Poems

Century

 

A Century is a special thing

It takes time to grow

It takes time to become wise

Its head of grey

Unravels time

It is too aged to be young

But not too old

To revert to youthful things

Like crushed Irish Potatoes

And long forgotten diapers

That tear away at pride

A Century is often nagging

Blind or deaf … and forgetful

Its hand forgets to be forceful

But is forced to be gentle

And its hands often remember

To clasp in prayer

A Century doesn’t always remember

But its face is etched

In many tales of time

A Century is not as

Anxious to grow old as youth

But is grateful for every day allowed

To walk closer to the end of light.

 

– Lisa Gaye Taylor

 

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For the new year

 

The old year has rescinded

With its mix of joy and pain.

There were gifts and glints of promise;

Then, ghastly acts, which ‘fanned the flames.’

 

Still, we are moving forward

Uninhibited and bold

Without the shackles on our minds

With faith and purpose in our hold!

 

No more must we turn our backs

As noxious beings, for their own pleasure,

Defile our gems of innocence;

Portals to tomorrow!

 

No more must we allow dim wits

To put out breathing lights

And repatriate souls, through weapons.

We must stand to set things right!

 

This country must not slither.

There are stalwarts on her side

Who can, and must, reclaim her;

At least to rebuild pride.

 

We have among us human treasures

Doing their best to lift this land;

While allowing us, ‘the others’,

Time to harness inspiration

 

Therefore, as the New Year ‘2020’ dawns

The questions, to ourselves, should be:

Shall we work to lift our homeland?

Or, must we strive to drag the whole contingent down,

And through the pits of decadence, and misery?

 

– Erica Brown Marriott

 

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A new year

 

The ageless ocean inexorably voices on yonder shore

Beats the same sounds as the year before;

There is seemingly no difference;

Will there be no indication

That the new year is a better situation

Than last year?

 

Dark clouds glower at the earth,

Gloomily no different than a year no more;

Christmas spirit we vainly hoped would endure,

But the sun seems to gallop his usual berth,

Smiling, indifferent, warm and gay,

And streams gurgle their usual way to the sea;

Can’t they go uphill the other way

Just some hope of change for us to see

That the new year will be different from the last

And hope in God should never be lost?

 

Why should the future seem the same,

As it was the year before,

The only difference there will be more,

Playing at our tragic game

Of births and deaths and motor cars,

More nuclear bombs and rumbles of wars,

More houses and schools to build,

More mouths to feed and less resources to spend,

More wrongs to right and less justice to defend;

Women and children will tremble, men to fear,

More and more will be many a tear?

 

Will there be no relief from pain,

The whole world some sanity to gain?

Will there be more diseases to fight, fun running rampant,

More fortune to try, more prizes freely to grant,

Less labour, more dreams to win,

More discontent, less joy at the workplace,

Uncertainties galore day to day to face?

Hope is a promise,

Roses to smell and money may jingle,

And love is a ploy to make the skin tingle,

Will the new year be the same

As the previous year or better or worse,

That we must look to in chapter and verse?

 

Last year, seemed God on a holiday went,

Will He go on another vacation

This year as usual …

Wind up the world and leave it to spin,

Give Man more holidays to sin?

Was He deeply asleep last year,

While the world went on a raging spree?

Or did He his anger vent

On hapless Man refrained to relent?

Will He rise …

Or will he let the years get worse,

Praying Man praying to remind Him

That He has a world that’s badly run,

When men are empower’d to rule by gun?

Why is there no manifestation,

Except what is told by preaching men?

Here and now we need redemption.

 

– Oren Cousins