Statement

men and women
equal in value
different in worth
equal in worth
different in value
men and women

poem by Alice Anne Gordon
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War Of Casualty

War of Casualty, casualty of war
War of insanity, insanity of war
War of reality, reality of war

Take them down
Down they take
No surrender
Surrender takes
Cuts won’t heal
Heals wont hurt

poem by Alice Anne Gordon
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Dance With Me...

Dance with me, just once more.
Dance with me and feel my heart beat.
Hold me, make me safe, protect me from the music
That staggers from beat to beat.
Embrace the madness that is my repertoire
Forgive the dirge that is my disease.

Find a note that sings so pure
In me and tell me
That I can make my own music
To which you want to dance.

Dance with me, just once more.
Dance and hear my music,
Like no one else.

poem by Alice Anne Gordon
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The Holy Whore of Babylon

The Holy Whore of Babylon cries.
Her plea, invection cast as lies.
Prejudice awaits her toil,
Propaganda spates her foil,
Sin’ly, thinly await to rise.

To shed the shackles of her ties,
They think that she is in demise.
Blood begins to creep and boil.
The Envoy unchallenged.

The Holy Whore of Babylon flies,
Her motives strong, rejected; wise
Prejudice foretells her; loyal
Propaganda outstrips her; Royal
As others dictate; she simply sighs.
The Envoy unchallenged.

poem by Alice Anne Gordon
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The Silver Fairy

The Silver Fairy, under flowers
Stands; holds apples, hidden powers.
Adam his rib, Eve the fruit.
Gone, rejected bible loot,
The Preachers, selling hours

The Silver Fairy, in her bower
Sits; mild and docile, hidden flowers.
Waiting till there’s no-one, mute.
Her wings of silver, still.

The Silver Fairy, apples sour
Lies; beating breast in sorrow,
Moving towards her freedom fluted,
Noted for her silvered beauty.
All asleep, reprised, astute.
Her wings of silver, still.

poem by Alice Anne Gordon
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Pity the Woman

Sorrow and Pity the woman’s plight
From Blake’s image’ry, a lost fight.
Sorrow, for pity’s sake,
is wasted energies; unmake.
Change, round-turn; woman.

Pity the unfelt love of smite.
Lo, behold thee that might
become woman, free’d from lake,
Change, round-turn; woman.

Life not borne from within womb-like
tombs of perfection, tis not a right
precluded from the single form; take
away this virtue of piety; break
with sorrow and pity, take flight.
Change, round-turn; woman.

poem by Alice Anne Gordon
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