Under the Siberian Moon

In the Summer of 1984 I took some kind of chill or flu.
Although it was a boiling hot day I was lying in bed
freezing and shivering and this poem came to me.

The scene

Under the Siberian moon
the bride and the groom
huddle together to keep warm
sheltering from the storm

The dialogue -- The Groom

'Don't say you love me
for love is unreal
we are greater than love
as reason 
is more than to feel'

'Don't say tomorrow
for it may not come
there is a moon
but no Siberian sun'

'Don't say forever
for we only have now
this moment is all
that chance will allow'

'Don't fight the storm
but hide from the blast
there will be calm
when the fury has past'

'O my darling 
don't run away
the hills are curds and whey
and the valleys below
are ice and snow
under the Siberian moon'

The Bride

'I will say I love you 
for to me love is real
and like a vessel
my reason 
contains all I feel'

'I will say tomorrow
and believe it will come
I follow the moon
and hope in the sun'

'I will say forever
because we have now
I believe life is more
than chance would allow'

'I won't fight the storm
but will hide from the blast
and wait for the calm
when the fury has past'

'O my darling
I won't run away
the hills are curds and whey
and the valleys below
are ice and snow
under the Siberian moon.'

Glasgow Scotland City Chambers 8th of August 2014.

4th of August 2014 - War Past.

Obey.

Smash down the cities.
Knock the walls to pieces.
Break the factories and cathedrals, warehouses
     and homes
Into loose piles of stone and lumber and black
     burnt wood
     You are the soldier-warriors,

 We command you.

Build up the cities.
Set up the walls again.
Put together once more the factories and cathedrals,
     warehouses and homes
Into buildings for life and labour
     You are the citizen-workmen,

We command you.

Carl Sandburg.

4th of August 2014 - War Future.

The Room

I walked through the door
into an oval room
forty feet long
forty feet wide
completely square
except for one octagonal side

In the far corner was a chair
beautifully designed
skillfully made
an obvious chippendale
on the wall hung a sign
"This chair is not for sale"

Upon the chair sat a boy
laughing as he read "Plato's Republic"
he lifted his eyes
with an embarrassed look
I smiled assent
knowing it was a funny book

Two strangers walk into the room
we greeted each other 
like long lost friends
and as the day wore on
much in the past became outmoded
we talked we sang
and we planned for the future
as the missiles exploded.

Reposted from 27th february 2010.