The Old Man's Lament

Child-sun blazes

through grey morning fog

his passion overpowers

night’s sluggish slog

‘till bright noon’s afire

with his effervescent  love,

but it’s all the same, it’s

all the same.

Morning, noon, and night

may embrace our little lives,

but it’s always the same.

The ancient moon rises

in the fast-fading east.

Bloody sun dies, failed day retreats,

but it’s all the same, it’s all

the same.

Morning, noon, and night

may consume our little lives

but it’s all the same, always

the same.

A Prophecy

The cities of England burn

with the rage of youth -

nothing to gain

and nothing to lose.

Blitzkrieg rains incinerate

shops and schools

give cover

as they rush through

gaping windows.

“so why not go get your own?

a penny’s worth,  a purse,

a watch,

designer jeans

you know…..

loot”

“nearly one million school leavers

and graduates

out of work,

a generation lost

to worklessness.”[i]

So sirens wail as batons flail

like v-bombs launched

on the nation’s children…

denied,

cut-back

forgotten

The story of our

strangled civilization

written on the back

of bloodied balance sheets

until new order prevails

in the cities of England, France,

America…

the few rich

and the many poor.

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Three Vespers

In the day’s final glow

all colors flow

to the whispering breeze,

dark, rustling

leaves.

Through the hot afternoon

with purpose I moved

and never did think

bright day would sink

to gloom.

In the gentle west wind,

in the soft starry glow,

I hear you sing

and then I know

never will you 

leave me

alone.