Archive for the Poetry Category

Dawn 1945(a persona poem)

Posted in Poetry, revolution, Uncategorized, War, writing with tags , , on January 12, 2016 by Graeme Cooper

Grey light creeps across the ashen paving

With purpose as deadly as the foreign boots

Of the infantrymen who hide still

In the suburbs of Berlin.

 

The new sun interrogates us who are left,

The morning breeze lifts fallen banners,

Insinuating shame underneath.  As if,

They have the right to question!

 

The Fuhrer will pound his fist and defy

The very air to bring its scorn near

Our glorious purpose.

 

But this morning,

He is dead.  All is dead.

 

The proud promised future is litter

and ash and I

Stand, as if naked,

In this cold dawn, listening

for the whisper of tanks.

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Mid-line Crisis

Posted in Mental Health, Poetry, therapy, writing with tags on August 11, 2015 by Graeme Cooper

I have no idea who I am.

This room attempts to suggest

My presence in metaphor;

Mere narrative echoes

Of a story which is only partly mine,

Although told in the first person.

I have no idea who I am.

These more or less comfortable clothes

Try to define me in outline until

Illusion is exposed by removal,

And all that lies

Is a costume on the floor.

Too much skin around haunted eyes,

Too heavy with the responsibility

Of unanswered questions

Flung back by insistent mirrors,

Of glass and flesh,

Suggests I am older than is logical.

I have not made a decision

In an hour, or forty years, or millennia.

I have simply followed or ignored words

Of unspoken voices which I took for mine.

This body has brought me here, which is fine,

But I still have no idea who I am.

Unsaved

Posted in Poetry, politics, revolution, War, writing with tags , , , on May 5, 2015 by Graeme Cooper

He rises darkly whilst, quietly,

She sleeps on, dreaming.

Outside, the sun has not

Yet decided to rise.

 

Unhindered by kindness paralysed

By sleep,  unlit by interrogating rays,

His hatred, smiling,  combs its hair,

Preparing before risings that will come too late.

Lost Geese

Posted in Poetry, Spring, winter, writing with tags , on April 13, 2015 by Graeme Cooper

The screech of lost geese
Swallowed by the fog is
The only sound not stifled
In the thickening sickly night.

Softened streetlights serve only
To blur silhouettes of trees still bare,
The air shivers slightly in the drifting mist.

A black cat stalks, unintentionally blending
Into pavement almost as dark,
Senses sharpened by the screech
Of lost geese.

Lines on Two Missed Football Matches

Posted in death, Poetry, remembrance, writing with tags , , on April 13, 2015 by Graeme Cooper

A quiet requiem arrives
On a quiet Easterly breeze
Bringing words
of a half forgotten song
Mingled with the wind
Which we silently sing
To the memory one gone too soon. And the sky replies with rain,
As if weeping.

Stalgnight

Posted in Poetry, Spring, writing with tags , , , on April 13, 2015 by Graeme Cooper

On evenings such as these
Darkness does not descend
But grows from the ground damply
Suffocating the last sunlight
In its soporific grip until
Day crumples like a clorophormed ballerina
Into the forgetful haze of premature sleep.

SPRING TERM

Posted in Education, Poetry, School, Spring, writing with tags , , , on December 28, 2014 by Graeme Cooper

Seagulls’ wheeling distant cry, though unseen, says
The sea may be just beyond assembly hall wall’s end
But proximity is meaningless when access is proscribed
By circumstances with which seagulls have no need to contend.

Josephine Corcoran

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