Category Archives: Poem

I am Brother of the Wolf

I am brother of the wolf,

cousin of black bear,

father of otter,

son of wolverine.


I abide with beaver in his lodges,

make wet lands grow

from rippling streams.


I am everybody.

I am nobody.


I hunt with grey owl.

Feathered wings,

slice silent through midnight air,

beneath shimmering silver moon,

leaving fearsome shadows in our wake.


I am great snow goose,

honking my flock northward northward,

ever northward,

through star sprinkled night

to nesting grounds beside great salt bay.


I am red robin’s trill,

that stirs you from your slumber.


I am everyone.

I am no one.


I am jeweled lakes,

scintillating in summer sunrise,

mirroring morning sky softt

upon my purple deep.


I am flooding river,

raging, roaring,

gouging gorges

from bones of earth.


I am first forest,

towering forever green,

sheltering myriad life.


I am everywhere.

I am nowhere.


I am south wind.

whispering trees awake,

when last snowflake fades,

calling trillium,

calling violet,

calling lady slipper,

to cover hidden,

distant dells, with

radiant glory.


I am north wind.

rocking trees to their sleep,

when Manitou opens His treasure house,

fills iron grey sky,

feather white,

lanketing the earth with his rest.


I am everything. I am nothing.


I am brother of the wolf.









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Filed under A poem for the people, Literary, Poem

Looking Glass of War

I looked,
into the looking glass
of war
and looking
back at me
through the misty eyes
of time,
the demented, decimated
faces of the dead.

Old soldiers,
who surrendered
their last breath,
on bloody battle fields,
so many
years before.

I looked through
the looking glass
of war,
into distant
fields of green.
Into the eyes
of the young.

Young soldiers
waiting for the call.

Do they think?
Do they dream?
Dream of
some distant glory?

Do they believe,
that a bullet
could ever
wear their name?

As they play,
on football fields,
on football fields of green.

As they play
in a time,
when tomorrow
is a thing
that’s never been.
Do they feel,
the bullet?
The thrusting
of cold
bayonet steel?

Do they feel
shrapnel from
a closely
hidden bomb?
Do they image
the medals
they will win?

Do they see
each comrade,
each brother,
each and everyone,
being welcomed
to warm wonder
of home?

Heroes of
a brilliant,
noble, victory.

Will they ever be,
ready for
the horror,
the reality?

I looked
deep, deep into
the looking glass
of war.

I looked long,
I looked intently,
I could look no more.


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Winter Requiem

Scratchy fingers
of a hoarfrost wind
my breath.

And a gaunt
black squirrel,
perched on
a gnarled bone
of a tree
of autumn’s dress,
chatters at me

As if it were
who buried
his food,
drifting mounds
of cold white death.

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Dust devils dance
in the streets of Bulawayo.

Markets and granaries
once full of harvests plenty,
stare starkly in the darkness
now over flowing
with a pregnant emptiness.
This bread basket of Africa
has become a ghetto,
filled with the hungry.

Heavy booted, storm trooper feet
echo loudly on cobble stone streets.
No one has come this day
to cast a vote for freedom.

Dust devils dance
in the streets of Bulawayo,
as the sun descends,
as another night of fear begins.

We, who live in a privileged state
should in righteous indignation
condemn the tyrant,
that in corruptive power
tramples on the few shards
now left of his people’s dignity,
lest we in our silence,
we who do not care to speak,
are in our final days
condemned by a higher Judge.

Dust devils dance in the
streets of Bulawayo.

A child, rail thin,
Coughs then weeps.
One last death rattle,
is swallowed by the night wind.

A smiley faced despot
contentedly sleeps,
his belly full of food,
food stolen from a child’s mouth.
A child that once laughed
and joyfully played
in the streets of Bulawayo.

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Filed under Poem, Poetry For the People

A Day of Tribulation is Coming

The bank president lies in a pool of blood
with a bullet in his head
because he wouldn’t give up the combination.
Over on the other side of town
a mother weeps because her baby is dead
and she only has memories left in her mind
of watching her little child growing.

The bread lines go down the street
so far that you cannot see the end.
The soup kitchens turn people away
because the kettles are empty.

A mad man pushes a red button
releasing a holocaust onto the world.
He smiles at the faces of the dying.
A little girl sitting on her father’s knee
can’t stop the tears of blood she’s crying.

I wake up in my sweat soaked bed,
the fear of my nightmare
still walks around in my head.
As I wait for the sun to awaken
I wonder if the morning will bring
the cold day of tribulation.

A man kills his wife and his little child
then takes his own life
because he can’t face his dreams anymore
and reality weighs to heavy on him.
As his cruel life slips away
he is glad he won’t have to face
the cold day of tribulation.

The day of tribulation is coming.
It’s just round the corner from you.
So take all the money you can from the bank
and spend it before it is worthless.

The bank president lies in a pool of blood
with a bullet in his head
because he wouldn’t give up the combination.


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A Dark Night’s Wandering

Lost souls,
angels with broken wings
ladies of questionable virtue
proudly display
their fleshy offerings.
These things haunt me,
in my dark night wanderings.

Warm beer
drunk slowly
in an all-night bar.
Cold coffee,
just for the caffeine.

Can’t stay awake,
can’t go to sleep.
The streets glisten
from the falling rain.

The unwashed, the needy,
the lost souls
angels with broken wings,
ladies of questionable virtue
share stories,
share dreams,
as they huddle close
in their meagre shelters,
trying to stay dry

all of these shapes
dance and whirl,
in the kaleidoscope
of my dark nights wandering.


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Inauguration of Humanity

Once more the fragile
pendulum of humanity
has swung,
and a rational,
caring mind
has sprung forth
with words
that in all hearts
inspire, hopes, dreams,
and a new desire
to somehow
be better than
in our small way
that we thought
we could ever be.

But in this moment
of unimaginable rapture
in this moment
that has ignited
in this dark,
and most bitter hour,
a spark of hope
in this moment
that has made us
hunger in our squalor
for a sweet tomorrow,
for a better world,
one of caring heart,
one of noble mind.
We must not,
we can not
forget our long
heroic journey.
Our endless struggle
to achieve
the foothills
of the snowy
distant mountain top
still hid beneath
a curtain of humanity’s
sorrow and darkness.

We rise now
upon history’s
cruel, unforgiving cusp.
Two ways
present them-selves,
and once again
we have the right
to choose
honour, decency, dignity,
or we can surrender
like we have
so often done
to the bitterness
of dark and
desperate days,
when we once looked
upon those
of a different color
of a different creed
as somehow less
than we in our
degree of majestic
and somewhat
ignoble splendour
conceived ourselves
to ever be.

A leader has arisen,
a man of humble
but of noble roots
has taken on
tasks far too difficult
to ever imagine
with a promise
that together
if we but have
one heart
if we but have
one thought of mind
if for a moment
however brief in time
we at last remember
that we are of one race,
though diverse
and many coloured.
That we are
of one humanity,
that began in one place
and in one distant time.
We can at last
reach out to
a destiny that
has always beckoned,
and accept
the moment
of sweet glory
that God
in His infinite wisdom
has set before us.

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Filed under Poem, Poetry For the People