Poems of the Day

Poem of the day is this lovely, positive and hopeful poem by Tim Burroughs of Bristol:

.

utopia

.

open eyes

warm heart

soft touch

slow kiss

.

safe house

fresh grass

clean air

clear sea

.

positive yes

strong no

communication always

violence never

.

rhinos with horns

orangutans in trees

tigers in sanctuary

buzzing bees

.

even heartbeat

steady gaze

deep breaths

no disease

.

seas falling

ice forming

cyclones stalling

forests spreading

.

mind expanding

consciousness growing

compassion enlarging

people evolving

.

smile widening

eyes shining

heart warming

soul expanding

.

one all one

all one all

one all one

ONE

.

© Tim Burroughs

.

.

©

Poem of the day is a rather beautiful image from John Rice:

.

.

…………………………………………………The Witness

.

message-2

.

.

………………………………………………..© John Rice

.

.

.

 

Poem of the day from David C Johnson, of Bristol:

.

Mind that Sickle!

.

I had just finished my shift.

I’d been buzzing all day

And was looking forward to putting up my feet,

All six, back home, down in my shaft.

When you came along with your crashing, flashing sickle.

“Just tidying up”, I think , is what you call it,

But a blooming menace from my point of view.

Swoosh your blade swished,

As it roughly wrecked our patch

And revealed the adits to our home.

Really, you need to take more care

With that awful slicing blade.

We bees, of all types,

In this world that we share,

Are finding life hard enough, as it is.

What with parasites and pesticides

And the vanishing of countryside.

We can do without you swinging

That pesky scythe, as well.

In fact, all that we want,

Is a corner  left untouched,

In your garden. It is not asking much.

We know that it may look a bit unkempt to you,

But to us it is an Eden, a perfect purlieu.

So think before you tidy and leave some wild for us,

Because plants need bees and you need the plants.

.

(P.S. I have copied this to my local representative

at the National Union of Miner Bees ( Bristol section)

In case further action is necessary in the future).

.

© David C Johnson, 2016

.

.

.

Poem of the day is by Nicola Jackson:

Dear Earth,
.
Keep the high combes fluted with flaked grey rock,
the empty places where the Steinadler soars,
where shattered scree chutes tumble into darkness
and turquoise glacier pools feed the torrents’ roar.
.
As ice rivers shrink, as veined and layered ice recedes
and moraine-lines peter into slurry on the valley floor,
they lock their doors to human visitation,
protect their isolation, their mythic silence, even more.
.
The hanging paths are ever higher; where once they led to glacier ice
the slabs withdraw their open walkways, ladders reaching
into empty space. Now the alpine choughs come wheeling,
spatter warm rocks with blue-black wings, then whirl away
.
to fill the voids with buoyant acrobatic flight.
They take their glorious adaptations with them: faithful pairings
to each cliff-face crevice, stick-lined nests cragged in the hungry air,
thriving white-blotched eggs they guard each night.
.
So the high bluffs are ever further from us humans,
the steeps are marmot-shrieked while soft winds sing;
stitched with ice-age flowers and sparkling mica.
Earth, take heart from all this new world brings.

.

© Nicola Jackson

.

.

.

Poem of the Day comes from David Punter of Bristol:

.

The Ballad of Refuge

.

I come in fear. The wheels, the stuttering engine,

By road or wave; the endless killing payments.

Bit by bit, my mind returns to rubble.

.

You come in fear. The hunched back, failed bravado,

They make me squirm. You have no place here, brother;

Get back, for you remind me of my weakness.

.

I starve, I thirst. I’m out there in my millions,

Teeming, weeping. Just allow me, brother,

One foot on land. I’ll work hard for my pittance.

.

You starve, you thirst. What of me, of my neighbours,

Struggling in an austere land? The steel-plant’s silent,

My skills no longer fit, my hands are idle.

.

