POEM ON WAR & PEACE

5.30am foreboding in furry slippers,

signals war and peace; a Government’s

Good old cause;

before Dawn on winter morn,

Cars zoom past a once rural track,

Headlights beam early-shift alarms

Route to Amberley air-base, 

where powerful hornets are taking-off

on a mission.

 

hornets

My brain provoked to write a chapter

Where ancient transport is your legs

Marching from one end of the fractured

Kingdom to another – carts carry pikes,

muskets and drums

to where cousins pitch battle

Across Crown lands with bibles 

in pockets.

 NMA

5.45a.m. before sun-rise, hearing

long steady jet bellows overhead,

Five orange lights flashing within moist 

Clouds; noisy machines controlled by

Young Pilots trained for flight in strict

Formation, a deadly force which can

Drop bombs from a great height. 

G20 HAMBURG Putin and Trump keeping the Peace…

 

Allied to mutual Destruction our warriors

May not realise their DNA origins were

Down there in the cradle of civilisation.

100 years ago Lawrence of Arabia had a

sense of being at Home there being a Hero “Scientifically shattering” many bridges.

t e lawrence

Legacy ; link to the Queensland Times report on why all the noise….

 

Lest we forget that Re-drawing of Middle Eastern

Maps in Westminster; war-weary forebears 

Came home to rationed hearths, arriving

as shells of former selves with

Little words left to review the theatre of 

War to the wife, perhaps a brief mention

you saw your German cousins shooting

Dutifully across the trenches,

when it was only a few Summers

since your families had picnics.

 

She said, ‘Men, God created them,

then He ordered an eternity of

Chains of command for times of

War and times of Peace.

 

Under the flight path,

my dwelling is a humble

Plot of Paradise, 

Natural light shows soft rain-fall

On freshly bought native grasses

Of Kangaroo Paw, Lomandra variations,

Paper Daisies.

I will grow beauty around me like

A garden in ancient Babylon, or a

Quaker’s conscience, echoing

Voltaire’s wisdom 

His pragmatic solution to never-

Ending scraps and weapons of

Mass destruction, to

Candidly get out of the

Arms race, the mad-made farce

And be happy hippies cultivating

The garden restoring an Eden on 

Earth with Mass plantings.

 Munch poppies.jpg
by Edvard Munch

 

It is 7.00am It is Light, so is the

Bird song. I am grateful to be

reminded to buy a rain-water

storage tank, replenish the soil

with compost because

Mother Nature likes to be nourished

And I have been forewarned by Enlightened

Souls who study, to be prepared for

Global warming threat.

 

Fair grass.jpg

EOFY 30/6/2017 link to Hornets story at QUEENSLAND TIMES

Peace Middle East

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THE COST OF LIVING

nr Telford/Iron Bridge

Addicted to geneological research  I went with my husband to Europe for their Summer 2010 forming this poem after visits to  cemeteries where ancestors were buried. 

Hardly enough to live on, 

Nothing left to rot with;

No sword or jewel of infinite

Value – our commoners of

England, Ireland, Scotland, 

Are one of many paupers after

Another; piled in layers

Of dirt, after a shitty life.  

Agricultural Labourers of Worcestershire

Nearby, deliveries came in a black glass

Carriage, emptied and covered, a standing

Stone Mason has inscribed  the name of a

Citizen who lived once beneath the stars,

Under  the influence of a Celtic Cross;

Intricate, masterfully chiselled and

Paid for with a tidy sum before

Meeting their Maker.

Celtic Cross


Ornate marble tablets quarried

From the mountain tops proclaim

A devoted wife, husband, a child

Called to Heaven above the dismal clouds.

 

Will this class of  ancestor be equal

In eternity with my own dear departed?

Unable to inherit success or rise above

The Gutter;

Salvation came much

Later with the biological sciences.


Within the subsidised grassy spaces

 Layers of my blood and bone

Peasants,  Nailers, Miners of coal

And limestone, brickies labourers,

Even British Imperial soldiers…

Occupy my thoughts.

Hill of Tara, County Meath, Republic of Ireland
 

Generally illiterate, sometimes called

‘Illegitimate’

 Wives were burdened and bloody

Infected by birthing,  dirt and soldiers

Syphillis  and beatings with booze;

Left  behind Wards of State and

Church ‘bastards’,  survived to earn

A crust, however they could.

