The Hourglass

The most profound ideas of the day come to mind in the toilet because they are worthy of being flushed out of the system at the earliest.

Why does the sands of time
drips so slowly, and then
the hourglass turns?
Why can’t time remain at
standstill as we mourn
the scores that departed
to the unknown shores?
do you hear the blood curdling
howls of the hyenas circling,
to rip the coffins before
the bodies are cold?
the vampires do not dread
the light anymore,
ready to suck the blood
as life goes out.
as we mourn, somewhere else
a life mortgaged to luxuries
while living, slowly ebbs,
and street dogs stand in
guard of honour
for the one who has no home.
the sands of time drips ever so slowly,
and the hourglass turns,
as we mourn.


featured image from pixabay

Darkness as the sun shines

‘And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night-tide,’  W.B. Yeats.

Darkness as the sun shines
Vultures are circling ready to dive
Sun hidden by their wings
Hyenas surreptitiously closing in
Beacon of hope to entire world
Crawling back to the womb
Alternate facts eviscerating truth
Enemy within us ready for the kill
Party time for the vultures and the hyenas
Smirking their lips
As darkness creeps slowly
On the land of the free
Swamp reeks
Home of the braves held
Hostage to fear and lies
Drain the swamp, yes
Start at the top


This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s A Month (November) with Yeats Challenge day Ten

 

 

Lone hawk

‘Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting heaven’ – WB Yeats

Sitting on his golden perch
The war hawk screeches shrill
He has all, hungry still
Wants to lord over all
What he needs, he snatches
By hook or by crook
It’s all he can think
His rookery well cared for
Tries to rob other all
Clowning hyenas are his retinue
Eager to jump on carrions
Hell bent on changing landscapes
Scarred earth littered with destruction
Honesty, integrity not his strength

Lone hawk perched on rooftop
Contemplates fall of mighty eagle
Those endowed strength by nature
Don’t need false drum rolls
Fall of the coward weasel
Nary a sound it makes
Beneath contempt of mighty hawk
Gliding effortlessly observing it all
Swooping down on his prey
Grabbing food for the day
Mighty wings braving the cold
Lone hawk, brave and bold
Flies away, sight to behold


This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s A Month (November) with Yeats Challenge day Six