WELCOME TO JENRAY'S CELEBRATIONS AND THOUGHTS

Here's my poem for National Poetry day....

Ghosts.

Ghosts of yesteryear haunt the earth

Casualties of war's fought for causes

Few could properly fathom, apart from

Errors made by earlier politicians

As they sat in smoke filled rooms

To decide the future of the world,

And, in ignorance and pride, signed

Treaties doomed to failure, and then

Went home to let the generations

Still to come reap the fruits of their

Decisions. Ever it was, ever will be,

When we place our trust in people who

Believe war is a solution to a problem.

Red poppies sodden in the blood of

parent's sons and daughters cry out

‘Enough, enough, enough of us have died,

if you must remember the dead, at least

do it with deep remorse that you threw

away our lives, it's time to learn

a new path, negotiation, co-operation,

understanding, and the way of peace.

Take care, lest your deaf ears ignore

Our plea, the next great war won't

Be the same as those gone by in which

We died. The Third one will be the one

To end all Wars, and with it, all of you.

Hold your poppies in your hands, and

See your loved ones scattered far and wide

Born on the nuclear winds, and keep

In mind our words when so hard we tried

To warn you, as you sow, so shall you reap.

**

Great big hugs to one and all....

Hi to everybody...jotted down this little poem this afternoon...

Retirement

A time to pause, to reflect, to ponder
the past, the present and the future.
A time for relaxing, playing, beginning
a new phase of a life three score or more.

A time to let go of cares, worries, concerns,
to gather up the treasures in your mind.
A time to contemplate the meaning
and the purpose of your being.

A time to share, to dream, to journey
far and wide, or close to home.
A time of leisure, pleasure and delight
that freedom from work endows.

A time to find peace in mind and heart
and serenity after years of toil.
A time to recall briefly in the autumn
of your life a time when all will cease.

A time to retire from the daily grind
is a gift, not to be wasted with regrets.
A time recalled with joyful recognition
where two hearts can stroll together as one.

*****

Great big hugs to one and all...

Hi to everybody...here's another one of my poems written a while back now...

Sex in Time

Sex, when we were young, was a passionate,
sweaty, energetic affair.
We rolled and moaned, entangled our bodies
in embraces from the Karma Sutra,
and gave and received love’s seminal fluids
as life poured forth its seed.

Our bodies were supple, our limbs smooth,
our energy boundless whenever
the urge to unite sent spasms of pleasure
to groins tight with desire.
Then velvet silk walls of pulsating flesh held firm
a rod which strained to please.

In time the passion eased, partly because of
fatigue and countless interruptions
from the fruit of the early couplings, and
the strain of sleep lost nights.
But, in the stolen moments when love made its
demands, sexual satisfaction was achieved.

Over the years general worries, physical
disease, combined with natural ageing,
have cause our bodies to no longer heave
with erotic expectation, but to take
a more gentle joy in pleasing one another,
and satisfying our mutual needs.

Who know when those needs will cease
to stir desire in either one of us,
but, while the fire can still be fanned and
passions rise like a phoenix from the ashes,
so will our bodies merge in sexual union
and, for a moment, pulsate as one.

******

Great big hugs to one and all...

Hi to everybody...here's another one of my poems...

Home

Bricks and mortar build a shelter
but does it make a home?
Precious objects decorate the walls
and fill the empty spaces.
Furniture and carpets add a touch
of comfort for the body,
but do these constitute a home?

These materials build a dream,
a hope for security from harm.
Provide a sanctuary in a world
torn apart with strife and pain.
They are the building blocks
of safety into which their occupants
retreat and call a house a home.

But a house is just a house
when all is said and done.
And its contents are just contents
when viewed with open eyes.
So what makes a home to call your own
seem the answer to a dream,
when, clearly, in our world, it’s not.

All too frequently, a house
hides a multitude of sins.
It presents a public image
of domestic harmony and bliss.
But, should the façade crumble,
and the pain inside be seen,
then it’s clear a house is not a home.

So where lies the dream of home
that dominates our lives?
It can only be inside our selves,
not built by human hands outside.
In the centre of our being
where meets the body, mind and heart,
there lies our real and only dwelling.

This true and only home can
seem like a prison for some.
If there are wounds unhealed in time,
then few are welcomed in.
Only when these are cauterised by love
will their doors be opened wide, and,
in the healing, make a place for others.

‘Home is where the heart is’
is a wise and ancient adage.
It makes fools of those who
rely on only bricks and mortar.
Sadly, so many hearts have fallen
on the battlefield called home,
not many now believe it, but it’s true.

In the heart lies undying love,
the source of all our hope.
In the heart lies unfailing faith
the source of all our strength,
and, from its depths, a dream is born
which every heart embraces that, one day,
love will make a home in us forever.

*****

Great big hugs to one and all...

Hi to everybody...this is a very heavy poem written a long time ago now but one that is probably as relevant today as it was in the past in some sad cases...

Abuse

Walls enclosing fear and pain
keep what’s in from escaping.
Bleak, the perspective of the used.
Whatever childlike joy was there,
fled before the touch of hands that
abused sacred places, and brought
to nought all whispered protests.
Pleas for the cessation of each
violation fell on deafened ears
intent upon satisfying an urge
for power by gratifying sexual lust
on a body too small for a man’s desire.
The demand to act in ways not known
before became a source of agony not joy,
as could have been, in time, when love
was present, but it was absent then,
and always will be, in those stolen times
when innocence dies.