I have no fantastic psychic impressions

Of past lives as a Klimt-like Austrian

Princess or Harem dancer as a Medium

Once claimed!

My inner Shaman is un-spooked  treading

By Regency damp and mossy tombs in

Gothic Romanticism, searching for

 Surnames in vain.

Memorials

 Having acquired the generational

Narrative which casts my proletariat

 Indistinguishable,

I create a cast of characters to a virtual

fate; in blogs and bricks of words –

This family’s  black sheep grazing around

Their burial plots.

The Pub's still standing

 Irish republicans and suffragettes are

Remembered at Glasnevin

For heroism in the fight for  democratic

Secularity, and though the parades

Long gone, further afield from the

Dead and buried slum dwellers – 

Chief  Daniel O’Connell and the

Executed Independence martyrs still

Attract  sorrow and gratitude graveside.

Impressive........

Free from the mad and mean world, the

Collective of  Celtic kin under the grass

Are strangers, political and spiritually

 Yet I find comfort in thinking their

 Last gasp or TB cough was  

Optimistic!

 

Finally liberated from death-bed agonies,

The verses rote learned in lines of  Holy

Scriptures will sound like poetry, along

The kids playing outside. 

The promise of an after-life free from

Bacterial battling, and oppression

In hovels of working-class containment

Or Asylum, is a blessed sigh of relief ,

Giving up the  ghost in a society 

Of sadness and shame.

 

Body snatchers sneaked over nameless

Dens, searching for valuable

Corpses; their human remains hidden,

No contribution to medical science.

 My generation’s  Scientists  find markers,

Not by stone and marble to connect us, 

But the trace of  a Double Helix. 

We  join scholars to trace geneology

Before  the days of  St.Patrick and Bede

Self-learners on a sojourner’s stay in  

Ui Niall’s territory  entering

Passage-ways and tombs to the 

 Underworld dug into the Hill of Tara.

Breaking bread beside the erect penis

Of Celtic destiny

Reflecting  on our mothers and fathers,

Whose  DNA travels with us and through

 Into our off-spring, we silently breath

The sacred air;  a brief resting

Spot on the planet.

Procreation of Celtic genes
Hill of Tara, Navan, Ireland

Creative Commons License
The Cost of Living by Julie McNeill is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

PERIOD PIECES

whats it like to be a woman politician, giving a speech and then your period comes – based on a true story……………………….

WAR

Like Boadicea you bloodied those

Young men from your flood of

Womanhood, as they stood prepared

For battle.

Naive to the Mystery of two forces at work

As a Clay more, double-edged sword

Would sacrifice lambs for the

Greater good –

New layers of Blood and Bone

Will shed so the Goddess soil of the Earth

Is appeased.

Since History began men

Go to the slaughter and women nursed,

Died for them without any medals.

Even now, though the sign-up is lower

The taste for red horror and adrenalin

In danger is encouraged by virtual realities

Where witless propaganda assures

They’ll be heroes, strengthening ideologies and

Arms trading.

To maintain her pitch, Thatcher on an all nighter

With whiskey and soda plotting Falklands

Victory with her Secretary will go

Down in Herstory as good or better

Than any man, female backbencher or

Campaign director, with a mission to win

Right or wrong.

Did she bleed like you, looking into

Those handsome fresh faces

Under the unseen moon?

No Sacred Heart showed itself in

Her divinity – more like a Caesars.

Female warriors wear the purple today

Ask courageously for time out to deal with the leaks

At monthly intervals and manage moods with

Precision and the power of intuition.

At home in the Nations Senate you are

Keeping the bastards honest, Green and rational as

Significant others try to push legislation to control every

Womans health, wealth and influence past your

Red chair.

14/11/06

(c)copyright Julie McNeill

 

 

AT THE PEAK OF MY POWERS

I was all ready to resign – whipped up(stressed)

And Blood showed its laughing smear

To halt me in my tracks of biological destiny.

Those ovaries that egg on desire and

Sex, and damn chemistry of hormones which

Delivers a rampage of confusion, in my mind(because)

I believe, I am certain, I am a Warrior

Against Injustice against me,

And I write and fight for the plight

Of the children and their loved ones

Stuck in refugee camps off – shore, in

Detention – seeking asylum.

