A Melody Called Peace. Scott Johnson
Fay Slimm, from U.K
Peace will not come easy
If we skirt the need for care.
This essential space
Where we embrace
The other, if they're there.
If we don't look in the corners
Where dust has covered in
Every vestige of humility.
Where shall we begin?
This search for peace is ancient
So the sages seemed to say.
They too left home
And hearth, to roam
And find, without delay
This feeling all too absent
From the life of yesterday..
Peace itself though is not far
It's but a choice away.
A choice to feel or not to feel
This blissful trait, …Today.
This place where, deep and hidden
Lies contentment. That's the key.
We must find this to find our peace
Whatever else may be
Before, or now. The thing is how
To set our spirit free..
So will this sheer elation
Which comes with joi-de-vivre,
Reject the devastation
Which besets us, to deceive
With causing nothing helpful
In our quest to make belief
In Peace a goal. Oh yes
Our pursuit, this fine pursuit
Is for true happiness.
So, to find this 'sadness-antidote'
Let's begin, , for what it's worth.
Let's put Peace within our heart.
For as long as we're on earth.
In A world of Peace
By Charles M Moore, from Glasgow Scotland
In another constellation
live another you and I
happy to be with one another
so in love and so alive
perhaps they both have children
could it be their wars have ceased
or maybe they're not hungry
living in a world of peace
Look above and you will see them
they're not difficult to find
view your soul, and be them
test your heart and test your mind
we have so much life in common
a date with destiny to keep
it only takes a word well-spoken
and life on earth would live in peace.
1
A Spaniard Named Charlie
By Professor Paul John Amrod, from U.S
He played the euphonium in a highschool band
The instrument, the trombone he did reprimand
He found the tone quite annoying and nasal
Performing at football games was absolutely anal
He continually could not learn a formation
Leaving him speechless in total desolation
Was a beautiful Tenor, sang like James Nabors
But from the maidens he received no favors.
Hated the voice of Mr. John Lee Hooker
Maybe for a nun he was a fine good looker
Wasn’t too flabbergasted from Modern Jazz
Hated to be called by the nickname Chas
If you were a fan of Mr. Eric Burdon
You were suspicious of drinking hard bourbon
He was a prince from the house of Osborne
A fine trimmed vest was what to be worn.
This Spaniard was given the name Charlie
He avoided any drink made from barley
Never embraced the island of Reggae
The rhythms left his head in total disarray
The action of delinquents made him forlorn
Was a sensitive sissy since the day he was born
Screamed in frustration because of Bob Marley
And emptied the tires of Hell’s Angels’ Harleys
God bless him he was a rambunctious vigilante
Always stealing cookies from his mother’s pantry
He blew his lid over every cocky wise guy
Known to deliver a punch resulting in a black eye
Bottled up an anger and cooking with vengeance
Trying to correct all wrong with a grievous penance
Never could be caught with irresponsibility
Wasn’t very gifted with his style of inflexibility
High pressure was his key to testosterone
Exercising while slurping a melting icecream cone
Long lost his sense of cooperation and a collective
Never was there idleness or time to be reflective
Played Basketball because of his towering height
Slam dunking creating commotion and needless fright
Oh this Spaniard was a gentleman with suspenders
Pulling them up not resembling a doubtful pretender
Wanted to create fear with his boisterous nature
He proudly invented his own style of nomenclature
His entire manner would appear to be somewhat ludicrous
Especially if he felt all was senseless and absurdly superfluous
Subjective with no ability to see the way of others
Only his perceptive wouldn’t be stilled and smothered.
Pointing his fingers vehemently as what should disappear
Was terribly jealous of the vocal talents from a Gondolier
He was never truly cherished and given the love he needed
Hence he was became discontent and depression proceeded.
Soon he will be a directionless soul sadly lost and impaired.
Searching for acceptance; twisted and irreparably despaired.
2
Acting like a Chumsy Chimpanzee
Viewing unrested through the crowd insecurely
Hoping dearly he is loved and accepted surely
Cynically