,
smell of incense
and baked bread
and monks,
feel of rope between hands
rough pull down
Dom Peter said
then let go
so I did
son de cloches
in the afternoon air,
I gazed at the cloister garth
from the common room window
pacem and my hand
on the radiator
a book by Marmion
before me resting,
Deus caritas est
the old monk told me
as we sat on the seat
under the shadow of the tree
ipse novit nos he added,
I walked the cloister
towards the refectory
for supper
my hand against
the orange brick
as I walked past
rough and smooth
on my finger's touch,
ascoltare Dio
the Italian monk said
as He listens to you
listen to His voice,
Dom Joe(dear Bunny)
spoke of simple things
in simple things
we find Truth he said
vérité dans
les choses simples,
silence in the half dark
before Compline kneeling
watching the red light
at the altar end
and a peaceful feeling.
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
Requiescat In Pacem
when I leave this world
look not for me under the dried ground
but look up and see me beneath the skies
when I pass from this realm
weep not for my absence from your crowd
but feel my presence in the gentle wind
find solace in my words, those that I've writ
know that this heart belongs to you and only you
that I will always be a part of your soul
on a cold day, let our memories warm you up
and when you are down, let the same memories lift your spirits
look back with fondness and love
it matters not how I leave this world
you were my salvation, my life, my soul
I lived and not merely existed
and this is enough
~aleck
05022017
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 4:02 PM UTC
Dona nobis pacem,
the priest intoned.
Harry stood in the third pew
from the back with his wife.
A girl two pews ahead,
had long brown hair
over her shoulders,
had a trim figure
and a well rounded behind.
They knelt as the priest
intoned more Latin.
The girl's head was bowled,
hands together in prayer.
I wouldn't say no. If the old *****
in front would move her large
carcass to the right, I'd have
a better sight. His wife nudged
him with her pointed elbow,
raised her eyebrows, signalled
with a finger for him to close his eyes.
He closed his eyes, allowing thin
slits of sight to peruse the girl's
head and shoulders, as the old
***** had knelt low into the pew.
The priest lifted up the host
and muttered Latin with raised
eyes above him. The old *****
removed sight of the girl from view.
He shut his eyes for real, imaging
the girl's rounded behind, reaching
out with pretend fingers like one blind.
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 12:33 PM UTC
“The pity of war. The pity war distilled” - Wilfred Owen
When the rising sun breaks
The curves and slants
Of the Rockies’ eastern horizon,
Gold and crimson rays cloak the
Western fields and mountains
With a rich florescent mantle.
Morning doves greet the emergent light
With sweet and cheerful calls,
Of greetings to the nascent day.
A small gathering of does and fawns
Pause to graze beneath the luminescent sky.
Harmony, balance and peace
Seem to rule the universe.
But, sadly we know better my friends.
Distant cousins who would
Otherwise pass a pleasant meal
Gun each other down
Like effigies in a sick carnival game.
How can we dare to hope?
How can we ever heal?
How can we muster courage enough
To sacrifice our homicidal pride
On the altar of love and justice?”
Apr 17, 2022
Apr 17, 2022 at 2:49 PM UTC
Every moment, every mind,
All the world is bent and blind.
Heavy tears, free flowing blood,
Putting cruel stars in place.
Every call and every voice,
echoes, nothing but this noise.
0Da pacem Domine,
(I die by your behest)
1Quam tranquilitas,
2Quam serena mors est.
Every human ever made,
All our tears an icy glade.
Stary skies a sea of loss,
We know now, but what a cost.
Every angel every wing,
To hole of thine grave shall sing.
0Da pacem domine
(I live by your command)
3Dictat, sicut Deum
4Verb tuo,obito meum!
Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 10:01 PM UTC
Of
future being and futures past
in- between darkness
and
bodies of light
some expand others contract
where are we going to
face to face
or
back to back
.
Mar 3, 2023
Mar 3, 2023 at 4:06 PM UTC
/ sohn! sie sind alle (ich) sehen!
die nacht!
vorher
die kerze!
mein licht!
mein gebet!
mein alle!
da pacem domine:
is all that i could
ever have!
not this...
this...
as your mother called:
pitiable refrains of
a boy, that could not
fathom man....
so let the world...
turn...
and set a blind eye
to "mind" the future...
i kneel,
serve a prayer...
and await the churn...
let your shadow move
as my body once did...
and all..
*das haben
zu verwelken*...
imagine!
bruder schütz's ****** in 2005,
the founder of taizé!
aren't we all?
at this point:
it doesn't really matter -
war, peace,
peace, war...
just do
justice to the guillotine,
and still the gallows will be halved,
by the sparrows singing;
and then, i will hang.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 10:34 PM UTC