Mexico – Cinco de Mayo

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So many souls sacrificed for Mexico,

in Mexico,

May 5th. 1862,

Cinco de Mayo.

So many souls sacrificed

every minute, every day, every year,

in every nation,

at every beat of the drum,

at every beat of the heart

so many souls.

 

photographs and poem by Clinock

We Rise

Dove

There are periods of moments

strung together like seagulls

along the white wake of time

that seem to glow with more light,

more intense shadows sliding,

more music in their foam.

 

There have been days like this

leading to the now of writing

on this poignant day of remembrance:

I shivered, sweating and sleepless

through nights of fevered demons

the medicines invoked in the blood.

 

And at the same time needing

to solve incomprehensible clues

leading to solutions of puzzles

I didn’t ask for or want.

And always the rumors of war

we didn’t ask for or want.

 

There were the anniversary rituals too.

One year after the crowning of the mad king,

and the previous day, because he knew to leave

before the Ace of Spades became the trump,

Mister Cohen waved farewell.

I bled tears that day for a man I loved.

 

And today, the eleventh day of the eleventh month,

we enact our agreed rituals of mourning:

Silence, remembering, honouring the dead

of the wars that never end.

People, we can do better than this,

isn’t it time we gave all our children  peace?

 

“From bitter searching of the heart,

we rise to play a greater part.”

 

 

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Mixed media art, photo and poem by Clinock

‘The 100’ # 97 – Dove

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…” the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.”

Leonard Cohen. Anthem

 That which once was clearly read

now manifests in ciphers,

silent, broken and disintegrating.

Whatever the answer was,

in this parchment of peace,

it is gone now, forgotten,

fragmented and lost.

Dove 6

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Words and songs are smudged,

dark wings tear the light,

chaos reigns beneath the ordered surface

and the zero and the I,

tattooed in bar codes

indelibly across our eyes

binds us and blinds us.

Dove detail 2

And our blindness multiplies

with the hate and lies,

the killing, the hurting, the violence

wasting our hearts

to ashes, charcoal, stone,

and all we might become

is lacerated by darkness.

 

Dove detail 4

 But still we inhabit our dream

 as if the unbearable pain

was part of a stranger’s nightmare,

otherwise, we ask

how could we breath?

how could we sleep?

how could we believe in love?

Dove detail 3

So we claim neutrality,

pretend we do not see

the millions of bodies of falling doves

filling the sky like tears,

blood on white feathers

heaping around our feet

freezing us numb in holy snow.

 

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Mixed media collage and poem by clinock.

Thank you Steven @  http://poemimage.wordpress.com for design inspiration.