In recognition of National Poetry Day, I’m re-posting a poem I wrote last December. Sadly it is as relevant today as it was then.
North. East. West. South.
Instant. Happening. Plus one and real time,
Parallel worlds and lives which don’t chime.
Twenty four seven, channels to choose
Inward we turn, money to loose.
Pools of champagne, pools of blood,
Encroaching. Unwanted. Drought and flood.
Which world is mine in parallel time?
Reality TV talent to spot,
TV for real – someone is shot.
Christmas delivered, targets to meet,
Harvest failed, kids in bare feet.
Toy penguins emote season’s first frost,
Polar melt – the arctic is lost.
Which life is mine in parallel time?
Big Brother House. Ok! Hello!
Charnel house, Sierra, Aleppo.
White House secrets outed old lies,
Foggy Jungle King, Malala Peace Prize.
No arms, no legs, no head to crown,
Bloody Sunday; Cyber Monday death in town.
Which conflict is mine in parallel time?
North. East. South. West.
Lives of celebrities to whom we aspire,
Suicide bombers few can admire.
Knives quick to draw, turkeys to carve,
Minors in designers . . . others will starve.
Action man sold out. Tragedy! Child cries.
Boy soldier shot. Tragedy. Stumbles and dies.
The choice is mine in parallel time.