In the Garden

Prairie blue eyes HDR

 

Hatred breeds where darkness obscures

the beauty attached to cells

which split and divide with remarkable similarity;

every heart bleeds blood.

Every soul’s veins mark its skin in tattoos inked with life.

To decide that one of the Earth’s peoples should be obliterated

is to nominate one flower for destruction.

Would you choose the rose? Or the sweet pea?

Which deserves death?

What reasons could justify the removal

of one shade in the spectrum,

 pure Light knit whole?

Colours, textures, scents, flavours –

the loss of but one is to deny the rainbow its arc,

the garden its splendour.

What great catastrophe will be required to cut away the cataracts

 that blind us to our collective dignity?

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My heart is heavy as I consider some of the newsfeed I have read this morning. Will we never learn that hatred is ugly? That violence is evil? That each of us has a place in the Global Garden? What legacy will we leave to our children if we cannot learn to love our neighbours?

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The Friday Called Good

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Which of me is real,

and which is the hoax?

Lies parading as truth,

nightmares pretending to be certain,

make down look high

and sky resemble grave.

Just such a grave once swallowed the Truth,

spat on Hope,

beat Justice into submission;

my fists flailed Saviour,

my arrogance gripped hammer.

As Dark grew blacker still,

Light split its circumference,

and the worst Friday in history

became

Good.

Ode to Frost

sparklyhoarfrost

You’ve reigned supreme these many months –

after your first tentative extortion attempt

was met with little resistance,

your strong-arm tactics evolved,

grew claws;

emboldened,

you branched out

and sank cement boots into permafrost,

added all creation to your payroll.

You thought

Justice would never come.

Trampling on the innocent,

freezing hopes and dreams,

your fingerprints went global.

But your days are numbered.

You will pay

for what you’ve done –

the Sun stands at the door

and knocks;

gavel will fall,

your empire will melt,

and your harsh deeds

become a bitter memory.

Don’t let the door hit you

on your way out of the courtroom…

Hung Out to Dry

Betrayed,

meet Betrayer,

who left you in the lurch,

hung you out to dry.

Get in line

with all the others

who dangle at the mercy

of Power.

One day your pins will be removed,

and the hanging judge

will turn the tables.

The innocent will fall like dew on parched ground,

and those who twisted Fate

will be strung in your place.

Hang on

just a little longer…

The Day Will Come

Aloft,

you nod

and blush

 and simper;

there is nothing to suggest

that your core is

full of worms.

Plastic smiles

and wooden nickels

are bread to your butter,

static to your cling.

You have cleverly hidden

the stench of death

under a fresh Febreeze,

but the day will come

when the nearest nose

will  get more

than it bargained for…

Up

Turning around will get you impaled by your own thorns.

Bending down will infect you with the rot of age that clings to your peers.

Past, present, future – all hold pain in a rusted challis.

Before, behind, between – all promise prepositional gloom.

Can no one gift you with what you need to survive?

You know the stench of death comes for you.

Inevitable blight, this root-rot, this fungal spot to strip your leaves of anything of value.

Your only hope is to look up…

Up, where rainbows wink from musical mist.

Up, where the sun tracks his path in a chariot of thorough-bred firebrands.

Up, where Grace lives, where mercy rains from silver-lined clouds.

Up, where King and Court convene to bring justice at last.

Little rose, golden child –

Look up.

Morning Star

On Morning Star, my eyes’ delight,

I make this wish with all my might;

That children everywhere were taught

That they were precious, loved and sought;

That ‘hungry’ was an unused word,

And voices of the weak were heard;

That war was just a distant dream,

And people were just what they seem;

That Truth was held in high regard,

And Justice served the poor and scarred;

That medicine could cure disease

And hurricanes were just a breeze;

That hearts would see their neighbour’s worth,

And Love would glow across this earth –

O Morning Star, as you shine bright,

I make this wish with all my might…