Forget United Nations conventions, we

‘Fair- go’ Australians lead the way, compassion

Corrupted by fear of foreigners(xenophobia)

We always do forget we’ll keep repeating the same

Mistakes till we learn, have another Blood sacrifice

For the ‘Greater good’, the message

Comes from on high.

And so many believe them, who throw bombs

As if they were rocks from Davids sling-shot.

I’m all ready to quit my life on Earth,

This losing battle of Joy versus Despair,

Of wailing at the wall – gnashing my teeth

Through the night.

Then as Dawn birds sing, It becomes clear –

I am Fool each moon cycle

In an eternal card game, an archetypal

Female upon the stage, putting on a

Show to please, to provoke and

Do the best I know!

The screw does turn, awareness lightens like

Luna’s mood transitions and Death and Horror

Is committed in somebody elses

Theatre of War.

It’s 4am and I’m singing a song

For the preservation of my vocation,

To deliver us from Evil in the name

Of the God/dess from the depths

Of my Soul and genius of

My Ovarian cycle!

 

(26/7/06)

(c)copyright Julie McNeill

 

 

 

 

SIEV X

THE GHOST BOAT IN OUR WAY

SIEV X: WHERE IS THE MONUMENT

TO THE 353 LIVES LOST, DESPERATLEY

DROWNING OCTOBER 19th 2001?

SIEV X: WOMEN AND CHILDREN PLEAD

ALL OVER THE WORLD FOR THE BOMBS

AND BULLETS TO STOP, FORCING

THEM TO FLEE.

SIEV X: THEY COME TO HOWARD’S END

WHOSE MONUMENT WILL BE TO HIS

CAPTAINCY WHICH IGNORED THE

SCRAMBLING HANDS REACHING AT HIS FEET

FROM THE WARMING WAVES BELOW,

BECAUSE HE SIGNED A HYPOCRATIC OATH

TO FREEDOM FROM TERROR.

SIEV X: LET YOUR CHILDREN SING

FROM THE SHADOWY DEPTHS OF

THIS NATIONS OCEANIC TABLE

SO WE DON’T EASILY FORGET

WHERE YOU ARE, REMEMBERING

HOW CALLOUS WE CAN BE,

TO OTHERS WHOSE LIVES WE CAN DECIDE

ARE WORTH SAVING OR GRIEVING FOR.

SIEV X: your individual names

not written in stone like some are,

but I can keep saying those

146 children, 142 women, 65 men

were the bravest, and honour them

for their hope in us Australians.

SIEV X -Lest We Forget

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Julie McNeill (c)copyright Oct 2006

all rights reserved

Remember Emma Miller

REMEMBER EMMA MILLER

She was a tiny Sheila, Mrs Miller,

Yet fought her whole life for the Rights

Of Man and of course the female folk too.

Not shy to stand up for a womans sufferage

To cast a vote, and live a life safe and secure

Her humanism and solidarity to the Labor cause

Against the greed and might of treacherous

Capitalists remains true to this day.

Emma was firm in her mission of a better life

For the battlers, the women and children who

Were paupers on less than a minimum wage,

Who could ill afford a loaf of bread

After paying the rent in rat infested squalor

On the flood-traps of the Brisbane river.

Her weapon was to use her intelligence, but

When push came to shove, she drew out

Her hat-pin and stuck it in the Commissioners horse

Who barred her way to petition the Premier that day.

The powers that be took a fall, but not before

They’d trounced on the right to march

In city streets, shouting, Cop that!

Swinging and swooping down on the masses

With their batons.

1900 seems so long ago but the message of Emma Miller

Is clear – Not to lay idle when there’s people suffering

The tyranny of bullies and bastards

Who use their power and money to entrench inequality.

There was no way that the ‘Grand Old Lady’ was

Inferior as she took on the hierachy!

True and loyal to the cause, she was a giant amongst women

And men, even though she was only 4ft 10inch tall!

She travelled and inspired from Toowoomba to Charleville

In a carriage, organising campaigns and

Events like no other, so we must remember and

Honour the lady who led the struggle up the steps

To Legislative chambers.

 

 

(C)copyright Julie McNeill 2006