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Gaia is totally ******* -
Her world mistreated for so long,
She has finally had about enough -
Vowing revenge for her mistreatment.
She has gathered every weapon
At her command and flung them at us
One by one:
Fire and Flood and moving mud;
Snow with icy coverings;
Wind that trashes homes and lives;
Ground that moves and breaks apart;
Rain that drowns the roadways;
The changing faces of disease
That replicates among us.
But we refuse to hear her cry
The bombs and bullets ever fly
And the clock is striking midnight.
ljm
What else is there to say.
I see the horsemen on the top of the hill
Surveying the evil below them,
Holding back their anxious steeds
Until the clock ticks down to zero
ljm
What is there to say.
Wars and storms and refugees
Spoken together ring like a bell
Wars and storms and refugees
Portray the people who now live in Hell
Wars and storms and refugees
Is this the ending of the world
Wars and storms and refugees
Flying the banners of death unfurled
Wars and storms and refugees
Is no solution to be found
Wars and storms and refugees
Or will we hear the trumpets sound
Wars and storms and refugees
War and storms **** refugees
And bring the world down to its knees.
ljm
Seeing the same footage over and over, like a roundlay.
Spectacular birth in a mundane time and place.
Childhood a half step lower than the middle ground
But happy in the lack of knowing it was so.
Sparks of brilliance catching a teacher’s eye
And the dice rolled out a better score for me.
Escape became adventure and knowledge a goal
But half a loaf was not enough and I was hungrier
For newer vistas and more shiny possibilities.
I almost made it happen, but the deck was stacked
Another way and years eluded efforts to that goal.
A glowing bridge let me cross over tracks behind me
And the Glossy years flew past on silver skis.
Achievement and creative life gave birth
to a shining hope that melted into painful failure.
A phony guru led the way and everything upturned itself.
The world slid right to left and ended upside down .
Exciting once and later not so much at all.
The changes added to the passing of more years
When happiness came often wrapped in guilt.
Making do became the mantra, along with getting by
Until the other shoe crashed to the floor
And left a painful footprint on the golden years.
New vistas were the only hope and proved
To be salvation and a challenge to adapt.
And so the years rolled on some more and here I am
At 85, and wondering what I do now.
All those years that came and went somehow
Never satisfied my needs, leaving me to ask myself
For the fifty-seventh time this week:
Who knows where the time goes.
Who knows where…the time goes.
ljm
In response to vb requesting a poem where the subject is the same as the title of the song.
From the depths of despair
Where God is unknown
And only danger surrounds me
I feebly fight against the call
That draws me ever on to destruction.
Only the call of a Whippoorwill can save me.
ljm
Thank God our neighborhood is full of them.
It’s never gonna be my turn
I stand in line and pay my fare
But the bus is full when I get there
And someone else is in my seat.
ljm
A day late and a dollar short - my mantra
Words are threads of many colors.
That can be woven into something
Beautiful and strong.
I said that to Melan of Innocence once
And it’s true.
She is a weaver of gossamer truth.
Warp dipped in LOVE and then woven
Through heartwarming weft
To form fabric both beautiful and
Astoundingly strong.
ljm
A humble note of admiration.
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