My hopes are gone. My suffering gods won’t travel,

My women cannot see, their eyes are blinded

By the long dust, the silent days of torture.

.

My hopes are gone. You come and you displace me,

The silent mills and fields, they scorn and mock me,

The Union Jack’s a shroud; all’s ripe for burning.

.

I call to you. Across the long dark waters,

Carrying a load of trinkets not worth selling,

Umbrellas, handbags, at the gang-master’s calling.

.

You call to me. I stop my ears with plaster,

My sons and daughters can’t afford their schooling,

My hospitals are full, the asylum’s broken.

.

My last cry sinks. Protect me from this hardness,

This cold that shrinks my soul. Pity me, brother,

Or think on me adrift on the long night’s calling.

.

My last cry sinks. Protect me from this falling.

The bailiffs come, the sheets won’t disentangle.

My homeland’s gone. God help us all this winter.

 

© David Punter

.

.

.

Poem of the Day today comes from Margo Lemieux from Massachusetts:

.

Earth Memo

.

Good morning dear,

I left your lunch in the fridge.

And a cloud will be by later

With fresh water.

The sun is rising, as usual, to bring light and warmth.

The silver moon said have a nice day.

.

Endless rivers will wash your darling face

As they cascade down the mountains.

Give the blue/green oceans a hug from me

Along with the creatures within

And kisses to the trees and flowers.

Send my best wishes to the rolling fields and vast deserts,

The lakes and valleys,

And to all those you call friend –

The ones who share the care of our fragile one.

You were our mother.

Now

You are our child.

.

.

© Margo Lemieux

.

.

.

Poem of the day comes from Brenda Davis Harsham from Massachusetts:

.

This is just to say…

.

Thank you, Earth

 

that held tight trees

bent to their knees

in hurricane winds and

.

that imprints time itself
on gorges, stone and shelf,

in the language of fossil hieroglyphics.

.

Thank you, Stones

.

that, in stillness, filter clean

water in openings between

tiny stones and soil

.

yet still cup oceans and rivers,
reflect clouds in shining slivers,

and remember dinosaurs and glaciers.

.

Thank you, Soil

.

that warms bulbs and seeds

of flowers, trees and weeds

through the long, white winter

.

and mothers green shoots
gently soothes new roots

with tender hands, black, moist and fragrant.

.

.

© Brenda Davis Harsham

.

.

.

Poem of the Day today is from Shauna Darling Robertson:

.

Dear Stars,

.

We lived among you once.

It was brilliant.

.

Night never fell

and no need whatsoever

for sixty-watt bulbs

or dimmer switches.

.

There was always a glimmer

of hope aglow, eager to grow

to a shimmer, a beam.

.

Mistakes burned up

the minute they were made.

.

Everyone had a sister called Twinkle –

all sparkle and no shade.

.

We rose in the east and the north

and the south and the west

and we didn’t go down.

.

Best thing of all?

My light was always on.

.

I shone

and I shone

and I shone.

.

.

© Shauna Darling Robertson

.

.

.

Poem of the Day today is from Alison Williams:

.

Flow

.

my world is fluid

in a constant

state of flux

.

I am an ocean

who once spoke

to the dry land

.

I told him how much

I admired his

permanence

.

he answered me

with rockfalls, landslides

lava fields

.

he showed me

all the pain there is

in rigidness

.

when change comes

then the hardness somehow

has to break

.

rending himself apart

and shedding

tears of fire

.

he gave me

just a glimpse

into his molten core

.

.

© Alison Williams

.

.

.

A fabulous poem of the day from Bruce Black, from Sarasota, Florida:

.

Each Day the Sea Writes

.

Each day the sea writes lines

On the edge of the sand, and clouds

Draw messages in the sky, and laughing

.

Gulls swoop and swirl and plead while

Sandhill cranes raise their beaks high

To cry, and ospreys circle, screeching,

.

