A ton of wealth,
Kingdoms come and go.
Hatred and vicious swipes
rule today’s world,
obliterating the love,
tearing at faith –
the faith we have in ourselves.
Oceans rich in abundance,
overwhelming us,
are overwhelmed
with our filth
and disgust –
as much as we are disgusted
with humanity.
Just stop pillaging
and polluting
and take
the chance
we could leave
this planet whole
REGARDLESS
of the current dictators
that rule its waves.
In life be peaceful
We are the same in death’s jaws
All tasty morsels
Day 181/365 – Morgan’s #DailyHaikuChallenge. Join in and link back to her blog
(Published in Winamop magazine, 2016)
Twisted fibrous strings
command frivolous play
at jointed limbs.
We dance and are jigged –
woefully rigged
when each jarring movement
is in turn deliberately
fraught with venomous tugs –
Each jolt brings attempted revolt,
but the puppeteer snarls –
our lifelines become gnarled,
entangled in his bitter torture.
Unravelling his capture he spins
and mocks until we are unmeshed
in shock – ’til we don’t know if we are
coming or going.
Wooden shoes clatter,
when smaller figures, who don’t matter,
play to an audience
and bleed
into the pockets of the puppeteer’s
greed.
Swift but doleful we have become,
dancing to the puppeteer’s hum.
Lifeless, hung out,
no route of escape.
We dance and we clip clop
a charade
man made, pulled
and lulled along
by a succession of tyrants
who just want
to see us wriggle
and squirm like
the moth eaten marionette –
always ruled –
once unfurled.
In the city
where the sprawling lilac of lavender
refuses to creep
and smog overtakes air,
cramped, urban
tongues exfoliate,
hands touch fleetingly
and rain forced furrowed brows
make 6pm eye contact with grey slabs
of concrete – only briefly
do we get to glimpse the psyche,
but ultimately only sharing seconds
in each of our different spaces
geared to specificity.
Heavy frowns and crows feet
are perched on fine faces;
commuters of planet earth
to home life and no life,
street life and dreamscapes –
but inside all fighting against global
grime and trains,
poverty, injustice, crime,
the rain and hungry babies.
Once in a while we do all stop
to share the blossoms falling
inside a city of strangers.
.
Could we plunge our hands
into damaged sinews’
frayed blood vessels
and find warmth in hidden spirit?
Have a tug of war and pull out hatred,
intolerance, indifference and anger,
to find the stuff we possess
but which remains hidden – buried
with the goodness we were born with –
tucked inside our own medicine chest.
There are things there to help us heal,
bind wounds, accept and love,
even force untainted oxygen to
cancers benign at birth
but which grow steadily malignant
once fed from the mouths
of devoted kin and a world rapidly
oozing its centre.
A crack in time
created a new dimension.
Soft beams filtered
dancing dust
vying for streams
in which to ride into its daylight –
to settle where it may.
With a silent breath behind it,
particles scattered
and rebuilt layers of humanity –
all to be explored,
none to be conquered.
It had to be foolproof,
it had to work this time.
When the dust kicked up,
the crack would close – time
became darkness –
until we learned.
In these chaste chasms of dreams,
embers lay solemnly,
their dying breaths long since gone,
ushered away and of little consequence now.
The undisguised dust, like gentle butterflies,
finds a place in the air.
The soft eyes of fate watches the dimming cloud
filter out of view, then as wind
she blows it back in our face.
Despite lost fulfilment,
and rather than choke, we breathe deeply again
like new-born infants crying out for a chance,
luck and good fortune to
clothe us on the coldest of days,
and perhaps for well earned rewards to litter our path,
the rains to pour down and the heavens to smile
on us when we stoop to pick up the promised orchids.
Cool streams,
blue lullabies,
stepping stone dreams are played;
currents of virtuosity
flowing
Tiptoed
heartbeat resounds
through sharp stone echoing
soft grass nibs’ scold – but I endure,
to reach.
Writing Lostness
by *six pm
... from a silent space
The Broken Cannot Rise Alone...
A Repository of Discarded Poetry, Story Prompts, and Memories
Barcelona's Multiverse | Art | Culture | Science
Pain goes in, love comes out.
poetry w/teeth
Just wondering at the miracle called LIFE .
poetry by Robert Ford
Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence.
In the end all you want is a pen that writes well and a life that you've lived well.
A potpourri of emotions
Poetry and words
A collection of beautiful things and thoughts
Exploring writing and the creative randomness of life. Snapshots of moments.
Poetry
"Not all who wander are lost..."
A Discarded Plant
I am more than breath & bones.
My poetry is my religion.
Poetry, short essays and other work showcased by a Scientist, Philosopher, and Adventurer. Posts on Monday and First Fridays.
Poetry and Novel in Progress
The Little Poetastry; The little stories
Exploring Rhymes, Reasons, and Nuances of Our World
We're all on a road to somewhere.
Provocative poetry and musings on life
Tales from the mouth of a wolf
Your Brain is a Radio that Does What its Told
Encouraging animal advocacy and compassion
A wildlife filmmaker in Africa
big book guy
Just another WordPress.com site
At Least Trying Too
Poetry by Mich
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
MarkovichUniverse AT gmail DOT com
Poetry, story and real life. Once soldier, busnessman, grandfather and Poet.
Advice, challenges, poetry and prose
As it Comes 