2016 09 – Poems

A MURDER OF CROWS

  • You sit in the park
  •             shredding bread
  • feeding the crows
  •             feathered sharks
  • they fight one another
  •             though there’s plenty
  • to see all fed
  •             and what about that runt
  • thin in poor condition
  •             a bundle of woe
  • its weakening legs shunted
  •             losing its place
  • in the feast
  •             as the craw of the plump bird’
  • grows
  •             you want to feed it
  • but the murder
  •             forms a border
  • that’s called  the survival
  •             of the fittest
  • which maintains a nation’s
  •             order
  • re: Darwin still in vogue
  •             as the passive
  • witness
  •             are we too such unreasoning animals
  • that we can’t intervene in
  •             this society’s pitilessness

Wilson John Haire.

 

THE HAVEN

  • Bluethroats
  • Chakor partridge
  • Demosielle crane
  • Sandgrouse
  • Houbara  bustard
  • The General Atomics Mq-9
  • Reaper Drone
  • all visitors
  • to this safe haven for birds
  • and Taliban
  • the boy holds a catapult
  • with a plan
  • fills the sling with a
  • stone
  • who or what dies
  • the nerd on the keyboard
  • eats French fries
  • the dad finishes painting
  • the roof
  • five faces of his
  • kids
  • rough sketches but
  • proof
  • of his peace bid
  • the reaper
  • stiller than a hawk
  • looks
  • for  something to cook
  • the boy aims
  • but hits the Bluethroat
  • and lames
  • the bird tries to climb
  • steeper
  • shrilling its last nightingale
  • notes
  • then on one wing
  • spirals down
  • dad
  • descends in a panic
  • above
  • the slow crawl of a crab
  • with an electric generator
  • sound
  • fingers rattle the keyboard
  • a coca-cola poured
  • the reaper waits
  • inanimately bored.

          .                           Wilson John Haire.

 

WHEN UNCLE SAM COMES TO VISIT

  • He comes to the house
  •             and knocks on the door,
  • It’s Uncle Sam
  •             whom the children adore.
  • Dad is strict and there’s one boy
  •             in particular he damns.
  • Mum agrees he’s more a pit-bull than her little
  •             lamb.
  • He’d wreck the house if given half a
  •             chance.
  • Uncle has brought gifts,
  •             our armaments to enhance,
  • like guns, planes, bombs, bullets
  •             and poison gas.
  • Dad laughs, as much as his triple-bypass
  •             allows:
  • you accursed ayatollah,
  •             you next door,
  • yes, you you whore,
  •             you religious missionary
  • wallah!
  •             Thank you, Uncle,
  • and all those lads and lassies at
  •             Porton Down.
  • It’s time to lance that carbuncle.
  •             Our neighbour will now wear
  • a shroud with a perpetual frown.
  •             A wink from Uncle and we take
  • over another home.
  •             Then Uncle says get out.
  • But Uncle!
  •             We’ve fallen into a trap,
  • it wasn’t our reward.
  •             to take what’s ours,
  • to roam.
  •             Worse now – Uncle calls us
  • short-sighted,
  •             and,
  • he’s far from happy.
  •             It seems we’re now too powerful,
  •  so,
  •             we’re indicted
  • through our action being untoward.
  •             That boy, the would-be wrecker, now has a
  •  thick beard.
  •             He’s Uncle’s favourite to be
  • feared.
  •             Our house is wrecked.
  • Dad’s been hanged.
  •              Mum’s in prison.
  • It’s chaos but Uncle says there’s order
  •             in that vision.
  • Doesn’t he mean his eating
  •             disorder
  • with we his fodder.

            Wilson John Haire.

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