Thursday, 23 March 2017

Westminster Wake up Call

This time a loan assassin
drove madly at the crowd
his car upon the pavement
a bloody furrow ploughed.

With knife in hand he’s running
towards the guarding man
who bravely did his duty
no weapon but his hand.

The shots run out so quickly
catching everyone unawares
the stumbling and the panic
the closing of the stairs.

Westminster is in lock down
tourists trapped aboard the Eye
the scurrying for cover
no time to say goodbye.

A woman in the river
French students in the road
the suspect car abandoned
This terror episode

has London in all its glory
ground to a sudden halt
yellow jacket SWATs and paramedics
blood on the asphalt.

Apathy’s rude awakening
the writing’s on the wall
It doesn’t happen just in France
for us all a wakeup call.

Amidst the heightened heartbeats
a reassuring sound was heard
a teacher’s calm instructions
her young charges voices stirred.

That choir of children’s’ voices
in the corridors of power
proved no act of shameful terror
could our bright future sour.

Democracy’s been threatened
but continues to stand tall
The unarmed and disarming
defiant through it all.

© Sheila Ash 23 March 2017

Monday, 20 March 2017

Dreams of Flying

Free climbing

Long chalky fingers hold me fast
Sweat drips with the rising sun
Legs flex and stretch out and up
I swing, the foothold found
as with my last grasp
I make the top.

High perched like an eagle
I scan the horizon
of the caldera stretching south
as peaceful breathing returns.
The pinnacle conquered,
climbed free, thirst quenched,
I stand, survey my world
then jump upon the thermals.

© Sheila Ash 20th March 2017

See https://www.thoughtco.com/dangerous-allure-of-free-solo-climbing-755444

Sunday, 19 March 2017

Who I am today

In my head, the sands of Tin Merzouga blend
their red with the purple heathers of Alba.
My heart has bled its contradictions,
its longing nostalgia.

I did not choose to live alone
but alone I chose to remain.
Far winds have blown me home
but I miss the open plain,
sun drenched bones,
the joys of monsoon rain.

Life’s experiences, good and bad,
made me who I am:
this peter pan,
this lover of life, this supporter of Oxfam.

Not one for looking in the mirror,
not through fear or dread,
I know what’s there, I tread
happy in my skin,
my soul within sings each day
to the beat of the distant tambour.

116

© Sheila Ash 19th March 2017