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.


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

So you want to give us voice,

Do you?

And what do you think,

We would say?

Do you think we,

Hide in silence or,

Do you think we have been,


You have this cosy vision,

Don’t you,

Of our silent nobility,

We are oppressed poets all.

But what do you know of suffering?


You are not silenced,

You have nothing to contribute,

We will give you voice,

Say the words you don’t,

Want us to hear.

We will because,

We own you,

We fund your pointlessness.

If you don’t like,

The words we give you,

Get a job.


Though you dwell,

In silence,

We will give you voice,

As we feel your pain,

And know your noble heart.

Honest sufferer,

Bravely bearing the slings,

And arrows of principled poverty.

Not for you,

The burden of the BMW,

Or the sin of designer suits,

A simpler, more fulfilling,

Life is yours.

Whats that?

Next door you say?

No, no,no.


I am not silenced,

You simply choose,

Not to listen.

I am not the circumstances,

By which you wish,

To define me.

I am just a man,

Nor hero nor villian am I.

Do not speak for me,

Or put words in my mouth,

Or use my imagined words,

To score points in your game.

I wish I did not need,

To ask for your help,

Don’t make me shout.


Posted in Poetry, writing with tags , , , on July 9, 2012 by Graeme Cooper

Fear comes in waves,

White horses of the apocalypse,

Bringing pestilent waste,

Benighting bright promise until,

Mania breaks over sanity’s safe shore.

But still I will,

Kick for the surface,

After going under for the third time.

And like the fit of the Scottish king,

Seeing ghosts of his best friend,

Which ended sleep forever,

It passes,

And I am a man again.

Primitive Organic Electronics Module #1

Posted in philosophy, physics, Poetry, science, work in progress, writing with tags , , , , on July 8, 2012 by Graeme Cooper

If there are accidents

Then the universe is chaos,

And meaning is impossible.

If not,

Then we are nothing,

But cogs in a celestial machine,

With no choices to make,

And hope is redundant.

But sentience is the process element,

Of an infinite feedback loop.

We cannot disassemble consciousness,

Because it is a fundamental force of physics.

We are in the universe,

So it is there,

The ultimate metaphor,

Perfectly reversible.

Physics is the study of ourselves,

Psychology the study of the universe,

Hence we have ‘states’ of consciousness,

And particles have ‘behaviour’.

And still that damned bird sings.


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