Imagine This...

Imagine This…


A white piano in a white room.

The first bars of ‘Imagine’ rousing hope,

A bearded white Englishman

With his Asian bride,

Imagining all the people living life in peace.

A bed-in of love,

Yet, assassinated.


Imagine This…


A Tibetan monk in his bright kasaya robes,

A smile as wide as acceptance should look,

Spreading the word of Buddhism,

Peace and love.

Elderly immigrant;

Seeker of refuge, 

Exiled.


Imagine This…


A black South African man

Nurturer of equality,

Apartheid activist,

Nobel Peace Prize winner,

President.

Yet silenced,

Imprisoned.


Imagine This…


A black American man who had a dream;

Proud, in full colour,

A King among men,

Speaking up and speaking out

Against racial injustice,

Also an activist.

Another assassinated.


Imagine This…


A white (fake-tanned) American man;

Gun-totin’ news-dominator, 

Vindicator of alleged Christian values,

Divisive not inclusive -

Seeking justice for the average white guy,

In the land of the free

He sets the precedent. President.


Imagine This…


An indefatigable dictator,

Leading his army to war,

Claiming territory, 

Valuing tyranny over humanity,

Questioning the nature of crime, 

This is ours!

World Leader?


Imagine This…


A mixed-race Mother

Crossing an open border

Away from conflict,

Welcomed with loving arms,

Thriving, not simply surviving,

Walking the path of progress, 

Leading a new World, united

 in Peace.


Imagine This.

Imagine This.


A Wensley

29.09.2025



Remembrance Day - 9.11.2025


A short story with the same title:




Peace be with all in situations of conflict at this time.





Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

'Me' (or 'Poetry from a prompt-sheet', Jawbone 'Write to Speak' Workshop 22/06/25)

Image
This poem was created during a Jawbone 'Write to speak' workshop in Bridport on the 22nd June 2025. It came about when we were asked to complete a prompt sheet 'Being honest with you' - filling in all our honest thoughts against the prompt words listed, as per the list below. Rather than one word answers to each or whole sentences independent of each other, mine naturally flowed as a piece of poetry in its own right - I read it out with emotion, volume in the parts which resonated with the spirit of the piece and clearly in the way I'd punctuated it for dramatic effect. It goes like this: I AM...                  Me . I AM NOT ...            You . I CAN...                  speak but I CANNOT...            always be heard. I WILL...                frustrate you but I WON'T .....
Read more

A writer's demons

Image
A writer's demons (After a performance of 'Christabel Released' - by Ralph Hoyte) There once a weary writer free Found solace by an old oak tree, She found within its outstretched branch An air of grace to write carte blanche. Her poetry encroached, did sin her,  A mind trapped fast fly-like in amber. He found her in a state of flux A mazed dear maid now there's the crux. Her neck was bent o'er like a snake It fair did make the knight a-quake! But wake her from her trance did he,  Here starts this tale of poetry... Her pen is sharper than his sword She knows no fear, is untoward, She casts a spell on his dear heart, Deeper than home-made apple-tart. He walks on clouds he floats upon Not knowing when love will be gone. The moon it shone down yonder vale And moved her from beyond her pale, Of cheek she blushed to see him ride Chestnut his steed against the tide, But lo the comet streameth cometh! Universe collideth someth! Saddled up the writer's bosom heaved,  He...
Read more

Held, with love

Image
Held, with love I’m wearing my strapless dress today The one you bought me as a skirt, Free from the self-constraints of bras  And the uniformity of past Seasons, Free from the Motherly idylls Imposed on me by a world of others, Free from the servitude  To ‘you should be this’ And ‘you should be that'. It's September  And a cheer-up of long-tailed tits fly overhead, Pausing awhile to converse Amongst the branches above me; Amongst the heady scent Of the fragrant-flowering hedge I cut back yesterday, Freeing the footpath for primary-schoolers and prams, In the magenta hareem trousers That you bought me. My sky-blue painted fence  Reflects the Autumn sunshine Back onto my unmasked face. Here I rest,  Waiting for a sign, a look of love; To be noticed for the me That resides here free - Yet longing to be held. A robin alights from the hanging tray Of our bird feeder, He too is free yet seeking nourishment. I sit here, calm in the reassurance   Of knowing,...
Read more