To all who have been following my blogs and poetry,
The season is changing once more and for me (and I hope you too) life moves on at an interesting pace.
Times are hectic, made even more so by the truly mad. Those who live in a constant state of fear that anyone doing well would be a threat to their own hidden, unsavoury desires and impulses.
Actually, this is a most wonderful and beautiful planet that we live on, with the vast majority of us just wanting to live and let live. When you read the papers and watch the news you might think otherwise, but to every terrible happening by some degraded person, there are many thousands of good deeds done all over the world. So, don’t you be fooled by the feverish press eager to sell and spread all that’s bad both day and night.
Life is a drama, mostly good, sometimes bad, but definitely a drama that gives us hopes and purposes, tears and laughter.
For my part, I am going to be leaving you for a while to concentrate more on the drama that is life. While between all that I’ll be putting together another book of poems.
Therefore, although you are always welcome to write to me, and of course I will reply, you won’t be hearing from me until I complete that book in several months’ time.
Thank you again for taking an interest in my blogs and poetry.
Now, I leave you with my very best of wishes for a year full of pleasant drama and a poem I have just recently completed.
Night Boat
The small boat is full of dark faces and frightened eyes,
Looking towards the promised land, then hostile night sky.
A lone seagull in shadow cries out while flying by.
The count is twenty, of those six will eventually die.
Angry waves, cold salty water and wind driven spray,
Soak their huddled bodies as they grumble, cry or pray.
The monotonous engine inches them along the way,
Towards their promised land or grave this next light of day.
What terrible reason convinced them to gamble with fate?
It was hardship and suffering from the merchants of hate,
Which caused them to flee in hope of new worlds to create;
While worry and fear weakens them like the devil’s weight.
What will they find when the boat finally scrapes the shore?
More guns waiting with the threats of death in store?
Will the last of their brave efforts cause their heart to soar,
Or just another country with spilled blood on an alien floor?
In this boat hopes lay thrown into the watery night.
From the land of their family have they taken flight.
Mothers and fathers hold exhausted children tight.
Through their life-toughened soul do eyes burn bright.
Yes, I was born in this rich and powerful land,
With the fertile soil of England instead of wasted sand.
What good fortune guided me here to grow into a man,
Away from others desperate search for some helping hand?
I am no saint or actor of many a good deed,
But when others turn their backs on those who bleed,
Then in turn become the ones desperate to be freed;
They will pray for someone who will help in their hour of need.
