Beckie’s song.

This is a repost. And even though I wrote it myself it still attacks me with tears.

Some years ago I followed a blog by Beckie. Beckie was immersed in the war in Bosnia and Croatia. She saw many friends and relatives murdered.

Sometimes when I would read each new post I would be unable to keep the tears from my face. One time was really hard. She and her family and her village were forced across a narrow single file bridge. She had her mother in front of her and her sister somewhere at the back. She was polite and stood back to let an old lady step onto the bridge in front of her. When they were on the bridge the soldiers shot every second person. That post was one that I couldn’t forget.

Right up until the end she never said which side she was on. And I still don’t know. But it mattered not one jot. It was evil and terribly sad. But Beckie went back and tried to bring the people together; her friends from one side and friends from the other side. But not all her friends stayed as friends. Even girls she had played with at school had become enemies even when they did not know why that had to be enemies.

Eventually Beckie closed her Blog down because there were some people who were not prepared to make friends with people who had been their friends before the wars broke out. And she was frightened and threatened and terrified all over again for wanting to make peace.

We each and all dream. Often times our dreams are wishes. Daydreams are remembrances or unearned riches. Most of us have dreams as hopes but we do little about it. So I wrote the following poem not for myself; except maybe as an atonement for wasted opportunity. Nor did I write it for the boy I once may have been. Nor did I write it for all the girls who never fell in love with me nor the old women who gave themselves to heroes with feet of clay. Or maybe I did write it for all of these. But in the end I wrote it for Becky who, like a Phoenix, was burned in the fire that was the Balkan wars, and rose, along with others of the same ideal, out of the ashes of Sarajevo and Srebrenica to preach forgiveness and healing and to lay claim to a new tomorrow. So this is Becky’s poem.

Becky’s poem

Old men dream dreams
With eyes awake
And open eyed
accept their age.
With cold precision,
they see the days
stretched out before
like lines upon a page.

And boys dream dreams
with eyes half shut
with gallant sword
held out once more.
They see their self as heroes come
With much acclaim.
And at their side
the beauty
that they dreamed before.

These beauties did not dream of them
They did not dream
of conquering men
No if they dreamed
They dreamed at night
Of saving whales
And speaking right
And pleading for imprisoned men
Or tilting at imagined mills.

Old women dreamed when no one knew
Of being young
And loving men
Who also dreamed of loving them.

But sometimes women old and young
And men who sit in blazing sun
Awake and find their dreams are naught
And stones are hard on bended knees
The sun, at day, burns on a back
That bows,
accepting wrongful kings
or breaks from thrown stones.

And sometimes some women
young or old
See through the pain that others wrought
See through the folly others sought
And see that dreams
were last night dream’t……
……..And waking clearly know

That every day must start again.


17 thoughts on “Beckie’s song.

  1. This poem is amazing. Your prologue before it was beyond insightful. I want to share this on my poetry corner. I will reblog this on my site and hopefully, others will follow suit and visit your page. This–wow.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Reblogged this on KG Bethlehem and commented:
    Ladies and gentlemen welcome to another Friday Night Poetry Corner. This week is a very different poem, with commentary that is insightful on the same theme as the poem. Paol Soren’s feature called “Beckie’s Song.” Just read everything and give it some time to sink in.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I followed a reply to a recent post and found this. It brought tears to my eyes. I think you know he has left us, for a different place altogether?
    April 17, 2018 at 6:31 am Edit
    Couldn’t see any tram lines. i stuck
    into google translate and came up with this:
    During holidays WILD!
    Doesn’t make much sense to me,
    I’m going to stick to English; I have enough trouble as it is, with my native language, without trying to resurrect a dead ‘n

    Liked by you

    April 17, 2018 at 6:59 am Edit
    I think I’ll get you to ghost write my blog, M’Lord! 🙂


    April 17, 2018 at 8:15 am Edit
    The way I’m going I might be in the perfect position to help you out there Yvonne


    April 17, 2018 at 8:34 am Edit
    Uh-oh, don’t tell us that. Who would I pick on?


    April 18, 2018 at 3:58 am Edit
    Pope John Poal 👿 ?

    Liked by you

    April 18, 2018 at 11:45 am Edit
    If I have to, I will. And, it’s Pope Giovanni-Paolo.


    April 19, 2018 at 4:53 am Edit
    Well there you go


  4. I did not know Lord Beri of Bow, but I am sorry for his passing and other’s grief. Beckie’s song is very powerful in context and also universal in a lot of ways. It’s also very visual as well as packing a distilled, perceptive emotional punch. I’m sorry she had to stop blogging, but hope she has found a channel for her words. News stories from that war are still vivid in my mind. One of them made me start crying and go on a news diet, which wasn’t an option available to Beckie.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s