Sunday, 14 April 2013

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.

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