Thursday, 17 February 2022

Julia. February-July 1944

 Juliska Revesz (Julia)


Julia was born in February

To a Jewish mother in Hungary

In the University city of Pécs*

The black white photo shows

A baby in her swaddling clothes. 


Nineteen forty four was the year

She entered a world convulsed 

With hatred and with war

Little could she know of the road

That brought her to the camp in Auschwitz. 


Only five months old she was consumed

By the flames of the killing chambers

Never to see the city

With its Roman buildings and history 

A death after life in misery. 


The evil of Auschwitz remains 

The trauma is a reminder

What men will do to men

When humanity is surrendered

On the altar of populist nationalism. 


The camps were freed and were cleared

Now open to the overseas tourist

A monument to madness and insanity 

A lesson that evil will flourish

If good men sit around doing nothing. 


  • Pronounced ‘page’.  

Tuesday, 15 February 2022

My back

 My back


My back was hurting after seven decades

My neck was frozen with the pain

Until one night with no one watching

I took the world and laid it down

Off my shoulders and it was fine. 


What a relief, no little disappointment

That when I rose at dawn that morning

My shoulders free, my conscience clear

The world was spinning as before

Somehow it managed well without me. 


It gave a lesson silent and enduring 

That life continues when we’re gone

The world is patient and ignores 

Our sleepless nights and breathless days

So let’s enjoy our precious stay. 

Monday, 14 February 2022

Weep not world

 Weep not for me


The world whispered in the shadows

One quiet evening when the wind had dropped

And the sea was like a sparkling mirror 

“Weep not for me, I will be fine. 

No, weep for your children who will not


Take a step back and look out 

At the stars at night that stretch

For ever to infinity in a cosmic dance 

Of life and death which is a sampler

Of all existence. 


I will recover when you are departed

And my seas will be restored

All will be well.


You number brave souls who fight

For generations not yet born 

For children they will never see

Not all their efforts will be in vain. 


They will slow down what cannot be avoided

For the dice has been thrown 

The game is over 

But the winnings are yet to be divided.


Bon courage children of the world

Enjoy my beauty while you can

Seize the hour and the day

For despite the carnage you have lit a spark 


That has reached the outer edges 

Of the galaxies and the stars

Who chat among themselves at night

About your highs and lows. 


So along with tears let there be laughter

Which man alone has brought 

And brightened up the Milky Way

At his pinnacle at the noon of day.”

Waves

 The sound of the sea


The sound of the sea

As it breaks on the shore. 

The language of waves

Strike respect with a roar. 

Reminding us that we are

But transient visitors 

Passing along a beach. 


Trembling beneath a force

That shakes the earth. 

Reminding us that our place

Is of observers of the magnificent

Story written now millions of years

Before and after our coming 

And eventual departure. 


These waves will sing the song

For centuries and eons 

Long after we are gone  

Without a trace or sign. 


We celebrate our short time

Our arctic flowering 

And trace our initials 

On a Winter shore. 

Saturday, 12 February 2022

Forgetting to live

 Me olvidé de vivir


Me olvidé de vivir,

I had forgotten to live

To breathe in and breathe out

Missing out on life passing. 


Meetings on the hour

Committees by day

Ruling my life both awake and asleep

With life leaking out and sneaking away. 


Nothing appreciated or analyzed

Like a cork on the water 

Untethered and drifting 

On a sea that held no memories. 


Performers in a play 

That no one understood

Children dressed in pin stripes

Straight-jackets with no pockets. 


Til at last we’re slowing down

From choice or necessity. 

It’s a blessing to get a second chance

Which should not escape our grip again. 


Free at last from the money 

Always more and never less

Escaped from a jailer

Knowing only excess. 


To discover a tribe

Liberated for years

Enjoying things that matter

Transforming their lives. 


A secret in full sight

For those willing to see

A clarion call sounding clearly

For those willing to hear. 


We will not forget to embrace

A life that flows past our house

Each morning under bridges

Running out to a sparkling sea. 

Sleepwalking

 He slept soundly


He slept soundly in his bed

While the Russian troops massed

On the Ukraine border 

Ahead of a denied invasion. 


She curled up in silken sheets

While Afghan parents sold their children

To buy some food for families

Hungry and cold on an evil hill. 


They took the trains to ski slopes

While the sun shone down on Africa

Man and beast stumbling in the heat

In the jail of climate change. 


Closer to home we celebrate our freedom

While families choose to eat or heat

Behind closed curtains in avenues

Blind to the secrets behind the doors. 


There is no point in blaming God

For that is not his duty 

There is no point in fervent prayers

Actions matter and not words. 


To have the courage to light a candle

To hope it’s timid glow 

Will help the neighbor and then show

The path from hell to heaven. 

Friday, 11 February 2022

Staying close

 Staying close


Staying close she didn’t wander

Far beyond the Sligo streets

Nestled in a house which welcomed bells 

From the nearby Friary

That pealed upon the hour 

Night and day, day and night. 


Nothing happened very much

A staid and peaceful life

Her footprint light and gentle.

Was she wrong or right

To make no waves or noise?

Living quietly on cobbled streets

That hadn’t changed in decades. 


Her friends from school got married

Left to find fortune or a husband

Up in Dublin or in far off London 

But envy did not walk her road 

Happy she with a life well lived

In the shadows of the church

Whence bells rang upon the hour. 


When her time comes she is mourned

By a tight circle of friends who share

Her fear of the limelight 

Her grave is tended in the graveyard

Overlooking the Bay at the foot of the hills

That rise over slumbering Sligo

Early on a cold April morning.