Archive for poem

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.


Death on a Summer Evening

Posted in death, Poetry, work in progress with tags , , , on July 2, 2013 by Graeme Cooper

The evening breeze carries Autumn’s shadow,

Her substantial form, I shall never breath,

For a darker night, for me, must follow,

Than this which Summer’s last mist enwreaths.



On the Line

Posted in olymics, Poetry, writing with tags , , , on August 8, 2012 by Graeme Cooper

So I stand here,

Facing the fear,

Staring down the here and now,

Take a bow.


Time to run,

Time once again to succumb,

To come undone,

To crash like Icarus into the sun,

To be the one that might have been,

To slip away unseen,

Golden possibilities fading like a dream.


Not this time.


Time to be me,

To be free,

To be all that I want to be,

To throw the fears from which I flee,

Into the sea,

Write the poetry of victory.


So I stand here,

Facing the fear,

Staring down the here,

And now,

Take a bow.

Get set go.



Posted in philosophy, Poetry, writing with tags , , , , on July 24, 2012 by Graeme Cooper

Watching the end of time,

From above,

Mountains crumble.

I turn away,

And smile,

At the little drawing,

On the fridge.

True immortality,

Focuses attention on,

The minute daily things,

That make eternity,

A playground.

Che Daydream

Posted in Poetry, writing with tags , , , , on July 21, 2012 by Graeme Cooper

Cultivate  considered revolution,

Compassionate and calm.

Kill when it is necessary,

But show respect for the dead.

Don’t hate the enemy,

Love the cause like a daughter.

Not hateful, angry destruction this,

But loving surgery for a sick society.

Give thanks for the noble,

And the good.

Turn it into a future,

With fewer stragglers.


Posted in Poetry, therapy, writing with tags , , , , on July 12, 2012 by Graeme Cooper

It seems so long since,

The magic mirror morphed me into,

Grandfather and schoolboy.

Ploughing the ground with horses,

And clutching a satchel for school,

Each of us glad,

We were not the other.



Though they sent me solice,

They suggested sadness also,

And I mourned the loss of both,

Fearing disappointment’s sting.



Though I now greet both,

With a smile,

I no longer need,

To be either.

I am the wise person now,

Yes I know that was the point.



I no longer define myself,

Through use of dark metaphor,

But play with my own monsters,

In the bright daylight still.


Posted in Poetry, writing with tags , , on July 11, 2012 by Graeme Cooper

Breathing clear,

I can think here,

Forgetting fear,

I hold you near,

Just you and me dear.

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