Tag Archives: freedom

I Will be Safe

I built my mansion from moonlit bricks,
painted it with pale rays of dawn,
created terraces and lawns
bordered by dwarves of nature’s ornamentation
to afford unscathed sight from here to the horizon.

I live in solitude,
play silent movies in my mind,
warm these tired hands on gaps between grey matter,
my muslin shroud
stitched into a rippling gown
that flutters with grace.
My elegant swish emulates a silvery darling
from yesteryear’s screen,
my hair rests in whimsical wisps,
the tilt of my chin apes inborn dignity.

Gleaming walls recede in awe,
trusting authenticity,
ignorant of my history.

Even beneath these palatial ceilings
I feel tall.

“I
am safe,” I tell the echoing rooms,
“no corners to cut me, no rugs on which to slip and break,
no stove to sear my skin.”

No fire, no ice,
no storm within these sturdy walls.

The drapes shiver;
their drifting folds whisper a warning;
“There is danger beyond our weft.”

A slight figure approaches;
a midnight ghost which tricks the sun into shining on him.
Cloaked in the clothes that he chose two decades ago,
he droops on the lawn, his false frame shaking,
his face describing hunger, grief.

“Mummy, mummy, please,
the chill wind blows,
please love me, please,
please don’t leave me
to die in the cold.”

He looks like my child;
moves and sounds like my only son,
but an ogre has invaded his soul.

I try to say, “Go away,
leave me alone,”
but my throat rebels, allowing only choked shreds
of broken breath.

I cannot make safe the windows; their hinges stray,
leaving a gaping space
with no fingerhold, no latch, no lock
to keep them closed.

Like a lisping snake, he slips through the gap,
then, like a demon displaying its teeth,
his figure expands to the height of six feet.

I race through my cracking haven,
bare feet slapping smooth cedar floor,
course words chasing me, describing obscene hate.

I find no corner in which to hide,
no wardrobes, no outsized drawers.
No leaden bolts nor wooden weight
to press against the doors.
No clear escape
from the shapeshifting ghoul who grows
with every step that he takes.

My only hope is outside.
I will plant my toes between roses,
feed the dirt with bloodied love
to cultivate my thorns.
In the garden, my organic armour will grow.
My dress will get torn. It will fall away,
but my petals will glow and fade to be replaced
in synchronicity with the seasons.
I will regain my freedom.
I will be safe.

.

©Jane Paterson Basil

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Peace #2

peace symbol

Posted for: Against the Next War.

One word,
spoken in hope by gentle folk,
whispered in prayer by meek souls of faith,
breathed into the air by those who hold out human hope,
sobbed and gasped and beseeched
by the oppressed.
One word, a wish issued
by imploring lips that speak for
you and me, its plea reaching across
the dipping curves and stretched flats of
our burdened planet as it struggles
for its next breath.
One word which will not
be choked back or swallowed by the
butt of a gun pressed into the
tender necks of the
persecuted.
One word whose meaning
we must never forget, whose need
we must understand, no matter
what language
we speak.
One word articulated
by each race and every loving creed.
One word that could
change the
world.
One word:
Peace.

.

If this post strikes a chord, please click on Paul’s parent post and his significant follow-up to find out what we are doing and how you can help. You’ll also find pingbacks to related posts.

Join us, and Share, share, share.

©Jane Paterson Basil

 

We Shall Overcome

Posted for: Against the Next War

I present a video of Joan Baez singing “We Shall overcome”.

She still holds the faith; here she is singing it to President Obama at the Whitehouse.

We shall overcome. Join us.

Please click on the parent post and Paul’s significant  follow-up to find out what we are doing and how you can help. You’ll also find pingbacks to related posts.

Share, share, share.

©Jane Paterson Basil

Climb Aboard

peacejoinus.jpg

Climb aboard;
all who wish an end to war are welcome;
we beg you to share our message of peace,
that it may reach across the wildest desert,
weave through cities, travel with the waves of the seas
that stroke our shores and soak into our sands.
Let it grow to encompass our nurturing planet;
let every peacemaker of every nation join hands,
and be embraced with love in return.
Let peace become a pandemic
the like of which we have never known.

My dad was a conscientious objector 
who was imprisoned for refusing to kill other men;
for turning down the opportunity to shoot holes in their heads,
to plant land-mines and blow humans to shreds.
He missed the chance to charge into villages;
to burn, rape and pillage.

Despite the claimed cause of our the war,
his decision seemed reasonable to me.

I learned of his humanist history
while my mother held me on her knee,
and, although I had too limited a vocabulary
to arrange the feeling into a neat phrase,
I understood the irony;
had he killed a neighbour in self-defence,
rather than refusing to kill with indifference.
he might have received similar punishment.

When I was a kid, I did a lot of thinking about war; I figured it would be more sensible to select the two best chess players in the countries of enmity and let the winning nation take all. I wondered why it was considered that killing was necessary; It seemed inefficient to me.

I concluded that it must not have occurred to the world governments involved in greed and hate to take such a practical stance.

I planned to write to all heads of state and trusted that they would be grateful, and put my idea into practice.

Non of that happened, of course.

More recently, I had another brainwave; We peacemakers could infiltrate all the places where soldiers are trained for battle; from guerrilla hide-outs to army camps. We’d arm them with cheesecake and fruit and all that is good to eat. We’d teach them to smile and offer food while chatting about their families.

Chocolate guns would be a boon.

That plot fell flat when my best friend said the next war will not be fought by foot soldiers, so I’m joining in with a better plan;

my friends and I invite you to

climb aboard;
all who wish an end to war are welcome;
we beg you to share our message of peace,
that it may reach across the wildest desert,
weave through cities, travel with the waves of the seas
that stroke our shores and soak into our sands.
Let it grow to encompass our nurturing planet;
let every peacemaker of every nation join hands,
and be embraced with love in return.
Let peace become a pandemic
the like of which we have never known.

This was written for our peace campaign which was dreamed up by my amazing friend Paul Sunstone. Yep – remember the name; that man has greatness in him. We want the campaign to go viral. Share his post (see link below) and/or write a post of your own.

Click <<<<<<<HERE>>>>>> to find out more

and find even <<<<<<<MORE>>>>>>>   <——— there

.

©Jane Paterson Basil

Paul, at Café Philos says:

Please seriously consider spreading this poem — spreading it to your site, to the social media sites — in an effort to make it go viral. We need it viral well before the next war, we need folks mulling over the idea of rebelling against the violence. Spread this poem and then you too write — write about the ideas presented in the poem. For you, for your brothers and for your sisters, for your children after you — stop the wars of aggression!

Please click on the link and lets do this together!

via Against the Next War

The summer of ’76

rose-petals-1180514__340

the sun licked their steamy skin
as they primped in skimpy bikinis
sipping cider, slurping icecream
which dripped, sliding down their thighs
while I
said goodbye to my love

they disguised their innocence
beneath promiscuous hippydom
prodding intimate hot-spots
slyly faking orgasm
while I
said goodbye to my love

young skin defined Britain
bubble-gum tunes and lyrics
floated through open windows
that still evening
when I
deserted my love

all  of us were young
every forever would end
next month or maybe next year
to be replaced or renewed
but I
could never replace my love

aaMakingitwrite

©Jane Paterson Basil