Suzanne Vega Undertow
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Understanding
If I could touch the spirit behind the rain
And understand the bird’s call,
My brain
Could not contain
The pain
And joy that does underlie
It all.
Where I to comprehend why
I would surely die
And be forever lost in the endless sky.
Rain and Birds
Rain and birds
Together heard.
Their sound
Profound
Mingles, in joy beyond words.
My friend Shanelle is volunteering in Zimbabwe to educate young people about HIV/AIDS
I have received the below email from my friend, Shanelle who will be volunteering in Zimbabwe, in July to help educate young people about HIV/AIDS. Any help anyone can give would be much appreciated.
Many thanks,
Kevin
“I have
until the 20th
June to raise just under £300 so I can volunteer for 10 weeks in Zimbabwe. I will be working in Bulawayo with other British volunteers for a charity called
Progressio, delivering workshops that will empower young people and educate them on HIV and AIDS awareness.
I would really appreciate it if you took the time to donate to my justgiving page, or shared the link to your Facebook wall/social media pages and let
your family and friends know. Thank you!
https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Shans
Shanelle Webb”.
No Alarm
Reaching for the alarm that wakes
He takes
A step into the unknown.
Breakfast will, he thinks, Be followed by leaving home
For work.
No sudden jerk
Of fear,
Just the passing thought, death is always near
And one day all will
Be still
I will be reading at the Poetry Cafe this evening (Tuesday 7 June)
I had intended to read at the Y-Tuesday poetry event this evening (Tuesday 7 June), however, due to the event having been cancelled, I will be reading at the Poetry Café, 22 Betterton Street, Covent Garden, London. The Poetry Unplugged event runs from 7:30 until 10:30, with poets signing up to read between 6-7 pm. If you do come along please do say hello.
Kevin
Poetry Isnt Real
“Poetry isn’t real” you said.
I shook my head
For what the poet feels
Is real.
The words in the poet’s brain,
His whole train
Of thought
Is caught
And given life upon the page.
His poems may forever dance
And bring romance
To the paper stage.
A poem can make one laugh or cry.
So why
Can you not try
To lift your eyes from the ground,
And gaze upon something profound?
Unrequited
Looking back, I remember the owl did hoot.
What is the route
To a girl’s heart?
Where to start?
The park
Was dark.
You and I talked as we walked
Back to the hall.
I recall
You remarked on the romance of the owl’s cry
But try
As I might
The night
Ended in tea
And me
Alone
At home.
Puppets
The puppets on a string
Swing
This way and that
In accordance with the command of the fat
Puppateer.
Far and near
They dance.
Circumstance
Dictates he has control
Of the whole
Play.
The ringmaster may pay
To have his way
Tomorrow and today,
But, heres the thing
should the string
Break, will the puppets stay?
“The Oak” by Dawn D
Thank you to Dawn D for kind permission to reproduce her poem, “The Oak”. The below is copyright and may not be reproduced without the explicit permission of Dawn D. Dawn’s blog is currently private. You can, however contact Dawn to request access.
The Oak
Die Eiche
Ich bin die Eiche.
Ich bin das Eichhörnchen, ich bin der Vogel, die in dieser Eiche leben.
Ich bin die Frau, die unter dieser Eiche vergewaltigt wurde.
Ich bin der Mann, der ab dieser Eiche gehängt wurde.
Ich bin der Wind, der durch die Blätter dieser Eiche fließt.
Es gibt keine Zeit, nur Ewigkeit.
Ich bin frei, ich bin stark. Ich bin Ich!
The oak
I am the oak.
I am the squirrel, I am the bird, that live in that oak.
I am the woman who got raped under that oak.
I am the man who got hung from that oak.
I am the wind that flows through the leaves of that oak.
There is no time, only eternity.
I am free, I am strong. I am Me!
(For the original post please visit, https://dawnsnight.wordpress.com/2014/02/05/poetry-2/).
K Morris - Poet 