My True Thoughts







 Touched by the torrid times, we can’t efface

We steadfastly strive, in heartfelt chase

For precious peace and pious grace


Sorrow soars, for the gallant young and brave

Who freely gave, without thought to gain

 Values sought and bought, yet quickly slain

With hopes and dreams, that’s now engraved

On growing, grieving graves


You who walk upon the land

 From whence they came

Should hang your heads

 in woeful shame


You cast the darkest shadow where you stand

Your souls are neither that, of beasts nor man


You breathe the air, where lived a life,

That strove for peace, not futile strife


Your brutal bile and blood stained hands

That slew the sheep now slay the lamb


 © Copyrights  reserved Helen Constantine 2009






On erratic rounds through doors, corridors

And hidden dark corners

She creeps about, by day and by night

Peeping and listening, well out of sight

 stalking her victims, who recoil in fear and fright

Or in due course, somehow take flight.


Cloaked in her perfectly woven facade

She's forever here, there and everywhere

Conducting some so called kindness

That's neither here nor there

And clearly insincere 


 This renowned  covert ringleader

Of a coustic rancid clan

Is at every beckon call

However, when truly needed

She's no where, no where at all


She patiently await, apples

To flounder, fade and fall from the tree

Then pursue some new quarry, in ease

And  perverse delight

Taking the greatest of pleasure

In yet another unequal fight


She's the perfect tactician, the essence of perfection

In fact, none has had the courage to say

This nifty do-gooder  is about to devour

Another vulnerable gullible prey


Still this vile, pompous predator

Who raids the living, dying and dead

Often lying lifeless, in a cold and lonely bed

Or where they sadly slid, sat or fell

Remains well fed


Time and again I've heard it cautiously whispered

And quietly said?

"Oh God, if only that b....., would do us all a favour

 And just drop dead"


Nonetheless, they  remain in fear and dread?

Hoping and praying she'll be dragged out instead

Ranting, raging and screaming

Leaving claw marks and scratches

On walls, carpets, concrete, asphalt, and clay

Through doors, corridors and dark corners

Along her noxious way.


 But who's to tell, if long after they've

Properly carted her away

Tearing the hair from her head

Her ghost won't be haunting

Doors, corridors and dark corners

As they sleep, peacefully in bed


Copyright by Helen Constantine July 2010

SHELTERED SHAME BY Helen Constantine

Edvard Munch

Screem 2 (Skirk) 1893-1910