Childhood



Crouched on a nauseous mountain,
small fingers claw through city refuse,
while unaware, or uncaring, the more affluent
sip iced lemonade in the shade of summer trees,
or jog along leafy avenues
shedding the excess pounds of plenty.
None of this concerns small hands,
determined to be first to seize the prize
which will earn a few pesetas
and strengthen the fine line
between life and death.


Solitude



When in solitude you listen
to the silence all around,
does tranquillity then still you
with a peace that is profound?
In the forest, on a hillside,
walking along the ocean shore,
do you wonder at the beauty
in nature’s unique store
where the healing hand of silence
soothing blessings on you pour?


Peacemaker



Peacemaker,
do not equate that
with weakness or subservience,
the need to assuage suffering
lies immovable,
entrenched deeply
between feelings of
anger at injustice
and determination to succeed.
Men and women of steel,
the poet applauds,
joining your ranks,
words honed and sharpened
against tyranny.




Failing Sight



Paint the sky on my mind
in vivid shades of blue,
and every summer flower
which blooms in multicoloured hue.

Etch butterfly and dragonfly
with luminescent wings
and mistle thrush and swallow
as they soar up to sing.

Do not forget fiery autumn
With leaves of red and green
Or a winter snowstorm’s
Magical white theme.

Firstly paint a sunset
with red and orange sky,
then answer a burning question.
"Why me, why now, oh WHY?"


Strong Waves – a Bref Double



Today the air is winter chill,
as north wind makes her presence felt,
buffeting trees, lashing each wave,
the world appears a dismal plce.

But deep within my heart I know,
winter bears not an evil will,
our Earth has tilted once again,
for seasons must all interlace.

On top of a steep, narrow hill,
longing for summer’s radiant smile,
I hear the sea birds loud and shrill,
displeased at how strong winds behave.

Today the wind is winter chill,
whipping the Earth once more her slave.


Siesta



Alone, I read quietly,
to escape the hot afternoon sun,
sheltering in this lofty room,
waiting for iced tea to arrive,
I peer at sun disciples,
offering themselves in Bhudda pose,
on golden holiday sands.
I am not one of the converted,
preferring shade and comfort,
so I relax, reading, dozing peacefully,
through a siesta afternoon.


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