Poetry in a unique community – 27

poetry take away.jpg

We are rooted in the heart of our community,
connected with our history,
of what was created here before us.
We are finding that which feeds us.

Our branches reach out for one another
father to son, daughter to mother,
misters and missus and not specific,
middle aged, younger and older,
all standing strong, shoulder to shoulder.

Together we are sowing seeds,
like a forest of magnificent trees,
like leaves floating on the breeze,
Each one of us is a unique story,
together we are Community.

Advertisements

Poisoned Apples – #Napowrimo 26

apple icon.jpg

Since the dawn of man,
the apple has been eaten,
divested from the garden,
ingested with poison,
turned into a tool of wickedness
and sweet hot apple pie.

Five black magical seeds
hidden in white flesh,
wrapped tightly in red skin
as if to hold the magic in.
From blossom to fullness
the apple inspired.

The first fruit taken by woman
twisted into a chewed core
of what she was before
the pomegranate transformed,
forever more to be
grossly misappropriated.

The gravity of the situation
should not be understated,
this rose tinted fall of man,
ripened full to fall again,
Seeding in Issac Newton,
a scientist of notable influence,
universal gravitation and a deeper
understanding of planetary motion.

But for one time in our history
when the apple was overrated.
Saint Steve had just one job,
to bring the apple to a mob
of hungry eyes, seeking evolution
to feed those idle minds.

Man, still looking to be free
from the boundary of a garden,
still hungry for more, took a bite
and thought they were enlightened.
Instant answers, faking knowledge,
with 1000 songs in every pocket.

Now we know how far tradition went,
by the lives that were spent
in slavery, producing icons
of poison or liberation,
good or evil, manipulation
for generations to pin hope upon.

An uprising of some faith or other,
people could globally get together
and network to unpick, to overthrow
the wickedness in their pockets.
Searching thousands of poisoned lies,
for a good old recipe for apple pie.

Now these apples didn’t lie rotting,
or seeding a new generation of life.
These apples were worshiped in temples
of profit, mimicking divine connection,
and rather than getting to the core,
promoted self-ejection from the garden.

The ancient temples fell to ruin, the world
was choked with plastic boxes and cartons
that would never decompose. They remained
with all the data, so we could finally know
why the world fell, and all the people left
their apple icons to litter the global garden.

Overheard at the White Spring – #Napowrimo 21

“Gerroff my leyline,”
he shouted
in a spectacular display
of anger.
He scared the tourists,
expectation
of sacred space crumbled,
dissolved
as chalk in water.
Wild
as a hedge monkey,
ready
to chase off the war drums,
yesterday
he hummed a sweet tune,
harmony
through cider rouged smiles,
happy
as a boar in springtime.
Today
he is protector of dragon lines,
he hates
the sacred space full
of ceremony and nakedness,
today
he is blessed, magnificent,
unbridled.
“Gerrof my leyline!”

Night, Fear and Fire – #NaPoWriMo 19

A man holds a bucket as he tries to extinguish a late night fire

Night, fear, and fire,
suffering and sin.
Creation myths
to keep us penned in.

Night, fear, and fire
in everyone’s mythology,
while we listen to the story,
do we see the symbology?

Suffering and sin
creates more of the same,
and we are bound to do it
in some god or other’s name.

Creation myths,
could push a sweeter story,
something more useful,
like finding grace and glory.

To keep us penned in,
words have been rewritten,
to shroud us in the bloodshed,
til we are totally sin-smitten.

Night, fear, and fire,
suffering and sin.
Creation myths
to keep us penned in.

Lisa Goodwin – April 19th 2017

People are Not a Commodity – #Napowrimo 18

Hello folks,

 

Last year, all the banks left Glastonbury High Street. Lloyds Bank, HSBC, Barclays, all abandoned the town. (‘Boo … or hooray!’ depending on your perspective.) A campaign by local residents and the Town Council, ‘The Last Bank Standing,’ did not convince the banks to stay, but it did attract the attention of Nationwide Building Society.

Personally, I think the local Credit Union is the best way to make money work for a community. However, Nationwide building society does not invest in war, nuclear, oil or gas, which is a bonus, and it makes them more ethical than the bag 6 Banks, and rather than investing in corporations, they invest in the community.

Divest from the big six and switch! That is something I can get behind.

Even better, Nationwide are supporting poetry with a ‘National Voices’ Campaign.  Hopefully, I will perform today’s poem – ‘People are not a Commodity’ in the Market Square on 27th April. Come down if you can, between midday and 4pm, some of the poets from the advert campaign will be there too. After the poetry takeaway event in Glastonbury, I will post the poem here.

Here it is …

People are Not a Commodity

Altogether, we are building society,
finding new ways to strengthen our community.
Common unity, with no rank or authority;
and while it seems like everybody
is competing in a competitive economy,
people are not a commodity.

Here, we are building bridges,
embracing so many faiths and religions.
and with all these different traditions,
we can’t afford to invest in divisions.
So it’s time to think about divesting,
and switching to something real,
something that we can believe in.

We are advocating unity in diversity,
but while we are celebrating this,
who is caring for the family,
who’s there for the young and the elderly?
Community despises isolation,
it comes alive with our participation.

Like birds of a feather,
it works when we all work together.
So let’s take part, let’s take the time
to meet one another, eye to eye
take a moment to share a smile,
and call on your mates once in a while.

We all need a place to belong,
a place where we don’t feel alone,
everyone wants a welcome home,
so let’s cheer one another on.
That’s how a community remains strong.

Nocturnal Nostalgia – #Napowrimo 17

This is really rough and will be reworked – The NaPoWriMo prompt was to write a nocturne.

I can’t sleep
at mother’s house
yet
light fades,
gives way to night.
Curtains cotton thin,
let the light in,
clock ticks too loud.
Time passes.

I come to visit,
shaded memories,
like a Pixar movie,
they come to life
when you go to bed.
There in the corner,
a wall of VHS,
dusted and grainy
a monumental waste,
a taste of remembrance
of shared time,
how fast
Time passes.

There in the shadow,
a dictionary
old words,
I used to search for
lost to us by now,
replaced with cyber references
you don’t understand.
Heavy gardening manuals,
decoupage and macrame books,
used before your fingers
were too artheritic
to tie knots.
Time passes.

That candlestick,
a Christmas gift,
the one I made
for you in 1986.
Azure glass glaze,
my fingerprints remain
forever in the clay
traces of a teenager,
in remembrance.
Time passes.

Remember when
I had that party
and the neighbor
grassed on me
You didn’t like her,
you miss her
now she’s gone.
Time passes.

Vinyl, you kept
only the best ones,
when grandma’s
sideboard got sold,
the best of Elvis,
Julio Iglesias and Demis Roussos,
A box of shot glasses,
wrapped in newspaper in 2001.
Time passes.

Souvenirs on souvenirs
surround you,
trinkets of a time
before old age
slowed you down.
Reminders of a time
when you
were strong
and had a sense
of belonging.
Time passes.