Being The Word

His artistry in action serves notice on the word

For what are words without the follow-through

Receptacles for empty lest they do what they have said

And he does it all with minimum ado

From the carving of the wood to designing of the plot

Nurturing, as on he willing goes

From the service to all others, giving all he’s got

Actions speak with volume, we all know

From the being to the doing, negating passive voice

A willing man who gives and then gives more

An alphabet of loving, minus all the noise

He balances and then exceeds the score

To the doers who are doing while the thinkers think their thoughts

Vague luxury impressed when time stands still

While the hands sweep round the clocks, incessant in their tocks

He’s living life with effort and with will

While the words are taking wing in a vacuum lost in space

His actions fly and fill the greater void

Lending love around in the ways of active grace

Being usefully and truly well employed

Artistry in action serves notice on the word

For what are words without the follow-through

Receptacles for empty lest they do what they have said

We must be the words and do what doers do

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Selective Amnesia

wipe all slates clean and bury the past

cremate matrixed effigies down to the last

put petrol to paper and shred all the proof

delete all the files that burden the truth

electrify brains with a pulse to negate

terminate programmes before it’s too late

forgive us our sins in biblical quotes

forget all our actions but never your votes

a like with a cross is all that we need

we’ll write a new future just as we’ve agreed

on pamphlets provided to clarify years

prophetic tissue to dry up your tears

spoilt paper lies in recycle bin

trespasses tempered by just throwing in

but never forgotten all that they said

nor history rewritten although papers dead

canvassing conscience, memories last

past actions determine results of votes cast

Diligence

Come, silence not the words when words are needing,

Nor empty self into the dark abyss,

Void of comfort, empty of all meaning,

Why throw away all chances by remiss.

Come fill, at spring, your cup to overflowing,

Chilled, refreshed by waters from on high,

Crystal bounty, clarity in knowing

Source at summit, worthy risk to try.

Come see the lights that shine upon not under,

Bask in starlight, beauteous to behold,

Feet to path, hands breaking rocks asunder,

Words may be the actions of some bold.

Who can know the value of the footsteps

Or words, as water, falling from your lips.

 

 

Letter’d Lives

Though we don’t write the endings to our stories,

We’re bound to tell the passages between,

Letters written, words too oft confounding,

On life’s parchment, scripted scene by scene.

Underlying themes and sub-plots merging,

Combined, refined, relate the years we’ve seen,

Central characters all pulled together,

Writing book of life and where we’ve been.

Sometimes story plot becomes confusing,

Characters won’t say and do all that they mean,

Deletions happen often though they hurt you,

No one likes to lose the plan they’ve weaned.

Conflict often rises though unplanned for,

Resolutions too, when hope it seemed

Had fled the prose and left an empty page there,

Tale renews and onward goes as schemed.

Standing back and viewing sometimes helps here,

Perspective on a scale too rarely seen,

Judgements made, a brand new tack is taken,

Weaving all perceptions that we’ve gleaned.

No, we don’t write the endings to our stories

But try to polish them to worthy sheen,

Chapters running, coming all together,

Life lines written, speaking volumes in between.

 

Ripple On Our Radius

In vast countries where a billion different voices

Murmur in their work and mull in thought

Are the seeds of revolution because choices

Lack the freedom, doing what we ought.

In the stitching of the garments and the ploughing

Fields we furrow for vague greater good

There are questions as we bow our heads to tasking

Asking if we’re doing all we should

To be the one, the only one, we’re born to,

To realise the goals, the greater aims,

To be the actions that may speak because we owe to

Selves and world, justice in our names.

In the factories and countries wide where souls ache,

Trammeled while we’re working for the man,

Eked existence slowly lived while hearts break,

Years swiftly bypass doing, as we think, the best we can.

In the motion of the moon and yearly tidings

Howls inside are rising, seeking sky,

Portents of a future, bands of wildness,

Growling in the question, why me, why.

Dare we risk, in idle speculation,

The what ifs, should I’s, didn’ts, not my job,

Plodding on, a controlled automation,

While frustrations muster, gathering in mob.

Can we be the changes in our lifetime,

The only voice we’re given for a while,

Can we work and think, still being active,

Ripple on a radius within our mile. 

New Year, New Hope, All Hail

All hail the revolution that may flourish

When actions, thought, intentions coincide,

A passion plea for peace to nurture, nourish,

Revolution of the minds burst open wide.

