Poetry Commons

1.

Spring is here.

Now my eyes turn to incense.

Children are in my bones.

The dog of the world has no home

but vacant skulls and vacant skulls,

1

The world is broken. It has always been broken. It cracks under greed, under hate, under the weight of those who take more than they need. But the cracks are not the end. They are the beginning. They are the places where light can enter, where hands can reach through, where something better can be made.

A person is not measured by what he keeps or hoards. Not by the cash in his pocket, not by the walls he builds to keep himself safe. A person is measured by what he gives away, what he gives to others, by the hands he lifts. By the burdens he helps carry. By the quiet, unseen moments where he chooses to make the world less cruel and ugly.

Where I Am From

I am originally from England,

Wales, Ireland, and Scotland –

where you find liminal spaces,

monasteries, castles, leprechauns,

Hi all, thought I would share a recent poem in response to the climate prompt given.