A Time of for Never Green

Once great forests filled the land
Fingers of towering, spruce, fir and pine
Stretched high, eager to receive heaven’s light
And when bright spring was new born
Mountain sides burst forth
In abundant, myriad coloured blooms

Vast meadows were planted everywhere
For all who cared to view
Filled with grass and berry bush
That well past knee high grew
Teeming with abundant, dainty life
Almost too small for naked eye to see

Our world was once upon a time
A place that was forever green
An Eden’s Garden of delight
Where man’s children in wonder played

But into this perfect, unspoiled space
That God in His great goodness gave
To be a home to all that lived
Mankind’s uncaring greed did intrude

Untamed rivers, lakes of deep sky blue
Where fish frolicked and grew fat
And little otter kitten’s played
Have vanished with the mighty oak

A dust bowl now in fullness resides
A great desert that will be for never green
A once bountiful land forever barren lies
Stretching out beyond space and time

The only thing that now sees
This land of waste and bitterness
Is the uncaring, naked eye
Of the for always burning sun

We Made our Own World

The tongue of the angry sea burns
as it licks away at the barren shore.

Flotsam and jetsam,
refuse of six billion people,
human waste of six billion,
poison the deep with filth.

Rotting fish turn white, sparkling sands
into a black, putrid garbage dump.
Sea birds in their thousands
flock and eat of this toxic bounty,
then add their flesh to the spoil.

Mother Nature’s forgiving nature,
can no longer nurture
the starving, devouring multitude,
with her once overflowing bounty.

Yet hopeful fishermen
still go down to the sea
in wooden sailing ships.
Still go down to the sea
in rusting iron ships.

The sea waits patiently
and gathers power in its loins.

Waves gouge at the land,
crushing all within their path,
under its unforgiving heel.

Sharp, barbed harpoons,
pierce deep into soft, quivering flesh.
A baby killer whale weeps
as it’s mother dies in agony.

Whale pods that use to sing
in the sunlight of the morning,
now scream in mourning
on this day of genocide.

Oil rendered without need,
oil rendered because of greed,
burns in ten thousand lamps
and beckons the bloody killers home.

Flabby tummies are now tucked in,
held fast in hour glass perfection,
by whalebone, torn from living things.

Ambergris, mixed with rose oil,
hides the odour of honest sweat.
Girls covered by this death guilt
announce themselves to the world.

The unending bounty of the sea
has now forever ceased to be.
A hungry, crying throng
stands upon the decaying shore.
They shake their upraised fists
into the empty, silent sky.
This ravenous, destroying multitude,
weep, weep and wonder why
trawlers, once laden
with the bounty of the deep,
once filled to overflowing
with the treasures of the sea,
come back to them no more.

Inner City Children

Everyone hurries by.
No one hears
their plaintive cry.
There is no gentle hand
to brush tears from the eyes
of the inner city children.

They grow old before their time.
But there is no reason,
there is no rhyme,
they shouldn’t have
the same chances
that other children do.

You can keep you riches
inside the bank
to mould and gather dust.
But if you spend a little
the children will start to trust
that someone really cares.
Hope me be born in the hearts
of the inner city children.

Reach out a helping hand.
Tell them that you understand
and that you’re proud
of all the things they do.

Each baby boy and girl
is worth far more
than all the money in the world.
Light a candle in your soul
for the inner city children.

Memories of Tomorrow

A heart that’s been broken
Can never be mended
A love that’s been lost
Can never be found

Love is more fragile
Than a butterfly’s wings
Love is far sweeter
Than sugar plum wine

I see your smile in the midnight sky
As my tears fall on the ground like rain
I want to turn my sad world around
And go back to yesterday once again

Back to the days
When our love was new born
Back to the time
When we built our dreams

We made our own music
And danced in the moonlight
Love light was brighter than stars
In the blue of your eyes

The mountains were taller
The rivers ran deep
Time stretched out past the sun
Love was the moment
And love was tomorrow

But the world goes on turning
And the years hide our memories
Love fades like red roses
When the winter wind blows

So I listen to my heart beat
Out memories of tomorrow
I listen to my tears fall on the ground
I miss you much more
Than I would ever miss living

Memories of tomorrow are for the living
Memories of yesterday belong to the dead
Memories of tomorrow stretch out beyond me
Memories of yesterday fade with the sun

A Time for Decision

The ballot box has been filled
With the anger of union members
Fateful hour of decision has passed by

A line has been etched
Into history’s unforgiving sands

How fast ascends the midnight hour
Men, women, resolute in their demands
Hold fast, the many picket lines
March in determination
Picket signs held proud and high

But the company holds tight
To their absolute, corrupt power

When two cultures, like titans crash
A community is caught within
The middle of this most un-winnable war
And is crushed like egg shells
Underneath boots with metal heels

Robber barons from a different land
Eager to force their ways down throats
Of the hard working, middle class
Desire to change union member’s minds
Desire to break a union’s will

Loss of things, quickly pile high
Loss of homes, of love, of dignity

Yet in some abstract way
Though shredded by a cultural war
Tattered, torn by political assault
Some remnants of self respect remain

But self respect does not buy bread
Does not put hats on small heads
When winter in its coldness eats the soul
And though there is a common thread
Among those who protest this assault
Upon living means and decent wage
Bone thin fingers are eager to point the blame
Mouths shaped by bitterness
Are all too quick to name
Each other as the sole author
For this decent into a jobless state

Perhaps at some point in distant time
Wise heads and minds will prevail
And this bitter war between two different cultures
Will end upon the point of some common ground

The Piano Player

Moonbeams stream
Through dusty window panes
Gleam on ebony and ivory keys
Polished by sweat and tears

Keys of black and white
Shimmer in soft moonlight
Fingers sculptured for music
Flow across them

Each bit of wood
Each bit of bone
Compressed, depressed
In the order of the tune

Though his mind
Has forgotten
Fingers worn by time
Half remember
The naked rhythm
Half remember
Who he was

He looks backward
Through Galileo’s glass
At who he use to be

A young man
Who owned the world
Who loved the homage paid
After each flawless performance

Fingers, manicured, perfect
Flow without effort
Across ebony, ivory keys

Keys of black and white
Gleam in soft candlelight
Women sigh and surrender
Tossed aside when
The music’s done

The glass dims
Time flows
Over the waterfall
Of too many
Forgotten years
Yet still the player plays
Though the piano
Is as out of tune
As he his

Memories of his muse
Dancing in the starlight
Still seduce him
With thoughts of glory

He rises, gaunt, broken
Smiles at the applause
From the audience
Who have been enthralled
By his perfection

Reflections of them fade
To be replaced by his own
Tears of bitterness fall
By this intrusion of reality

He smiles at the image aged
Far beyond his understanding
Hairless head gleams
As moonbeams stream
Through dusty window panes