Wishing, and hoping.

Today would be a good day for leaning over a bridge in Florence, and watching the reflections in the river.  I remember it well, and walking back late evening, turning the corner to the sounds of an angel,  the quality of the buskers in Florence should never be underestimated.  She sang opera as though she had been born to it, and we marvelled.  Then there was the street puppeteer, who was so adept at his craft, and a storyteller straight from the land of the Brothers Grimm.  Back I spun, into a landscape of childlike play, laughter and tenderness.  He was a conductor of joy, no less.  And all for the price of a few lire thrown into a hat. That’s where I want to be today, expansive, joyful, serene.   I’m not.

But the sun is shining, sending  a message of some hope, amongst the hurly burly of a gale strength wind.  The day threatens to be a long one, since my eldest was up at 3.30 am for a flight, which , by association involves me too rising with the lark.  Today he is attending a trip to Auschwitz, just the day, returning later this evening.  He loves history, and was offered a place, involving some work on his part, to follow up from the trip in an attempt to educate others about the horrors.  An evil that has to be revisited, in the hope that humans avoid the same mistakes. I wish.

So many pockmarks on history,  the only way forward is to learn and hope.  I wrote a poem on this theme , some time ago, after an atrocity of some sort. I hadn’t been writing poetry long at this point, so bear it in mind!

 

 

Sorry

 

The best thing to know

is this; that you are sorry.

That  all, in their turn

will state ‘sorry’ too.

This earth is teeming, full

with dead men and dying boys.

Overflowing

with widows that grieve,

crying orphans,

blind of fathers,

sisters, brothers;

their mothers.

The language of sorry

somehow unknown; misunderstood.

 

What should I know?

In a world

this complex.

In a world

this needy.

In a world

this big?

All the questions

irreconcilable

with any universal truth.

 

It starts here,

with you.

And

I am sorry,

to hand on

this sorry state

of beautiful earth.

Inhabited by

bees and moths, and polar bears,

humming birds, sloths, great crested grebes,

swans ,my sons and all manner of beings.

 

Sorry begins at mothers’ knee;

in playgrounds; acknowledges

another may be like me.

Sorry ends with reparation,

country  to country.

All mankind to one

another.

All of man to Nature.

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

I like to hear from you, so tell me what you think.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s