And hawks, wings spread wide, shriek, and

Mockingbirds, robins, and cardinals sing

Their appeal to get your attention—

.

(and you can hear, too, the rusty-hinged

protest of the Great blue heron), and dolphins,

leaping, dance in unison to make their point,

.

And manatees—those graceful sea cows—frolic

Near the surface, trying to send the same message

To all of us gazing in awe at the beauty of the world:

.

Keep our water clean and our air

clear for as long as waves wash the sand

and clouds touch the sky.

.

© Bruce Black

.

.

.

Poem of the Day comes from Sandi Leibowitz:

.

Thank You, World

.

Thank you, Sky, for wind and cloud,

breezes quiet, thunder loud.

Thank you for the moon at night,

for rain and for the sun so bright.

.

Thank you, Sea, for foam and sand,

waves that rush to meet the land,

starfish, seaweed, seals at play,

coral reef and palm-fringed bay.  

.

Thank you Earth, for mountains high,

for rivers long and deserts dry,

for redwoods, violets, apples, too,

for grass so green and morning dew.

.

Thank you for the iceberg’s chill,

cherry’s sweetness, skylark’s trill.

Thank you for each glittering star.

Thank you, World, for all you are.  

.

© Sandi Leibowitz

.

 

Poem of the Day from Helen Laycock:

.

To the unborn

.

Sorry is not enough of an apology

for what you are about to receive

upon your birth –

a broken Earth

whose bones we have picked

and whose flesh we have stripped.

We bequeath you: the carcass.

.

Please forgive our hatred

of our brothers and sisters,

how our minds

wrongly defined

the miracles that we are –

that singular bond amongst the stars.

You inherit: our dysfunction.

.

Our tears were not enough to wash

away the blood of creatures savaged

for egos and trinkets

as they stopped to drink

from water holes and, shy,

lay beneath the punctured sky.

We leave you: their memory.

.

Frozen in the now, too late we saw the melt;

ice caps will be your legends

like polar bears

and unsullied air.

From space, no green, just scars…

We clawed our world sparse.

We endow you with: ruin.

.

You are the wardens, the short-changed, the healers.

Please clear up the debris

of greed and decay.

We were led astray.

We looked away and heard

messages we preferred.

We pass on: our regret.

 

.

© Helen Laycock

 

 

.

Poem of the day today comes from Daisy Proctor, age 7.

.

Sky

.

I love you sky

.

The way you shimmer on bright blue days

Your lovely blue light

.

I love you sky

.

.

Daisy Proctor

Age 7

.

.

.

.

.

 

Dear Tiger,

.

though you are long gone to your Tiger god

I remember your eyes melting forest

your hot ghost of branch and flame walking soft

leaving no trace, no echoes when you left

.

And Elephant

.

how could we forget your grey gentleness

and you, the last, could not bury your dead

so many tears how were you not blessed

with no hearts? Better for you we’d not met

.

To all lost things big and small

.

that we walk on without knowing and those

we take as our right; each night I lay still

hoping I will never need to write this

just as a small child prays

– don’t let it be true

           – don’t let it be true

……….– don’t let it be true

 

.

© Sue-Hardy-Dawson

 

.

A MESSAGE TO MORONS

 

Chinese lanterns, and the people

who release them, are a total pain

in the posterior. Despite

the growing numbers who complain,

our government does Fanny Adams

and the obvious risks remain

undealt with. Farm animals suffer.

Fires break out. Again and again,

brigades, police and even lifeboats

respond to calls which, in the main,

are time-wasting, but if we think

who actually stands to gain

from these contraptions, it turns out

to be the likes of inane

groups of witless wedding guests,

half-sozzled on cut-price champagne,

or money-grubbing manufacturers

who don’t care if a light aeroplane,

or a thatched country cottage

is jeopardised. Who’s going to explain

away a household burnt to death?

It’s not just “elf-n-safety”. It’s insane!

.

© Peter Wyton