We The Poets.

      April 14th. and 14 poems, some old ones, some new ones, some my own, some from the heart of others. I have always felt that the poem has a special power, it lives in that strange land, half way between the conversation and the song. A powerful tool in the search for that better world.

We The Poets.

We the poets

must rise to hold the mirror,

not at romantic moon

dressing trees in silver web

but, at sadness in a child's eyes

helpless face festooned with flies,

the listless look of hunger.

We the writers

must rise to hold the mirror,

not at hopes of superstars

pandering to an ego of selfish greed

but, at misery of the world's maimed

duty done by smart bombs, computer aimed,

peoples crushed by pityless power.

We the artists

must rise to hold the mirror,

not of views from penthouse windows

of meadows green and lush

but, at peoples broken by starvation,

at war, its brother deprivation,

capitalism's bastard twins.

If across the planet as a whole

we don't stand up and play our role,

poet:  heart of compassion,

writer;  voice of consience,

artist;  eyes of justice,

we've cheated tomorrow's generation,

hurried the planet to extinction.

ann arky's home.