Wednesday, November 24, 2004

Cycles of life


As seed turns to flower and blooms in the spring
Aromas waft scented upon the wing,
Of bees and birds and butterflies,
Till the petals fall and the flower dies.

Seeds fall upon the mulch of autumn.
Trees bend in the whistling winds that court them,
And the leaves blush in hews of red,
As they tumble lightly to their dewy bed.

The leaves lie sleeping in gentle decay,
Harvested by mould turning them to chalk and clay,
While seeds lie trapped in the frosted earth,
Awaiting the spring of a new a born birth.

Cycles Of Life

A Baby Is Born

A baby was born this day, in a Bethlehem manger.
Three wise men following a star journeyed to see the stranger.
From heaven he came, to this humble earth,
When the virgin Mary, gave him birth.

And Leaves His Mark

Seeds of wisdom he did sow,
On barren ground they did flourish and grow.
His words were harvested by the twelve apostles,
And guarded for posterity, like ancient fossils.

And Dies And Is Reborn

Upon a heathen’s cross he died.
Why have you forsaken me Lord, he cried.
But he rose again from the dead,
Or so at least, the disciples said.

From Dust To Dust

From ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
We metamorphose as all life must,
From state to state in mysterious form,
Does all life itself transform.

The Beginning And The End

Thursday, November 04, 2004

African sunset Posted by Hello

Cry Africa

Tracers red, orange, white
Racing across the sky at night,
What are they firing at?

Boom, boom, boom
Shaking walls, trembling room
Thud, thud, thud
Splattering walls, feeble mud

Oh no, Here they go again!
Oh my God, it’s so insane.
Rat-a-tat, boom,
Soothsayers of doom.

Who, what, why,
Must these people die?
Splat, splat, splat,
Bullets and bones in deadly chat.

Evil afoot, stalks the night,
Dark brooding, primeval fright.
Hutu hatred , Tutsi might
How long still, must they fight?

Others forgive, better to live.
Than die, their blood to give,
Cannon fodder, human manure,
Flesh and dust, insecure.

Splat, splat. splat,
Boom, boom, boom,
Soothsayers of doom.

Be gone to your hovel,
Squirm and grovel,
Let daylight break,
Oh Saviour awake.

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Uneasy Air

There’s an uneasy eerie foreboding in the air,
The scent of treachery and hatred, everywhere.
Talk of war, in papers and on the radio,
On television, in cafes, wherever you go.
Between the White House and United Nations,
Sounds of discord and soured relations.

Twin towers of freedom and wealth,
Brought crashing down by evil stealth,
While forces stand at action stations,
The air is black with recriminations.
The French and Germans play childish games,
Driving wedges through America’s aims.

Cowardly Bin Laden, hiding in his lair,
On an Afghan mountain, somewhere,
Hatching plots of hideous construction,
Teaching the arts of mass destruction.
Britain and America all ready for war,
France and Germany closing the door.

There’s a stench of death, hanging in the air,
As into the abyss, once more we stare,
Pondering the atrocities of zealots and fools,
Who have no time for books and schools,
No interest have they, in thoughtful debate
So wracked their minds, in rabid hate.

There’s a sense of hopelessness in the air.
Death surrounds us everywhere.
What price our follies past,
To haunt us, come at last?
How will we another day,
Make these nightmares, go away.

Post 9/11