Wednesday, 22 March 2017

A Late World Poetry Day.

      Considering it was the day before my birthday, I guess I must be getting old, I missed World Poetry Day, it was yesterday March 21st. However, as they say, better late than never.

Just Imagine!

If only we could find the imagination
to see this world as one rich colourful nation,

not a collection of camps, insular and small
always eager to mount a border brawl

sending forth an army of fruit growers
to shed the blood of some seed growers,

holding high a coloured rag
proclaim, "the blood I shed is for this flag",

believing this justifies the countless dead
across nature's beauty spread.

Can't we learn from yesterday's errors
borders breed false fears and foolish terrors;

each flag waving hand sows the seeds
of tomorrow's pointless brutal deeds.

If only we could find the imagination
to see this world as one rich colourful nation,

all free to walk our chosen path
free from fear of the stranger's wrath.

A brother, rich or poor we can accept
a different coloured skin is cause to reject,

smile at a brown eyed sister with reddish hair
yet mock one who walks a jungle path, bosom bare.

Shower with praise and welcome embrace
anyone from our spurious race,

greet with snarl and angry glare
those strange people from over there;

then useing our culture as some kind of shield
guarantee our future in isolation sealed.

If only we could find the imagination
to see this world as one rich colourful nation. 

A new Dawn.

Today we live in a peace
midst a thousand pygmy wars;
a humanity bankrupt by its past
dragged wearily through darkness and despair
yearns for a day that's cast
long, warm and fair,
a dawn that sees humankind discard
its class, its nation and prepare
to grind outworn creeds to dust,
so mankind naked is revealed,
then moving with common cause,
what such a dawn may yield.

Our Children's Inheritance. 

Blind to the future's unrisen dawns
we change nature to industrial debris.
Lead our children to a terrifying land
there to let them do or die.
Consign our children's children
poisoned air, a sterile earth,
set hungry faces fishing on some odious fishless sea.
Bequeath them a silent world
no feathered friend wings and sings
no hare, no fox runs free; by our efforts guarantee,
no wondrous woodlands, no wild forests,
no blushing bloom of spring,
no clear streams, no rolling meadows,
no fresh breezes blowing in on a bounteous sea.
How can we meet their trusting eye
when our legacy they acquire;
who by our actions will receive
a thorn in every kiss, from every mouth a lie.
What will our heart reply when asked,
"Why no harmony with nature?"
"Why has the truth been masked?"

         I can hear you say, "OK, so you missed the day, but there was no need to go into overdrive!!"
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  1. It is never late for poetry. And since good wishes are impregnated with it, it will not be too late to wish you a happy birthday and many years of red bicycle ahead. Cheers!

  2. Thanks Loam for the birthday wishes. I have been out twice on the bike this month, but just short non-stop circuits, no stops for the camera. I am preparing to get out today and do a little more. However it is still a bit too cold for my wee bronchial tubes. Thanks again for the thought and wishes.