Tagged: poem
New Poem!
Remember…a poem for the nostalgic at heart
Copyright, 2021 Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)
Ambient
I love the sounds Nature makes
when she’s happy and none trouble
her serene countenance, vexing
her with their tireless machines
She hums contentedly
tending her bursting flower boxes
attentive to each seed or shoot
showering them with maternal love
She likes to get her hands dirty
except for the blood
which flows so copiously
it inevitably leaves a stain
She would say she’s blameless
as an iris, tender as a fawn
but we know her as a ruthless foe
when her existence is threatened
Leave her to her graces
praise her in word and deed:
the many shades of green she grows
the beauty she won’t concede
Written on my back deck June 2, 2021, while being serenaded by several varieties of bird song.
Poem of the day
Homegrown Terror
The people who walk down back alleys
must have something to hide
subversives, if not terrorists
avoiding prying eyes
They seem poor and tired
but that could be just a front
they’re probably a sleeper cell
dreaming of martyrdom
Perfect poem for a cold November day
New poem
Delinquent
Offer us a stick
we’ll sharpen it to a point.
Provide us with clear, running water
we’ll build a dam.
Show us how to plant a garden
we’ll raid our neighbors’ plot.
Teach us to sing
we’ll write anthems.
Make up a god
we’ll supply the jealousy and hate.
© Cliff Burns, 2017
Poem of the day
Observed
does the Universe notice
us even if it’s only
the briefest flicker
a hummingbird
darting in and
out of frame
God, the concept
Golgotha
If there is a God, that
Supreme Being would
have to endure every
unkindness, every injury,
the abuse and mistreatment
of innocents, the unspeakable
acts we inflict on each
other, pain and torment from
time immemorial.
God would bleed and die
and scream and whimper
and plead for one more
breath of life, while expert
torturers worked their wiles,
wringing false confessions,
betrayals, a crown of thorns
carefully arranged just prior
to execution.
(All Rights Reserved)
Manchester
23/05/2017
The morning after the Manchester bombing
an old grey tomcat sleeps under a white maple
in our backyard, oblivious to human affairs,
indifferent to the harm we inflict on one another.
I wish I had his equanimity, then I wouldn’t feel
so bewildered by a universe that seems to condone
random violence, so disappointed in a species that has
forgotten the simple joy of napping beneath a shady tree.
New poem
A few days ago I was sitting in my favourite pub in Saskatoon, having a pint of Guinness (and to hell with the Celiac nonsense), with a chaser of Tallisker, occasionally glancing outside at passersby—
—and then suddenly I was scrabbling for my notebook as the following came to me:
See World
window people
framed for a moment
like aquarium fish
exotically drifting
Photo: Sherron Burns
Beautiful Desolation 