When fright has left
And fight has left
And flight has left,
What's left?
Read more poems by SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD
WAR
When fright has left And fight has left And flight has left, What's left? Read more poems by SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD
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FAILED STATE
The people crowded into the sleeper coach; Blankly staring at each other. The blur of life Flashed past the smeared window. Brakes screech; A jarring halt. They stole the last rail. See more poems by SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD GREEN
The news of the day Strangles my heart And causes my brain to fray. Then through my window The stoic mountains loom, Green clad hills Roll towards my room; Fill my scene With peaceful green. Peaceful, restoring; A myriad shades of serene Transport me through my window, To lie in the emerald green Freshly cut grass below. Birdsong from wild olive trees Rings its echo in me. A butterfly, free and bright, Lands light on a young lemon tree, Of sun-kissed golden green. In the warmth of the sun, A rapacious baboon, High on Eden's fig tree, Feasts on the fruit And looks at me. READ MORE POEMS BY SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD POPPY DAY
White crosses cover the fields, Like purest snow. Boys, many too young To have sinned, Cut down In the fights of their elders. Blood red poppies Splattered across the field; Hollow promises Never to forget; Never to repeat. Silent fields of silent crosses, Where the dead lie mute; Their pleas from untimely graves Drowned out by bellicose, Beligerent bombast. Leaders, wrapped in safety, Rally their followers Back into the field of death. Promising the world; Neglecting the promise Of a small patch of earth And another poppy. READ MORE POEMS BY SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD JUST BEFORE DAWN
Just before dawn, When the sound of a lonesome car Fades into the distance; The owl goes quietly to bed And the first morning bird Begins his song. Just before dawn, When the dark night shadows Begin to fade And watery colours wash the world; When the morning dew Sends her leafy scents Through your window. Just before dawn, Before the sun peeks bright Into the day; All is calm, cool and quiet. There's a serene elation, A seeming perfection. Just before dawn, Before the chattering voices Begin their busy day; Wrapping themselves In importance and frustration. Just before dawn, It's hard to believe In hatred and war. READ MORE POEMS BY SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD THE CONSCRIPT
Young, Tanned and free, Beaming smile of innocent glee; Carefree, Flicking the untamed fringe from his eyes. A boy Not yet tuned to politicians' lies. Tanned and lean, Happy and keen. They put a uniform on him; Made him part Of their killing machine. Stiff leather boots, Polished to reflect The regime's aspirations; Not his own ambitions. They cancelled fun, Gave him a gun And drilled robotic obedience. No more sympathy No more empathy. They taught The enemy are nought But evil apparitions; To be fought. To kill Or be killed. And so, The boy became the man. Still tanned, Still lean; But now hardened And mean. When they were done And their war lost, or won, They dropped him back To find his own way To get back on track. Now, he is searching For the parts of his being They buried; When they took the boy With the beaming Smile of joy. READ MORE POEMS BY SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD WAR HERO
I see you walking, Stooped and slow; Your body now a fragile shell Of your former self. The garden of red poppies, Waving in the gentle breeze, Reminds me To look beyond your aging shell. To see The You who used to be. The You who fought to find the sun When the dark rain of bullets And hate Pelted our world. You were strong. You gave a part of your life, Of yourself, In the mud and the blood Of a drowning world. Friends were lost And medals were won. A part of yourself gone, Given to save the future. Now, your step is faltering, Your vision blurred; But we remember You. The You whose muscles were strong, Whose step, determined. The You who marched with a vision To bring us to our future. CLICK HERE TO READ MORE POEMS BY SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD Putrid, viscous greed
Oozes from the holes Where once majestic ivory reigned. Life’s blood darkens the plain. Cities lie flattened, Bodies pile higher than homes. Our lump of clay Is sodden with man’s violent greed. Fetid fumes Where flies and vultures feed; The smell of violence smothers All sense. Brain to think and plan, Schemes and plots, Destroys and kills. Oh man! How do you reward the Universe For your creation? Click here to read about Sharon |
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