A global epidemic of proportions,

Pandemic thus, reliant on the means,

Communicable by communication,

Reticulated, networking at the seams.

Where once upon a dreamscape we envisaged

Peace alignment, massive in its scale,

Let words and actions make the global village,

We can do this, yes, believe, we can prevail.

Wishing you all a peaceful and hope-filled New Year.

May we flourish as one humanity.

Anne-Marie x

Art of the Possible

From the dreams inside, without, about, all over,

Sensibilities subserve to something else,

A notion of a happy ever after,

Token’d, broken lives replaced on shelves.

Voiceless dreams where nameless heroes muster,

Vanguards to the vetoed daylight hours,

Suppressing fatalistic flawed of futures,

Adjusting life in possible detours.

Probable imbalances all equations,

Unfeatured in the changes that we make,

Possibilities thrive in sleep and waking

When willing spirits dream and undertake.

Dare To Just Do It!

You’ve got to have a dream. Life demands it.

It’s why you wake up willing, full of fight.

You’ve got to have a dream, like South Pacific,

Dream your dream with vigour and with might.

Fill your heart with loving and with longing,

Close your eyes and visualise the goal.

Dare to dream, I fucking well command it!

Dream, believe and act upon your soul!

 

For Rene http://nae50.wordpress.com/2014/09/06/a-way-to-live/ and  all who have and choose the dream. Just do it! We can do it together.

Search For Key

I know you struggle with communication,

You search for words and actions to convey

All you feel and think, all that is within you,

Everything you find no way to say.

I know I struggle too with this same problem

Despite the fact that words come all too easily,

Sometimes it’s not the words that are the problem

But knowing which ones tell the truths for me.

I know we cannot always speak or reach out,

Locked inside ourselves as we all are,

Begging for a greater wordsmith’s charter

To reveal the core that reunites the stars.

I know affliction of this kind is legend,

Tracks volumes written of all history,

Permeates the core of all our suffering,

Lack of understanding, search for key.

Scotland’s Eve

I feel physically sick tonight.

My stomach is doing somersaults and my heart is racing.

I can’t eat.

It’s the eve of the Scottish Referendum.

Tomorrow I will go to the polls along with my fellow countrymen to cast a vote that will determine whether Scotland stays within the 307 year union of the United Kingdom or declares its wish for independence.

For me there is no doubt in my mind that a vote for independence is the right thing for Scotland.

And, perhaps, more importantly, the right thing for the rest of the world.

A rather grand claim, some may say. And yes, I quite understand the doubts that billions of people would have in imagining that a nation of just over 5,000,000 people could have any great impact on the rest of the world.

What possible benefit could the rest of humanity gain by Scotland declaring itself as a self-governing nation?

You would have to know us, to understand us, to believe what so many of us believe. Our history has written our character as the history of any nation has written theirs. What makes the heart of a country are the common experiences of its people.

Here I could hark back to the past as all peoples can do, review a chequered history and claim, with some justification, that we were robbed of self-determination.

I could. But I won’t.

Suffice to say that, ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’. And there is truth in that.

Our hearts have been tested and they ache for the plight of all disenfranchised. They ache for the poor and the hungry. For the homeless and the destitute. Those with no clothes to their back. Those who live in the shadow of weapons that could annihilate millions.

Our history is littered with occasions that have caused hearts to ache fit to breaking. We know and understand that justice begins with one hand reaching to help another. Out hearts have not broken. They are stronger.

When our hands are free we, the people, not the politicians, determine the path we follow in aiding justice and peace in our nation.

From there the ripples grow.

I have no enemies. None in the UK. None in any part of the world.

The enemy I deal with is the the lack of hope that people have around the world when those elected in our name pay lip service to the needs of people and to the good of our planet as a whole.

We are all culpable in how the world stands today.

Only voices and action will change the status quo.

The mood in Scotland is one of renewed hope. The movement has risen from the ground to the surface. The people believe in a better way. The people are capable of delivering a better way.

There are no bullets here. Only a ballot box. And the will of the Scottish people.

I pray with all my heart and soul that the majority of the Scottish electorate will vote tomorrow for independence. That, in gaining a free hand, we will reach our hands out to embrace justice and peace. And others may believe, that if a mere two million voters can declare for this cause, so can the world.

My sickness has turned, after writing this, to tears. I want a future worth having for my seven children and for all the children in the world.

We have to start somewhere.