Uneven are the clickity clack
as the wheels slide along rails
It’s hard not to echo silent words
that I heard on that Crimean train
the subtle all but lost
except in the shudder of the cars
the steel sparking off the tracks
Clickity clack they gossip
“she was thrown from the train – here
they meant to kill her
but the people without faces knew
she was alive”
I caress the worn boards
wanting to hear and see
splinters had achieved their goal
men’s hearts pierced
women and children sent away
my eye captures what would have been a tear stain
had they not cut it out
tossed it after the woman
hoping all the time that society would forget
how to love life
and man would graze with the cattle
women would bray like the ass
children would not feel freedom
of grass tickles their bare feet
Memory of the Sun
Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
Grass grows yellower.
Faintly if at all the early snowflakes
Water becoming ice is slowing in
The narrow channels.
Nothing at all will happen here again,
Will ever happen.
Against the sky the willow spreads a fan
The silk’s torn off.
Maybe it’s better I did not become
Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
What is it? — Dark?
Perhaps! Winter will have occupied us
In the night.
Anna what would you say of your people’s strife in Ukraine today? You who understands such chilling silences and loud absences of loved ones. You speak of a winter that you know too well.
I am just learning about this Ukranian/ Russian poet. Anna understood the pain of having a pen that spoke for her and those she loved died because of the ink that never got a chance to dry.
Her life is winter
icicles cling to the forlorn
spring – an idea
(out of love for Anna)
On the 8th the world celebrates Woman’s Day. What better way to do so than to share the work of a strong poet who suffered much at the hand of communism. I share her words with Poet’s United
I’ve cried for seventeen long months,
I’ve called you for your home,
I fell at hangmen’ feet – not once,
My womb and hell you’re from.
All has been mixed up for all times,
And now I can’t define
Who is a beast or man, at last,
And when they’ll kill my son.
There’re left just flowers under dust,
The censer’s squall, the traces, cast
Into the empty mar…
And looks strait into my red eyes
And threads with death, that’s coming fast,
The immense blazing star.
~above is an excerpt from “Requiem ” by Anna Akhmatova*
Tears mingle in the dirt
whose ashes are these?
they look familiar
momentarily my tears sparkle in the mud
“oh yes that was my first love
he died at the hand of Lenin
my son is still awaiting my tears”
the ashes have worked their way
into the fabric of one shoe
clinging to memory
“please God give my frailty a purpose”
this shoe I ask that they not take
I must cling to it for warmth
when the winter breezes dry my once fresh skin
kiss my cheek with remnants of him…
(my echo of a poem to this Russian woman who knew such pain)
Anna Akhmatova is known as one of Russia’s finest female poets. She lived during a time when freedom of artistic expression was unwelcome. Her losses were many…
This is being shared with Poets’ United Midweek Motif the topic Cancer.
This recent poem Winter’s Accusation deals with cancer the disease. I write occasionally about it but I usually try to stay clear of those doors.
if you may
the value of children
who are out to play
call them back before it’s too late
life is cheap
at the pipeline grate
Ukraine it seems
is in a vise again
always in the middle
of stronger men
goose step then
tank track now
raise your arm
don’t take a vow
protect the children
of the world
the flag unfurled
we’ve lost the vision
the value of life
we love our money
“all hail the pipe”
Have you ever played “Follow the Leader”?
It is a game that I played often with the children I taught in Crimea.
Funny thing they like to play the same games as children all over our world.
Yet, they don’t seem to have the same right to enjoy the freedom to romp as Ukrainians.
The world’s politico is too busy playing their own form of “Follow the Leader” to care.
Rise up say your piece
unite for a cause
stem unreason’s tide
truth above the laws
hold back foolish notions
punish not our beliefs
this cause may seem deranged
generations filled with grief
with unrest we can’t sleep
we are in need of change
no silence we will keep
set things in motion
stop machination’s jaws
people side by side
upend meaningless clause
our world in need of peace
The ESL work I did in Crimea was over the summer.
I would be preparing now to leave.
Where are those students today?
The Poet’s United Midweek Motif is prompting poets to write about public protest.
Poets and artists have always had a voice that rings truth.
What do you feel strongly about?
I am saddened by news coming out of Crimea.
Like a science project
something to be analyzed
we never touch you
we only observe
write the data
pen the findings
draw a conclusion
You in the world’s fishbowl
swimming against a red tide
only to find
all of your school is missing
though the report
“only a few are dead”
Brilliant you fighting fish
swimming in cadence
parading about in colorful costume
destroying the inhabitants
face down in the sea
I can find nothing about friends who reside in Crimea.
Ukrainians who love their country are threatened with each step .
My friends where have you gone???
Cheap like retread tires
flying off into the distance
oh, you so soon forgotten
what did you stand for?
you could not have had feelings
for who would tread over humanity?
no one feels anymore
certainly not girls
whose wasted lives
embraced at the slave block
the pivotal point
where statesmen make lofty speeches
in the shadows of no one listening
Malala a school girl who understands the issue over the Nigerian school girls urges action.