Equinox Thoughts

Mist
rises
flowing, floating across the lake
pushing ducks and geese ahead of it.
The trees drink low,
Darkness welling beneath them
as the sun eventually rises lower
later.
Cold
sinks
and the warmth is
missed.

Comments

And The Wheel Turns

And the wheel turns And darkness threatens once more And the blowhards send the brave And the brave kill the brave And turn on the objectors And the wheels turn in the mire of lost hope And the brave lose their hope while the blowhards hope they win And we all lose as the wheel turns And the brave come home in pieces, in boxes or in tears And the darkness is pushed back once more And we say we will remember, while the memory is still fresh And the wounds are fresh And the wheel turns ever on And the flowers bloom and the silence is noted And we say that we will never forget And the wheel turns again And the blowhards are pumped with greed And the brave are fatted on tales of glory And the wheel turns David Ault - Ripon Poetry Festival Winner, 2018

Morning poems from Rajasthan

Bara Bagh Cenotaphs: Life still sounds within the empty golden tombs jutting out from sand and stones and skeletal broken twigs First customers for the guide - 50 rupees, first customer - 30 rupees please The broken tooth gravestones stand askew among the yawning columns as sparrows call from dome to dome The guides flit, shadows watching like the ghosts long since moved on. Next first customer arrives - he goes. There is no death here - only absent memory created and left. It's all gone to pieces. *** Villages: Brushwood doors and log piles Mud huts and domes of dung Two boys sit in limpid shade of a scrub tree The desert sand stretches out a dusty minefield So much sand - what do they do? The men have left for the city - Women, children and the old are left now. We are the ghouls watching the poverty in this village of the hopeless Locked away safe be...

On want

Landlords, agencies, MPs and their friends Everyone who has will get more and will have an abundance But the one who does not have: even what he has will be taken from him. So why do those who have little share what little they have And those who have much keep it all?

My poems

Search This Blog