Saturday, 16 January 2021

A spiteful sceptical poem without punctuation lest punctuation is just another cause

 

 

imagine the spread of forests that could still stand

imagine the branches that may have waved

the leaves that could have unfurled

in a wind that wandered without a hurry

to get wherever it is the wind goes

 

and the lead left

in the ground unground

unsharpened unspoken

 

if we let loose the reins of pretence

that protests change the world

we have created that horse has bolted

runs now of its own accord

little heeds our words songs or signs

 

instead truth to tell we need to surrender

our power our money or desire

stop the purchase across counters

littered with the blood of women

the bones of slaves the ears

teeth and smiles of native children

to make shirts and shoes

lest catwalks grow sad and unused

 

after all this time

the rich have more wealth

the powerful more power

regardless of all the words

that coddle

and let us pretend anything has changed

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