The Wedding Ring!
The Wedding Ring!
The wedding ring I wear
upon my finger,
Is far more than just that,
It is in essence a most majestic
golden-band forged on a white-hot anvil
of unconditional and eternal love
within the deepest recesses of my beating,
burning heart, a most enduring
and indestructible bond that
transcends time immortal, and
forever binds my fevered soul
to this flame-haired Goddess
of my destiny,
Sweet love and passion incarnate,
My Dearest Aphrodite…
poem by Ross DixPeek
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The White African
The White African
By
Ross Dix-Peek
Over the great ocean seas
My ancestors did choose to flee,
Europe’s rumblings and poverty,
And to “Darkest Africa” did journey
It was many, many years past,
When Queen Vic’ was still at the mast,
When my forebears resolute did come,
To live beneath the great African sun
Since has Mother Africa suckled our young
To us her lullabies and sweet songs sung,
And all this time ‘neath her fiery mantle
Did my people in Africa live, toil and battle
[...] Read more
poem by Ross DixPeek
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Rwandan Elegy
Rwandan Elegy
The foul stench of burning flesh permeates the air,
Rotten, putrefying bodies lie in the baking sun,
Bright crimson death everywhere,
Frightened masses on the run
Wide-eyed terror on the prowl,
Africa rent asunder,
Can be seen Death’s scowl,
Sheer madness in Rwanda
Frenzied killing unabated,
A fevered orgy of blood,
Hate and bloodlust not sated,
A vile and incessant flood
Machete’s a-glint in the firelight,
Dark night knows no end,
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poem by Ross DixPeek
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An Ode to the Autistic Child
An Ode to the Autistic Child
By
Ross Dix-Peek
I care not for what you wish.
I am a planet unto my own.
To you I am strange.
But, you cannot see my world.
In your world, you are limited.
In mine, I am “King”,
Where effulgent stars know no bounds,
And my dreams no limitations.
Think not of my body,
For it does not define who I am.
No, look into my eyes,
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poem by Ross DixPeek
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The Fishing Trip
The Fishing Trip
By
Ross Dix-Peek
Oh, How I remember those fishing trips with my Dad
Ah, They made me so very, very glad
Up at three in the morn
Long before the coming of the dawn
My father assembling all his fishing tackle
So very gleeful, a laugh and a cackle
“Have you got the bait boy, ready to go? ”
“Yes, Dad”, and away we would go, all in tow
In our dear old “Landie” the rugged road was ne’er a problem
As we traversed the winding dirt tracks, and some
Ah, the window down and the wind in my hair
The smell of fresh bait a waft in the air
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poem by Ross DixPeek
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