The abuse of trust echoes down
the corridors of time, bringing in its wake
a great tide of human stress and pain.
Every child born deserves to be loved,
holding as it does, the future in its care.
Let’s build a better one by learning trust
again, despite the betrayals of the past.
Hope relies on its affirmation, and the ending
of abuse can only bring to birth a finer,
happier, and more peaceful earth, and lay
to rest the ghosts of those who did not
survive their own cruel and tragic use.

****

Great big hugs to one and all....

Hi to everybody...here's a poem close to my heart..HLOL...
Sensitivity

To be born with a missing skin
is a very painful condition.
Every trivial remark becomes
enormous in dimension.
If a comment sounds unkind,
it undergoes distortion,
and a wind-up or joke assumes
a gargantuan proportion.

In a world where words can kill,
it’s a most unfortunate state.
All that can be done when stricken
is retreat to let the pain abate.
The stress of this severe disorder
has a side-effect of hate,
and an anger burning up inside
which nothing can alleviate.

Once the barb has taken flight,
it pierces every pore.
Round and round it ricochets
until it’s reached the core.
There, in brooding menace,
it sows its deadly spore,
and, with relish, waits for you
to start another war.

Fortunately for the deliverer,
the harm is rarely seen.
Rarely do the wounded
display their inner spleen.
Instead, they tear themselves
apart rather than be mean,
and would never want another
to see how hurt they’d been.

It’s lousy being so sensitive
when trying to survive.
But, there is another side,
It makes one feel alive.
The war, since always fought alone,
means that one can derive
the greatest satisfaction when,
finally, peace does arrive.

******

Great big hugs to one and all...

Hi to everybody...a smile and a tear here...
Friends

When my friends were in need
did I take heed? Oh yes
I would quieten all their fears
provide tissue for their tears
as they poured out all their woe
and told me they've never been so low
the hours would go quite fast
as they blurted out their past
and present problems in my ears
and I would listen as their years
sped through my brain and when
it was all out they'd have a cup of tea
and take their leave of me.

Now I am in need who takes heed
suddenly my friends are no where
to be seen if they had been
maybe they could quieten all my fears
provide tissues for my tears and
tell of time's healing as they know how
I'm feeling but their absence is clear
they don't want to be near
when death knocks on your door
and leaves you reeling on the floor
after the sorrow and the tears
they leave and you don't see them for years.

If I sound angry and bitter
it's a lie I'm just holding onto my
sense of humour and destroying the rumour
that my friends are hoping
I'm coping but no they've got
so much to do and it's just their lot
that today it's the shopping tomorrow
the dog and they can't drive in the fog
so I'll light up a cig and watch
the moon as it's full in June and
if I can laugh when left alone
I'll be able to answer the door or the
phone with a smile should they
come back in a while.

*****

Great big hugs to one and all...

Hi to everybody...here's another humorous poem with a serious side too...LOL...

What a bummer

Cells respond to time,
Inside, they’re all committing suicide!

What a trip to take.

We’re born a mass of unfulfilled potential.
Then, before we’ve had chance to wake,
a code kicks in to stem the tide,
and becomes increasingly influential.

‘You have a limited span of life,’
it tells each and every cell.

‘There must be some mistake!’
you can hear them yell.

‘No, no error in our data.
Go and live for goodness sake.’

What a bummer to be born
with the grim reaper
out to get us sooner or later.

It’s enough to kill the will
to survive for just a day
when all your cells are looking
for the nearest cliff or rope.

In a particular case like this,
if the spur to life is hope,
then ignorance really is bliss.

*****

Great big hugs to one and all...

Hi to everybody...here's one of my favourite poems...
Love

For a moment in time a taste
of the divine enters our lives
through the eyes of a child.
With translucent skin and
eyes aglow, he held my hand,
and the world around began
to recede as I was held
by his presence; the love
that flowed from that delicate
frame filled my body and
lifted my spirit to the heights
of delight that one so young
could hold so much power,
and, with a single glance,
make my whole world dance.
And our spirits were one
in that moment of time
when I beheld my son.

***

Great big hugs to one and all...

Hi to everybody....here's a humorous one relevant I think to all call centre workers...and us who are forced to use them...

The Call Centre

Oh what a brave new world we live in.
We’re now in the age of computerisation.
Our programs are working, our faxes are on,
our phone lines open and we’re ready to run,
but where, of where, have our orders gone?

It should be so easy but, sadly, it’s not.
The whole damned scheme has gone to pot.
Errors and bugs keep invading the system,
and, try as we might, they will not stop
and, as for the orders, we keep losing them!

We say to the client, ‘we’re so very sorry
for the delay, but we’re trying our best to see
where your order went, but not for a while
because, at the moment, our screens are down
so we won’t be able to access your personal file.’

‘I know we told you that your order would be
delivered today, but, if you can bear with me,
I’ll try and explain that it’s certainly on its way,
I put it through to the stock room after your call,
so I can’t understand how it’s gone astray.’

‘I’ve just got through to the manager on the floor
and, I’m sorry to tell you, I know it’s a bore,
but we’re out of stock. There were plenty about
but, unfortunately, my screen only shows what
we sell, I didn’t know we were all sold out.’

‘Sir, Sir, you sound strange. Are you all right?
I know you’re angry, but you gave me a fright.
The gurgles and gasps drowned what you said.
Do you want to re-order or leave it for now?
Sir, I can’t hear. Oh, damn, the phone’s gone dead.

*****

Great big hugs to one and all...