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The Faith of Fishermen (On St. Peter´s Day)
In adoration, from the promenade, I watch
Giant rosary beads bob all along the bay,
In dawn´s liquid gold they lay,
Pulled in by the hands of old disciples of the purest faith;
“What will the nets hold for us today?”
In reparation, on the esplanade, they work
Giant rosary beads pass softly through their hands,
Pausing and praying at every knot
A purer faith there cannot be;
“Cast your net and wait and see.”
(Ireland)
Martin Knox
The National Debt Revisited
-That Special Purpose Vehicle-
Furtive schemes were formed in frenzied viral cultures,
Flouting hard-won citizens’ rights,
While our hard-earned silver’s seized
By opportunistic, unconscionable vultures.
60 billion of debt attached
To a debt-ridden, muted citizen,
Secret deals were hatched
Outlandishly and preposterously political.
While in the very safest hands,
Bets were honoured at the starting price-
All wagers well respected,
In our rapacious, investors’ paradise.
It’s not too much to expect
That bankers do a well-paid job,
And show a modicum of respect
For those of us they rob.
***
Our respected Minister’s stumped,
Harvard Attorneys ascend the stairs,
In pinstripe, well pressed suits
And pseudo-sophisticated airs.
Now, that’s the Special Purpose Vehicle,
That’s the Henry VIII clause,
Another moronic Executive Order,
Exploited furtively to sustain,
A disturbingly, anti-social cause.
Republic of Ireland
28th October 2017
i am peace s p e a k i n g
come talk to me in the woods
run to me in the forest of greens
breathe me beneath the uprooted trees
watch me inside the nest
of mother and offspring
i stay in the drizzles
when you mourn and weep
i will send snowflakes
and touch your frosted cheeks
i am in the hallelujas of all faces
i am in the oil of your lamp
i am not away
i am with you
as you open and close your eyes
i roam between the jails and justice
sometimes inside the cells of unwanted voices
i am trying miracles
between the thrones and throngs
i have loved you and loving you
from stones, boulders and towers,
i was there when the waves
cast away the sand of fading hopes
moving me to the ivory coast
i am in your heart
rejoicing in silence.
~Caroline Nazareno-Gabis ( Ceri Naz) 3/02/2013/PHILIPPINES
AnEvening
A yellow-crimson glow stalking,
From brown mountains at horizon.
The half hidden Sun rays,
A gleam of hope for the morrow.
The birds, homeward, in a row,
Like a bow in the twilight sky.
The lowing herds slowly walk over the grey pavement,
The herdsmen plod their weary way.
The dust clouds all over, cloaking the vision thickly
The mysterious early black time;
The trees acquire a cloak of ghostly figures,
Behind them glimmering of eve lamps,
Coming from distant houses, signal the parting day.
Faint church bells remind the presence of The Almighty,
The aura of spirituality all over indicates the futility of life.
Look! The evening star “Hesperus”
Giving bright early light in the west,
His companion, the half crescent moon,
A delicate soothing image in the starry immense.
Now the Sun goes for his westerly adobe.
In the village, wise and elderly are interacting
On a stony –round pavement below a banyan tree.
This is divine dusk time, reminding the inevitable to
You, A Feeble Mankind.
The Way
2500 years worth of practice is the amount.
Calm, still, and silent: there is a behavior.
Don’t judge, don’t advise, and don’t compete.
Don’t preach, don’t be violent, don’t be prideful.
Practice the way everyday in all it’s manifestations.
How to practice truth and faith in all our affairs: awareness, relaxation, meditation and creative visualization.
The ultimate self-improvement is the way.
Because we belong to life, not the other way around.
Michael Taylor, Canada
NYAMWEZI
Her voice –
With a melody that echoed through the dark chamber,
She sang her song as the nightingale wept,
Her red lips rounded, her throat suspended;
A soprano of notes floated onto the humid summer night.
All was silent in that moment-
The crickets lulled as if hypnotized by a siren’s call,
The breeze enslaved carried the tune across the village square;
Men boozing held beer bottles to their chests,
Women cooking sighed as they mingled posho with tired arms,
Toothless babes smiled recognizing the sweet lullaby
Like forever did we listen;
A heavenly solo that one would die to hear,
Suddenly – the song came to a jarring halt
And just as the night before,
a blood curling wail
pierced through the darkness
The villagers nodded their heads in unison exclaiming
‘That is Nyamwezi, the deranged widow’
By Paula Biraaro
Uganda
SPRING PASSED LONG Ago
silence black silence surrounds,scare danger and dark is only around,
bold, fearless is getting fear of unsafe and scare ,
innocent ,dry eyes are wetting with rolling tears,
charm happiness finds the sorrow its soul,
glowing flowers of spring loves the barred autumn,
loving drizzling of rain stops years back,
fresh white color of snow is looking black giving fear of it,
hating the spring which loves the autumn,
real spring of love is nowhere to find ,somewhere gets lost ,
hoping spring to come and autumn to go,
but……….
the waiting hours are too long,
perhaps in its wait, the seeds would die,
again
with the hope of love spring to come
(India)