Filiopietistic
When we’re squeezed by chaos and under duress,
When our foundational rocks melt under stress;
We often look for the familiar and find some comfort there;
A safe haven and refuge when our courage has gone elsewhere.
When a brave heart is on the down-low,
Breathe deep and make your racing heart beat slow.
And when that which can be relied upon, vanishes;
You have to think of more than just bandages.
When the future’s looking bleak,
And you’re so scared you cannot think or speak;
Look back and find your forebears.
What could ever catch them unawares?
Maybe the answers reside with the deceased.
Open your heart, pray to the mortally released.
Maybe the best has already been.
Are things truly better with the computer and machine?
It’s probably unrealistic to be filiopietistic.
It’s certainly quite mystic,
Though a little pessimistic, if the future and the present aren’t better than the past.
If we learn nothing from history,
Surely the unknown becomes alarmingly vast.
Graeme Eady
flowers grow from dirt
on the side of a dusty car
< flowers grow from dirt >
– so true
ideas grow from fleeting observations
friendships grow from brief encounters
love grows from hesitant beginnings
and – sometimes – poems grow from sorrow
Helen Oliver
(published in Proverse, Mingled Verses 6, Hong Kong, 2021)
(give me thirty three more poems)
I took the wrong bus
and went the opposite direction
and I found a ride back,
a stranger
we drove
past a bar across the road from a familiar cemetery
where green and blue coffins were piled outside
I almost cried,
we drove
and then I was sitting on a small boat,
looking back towards the water
and sea lions followed the waves like a new religion
as my thoughts faded away
the sky was old,
clouds were still
and then I entered a small concrete house
where a pale lady showed me around,
it was a small room and I asked her
“are we in the USSR?”
and she didn’t know the answer
and she remained in silence, showing me around with her hands
pointing at old portraits and monochromatic dusty furniture
and her son suddenly arrived
and I knew we were in the USSR
and her son insulted me
and I ran away
and the streets were cold,
surrounded by steep grey walls
and every man that ever existed was sitting up on that wall
and they insulted me too
Fauze Hassen
Fauzehassen.com
