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Poems - some space for creative pieces

When you bring things in from other worlds to this,

You may have no say in the ways of this world

Where humans have possessed it all

And the vast majority are deaf to your call.

 

There’s every kind of rapture, every kind of grace

Every kind of capture, every kind of chase –

And though no one appears to save us from the human race

There’s something that the sacrum knows is sacred.

 

All the spilt blood, the burning oil,

The ransacked depths and the green laid waste –

It’s our species’ total freak-out

Masked by the manufacture of consent

 

Yet Nature ain’t so friendly,

‘Red in tooth and claw’

An awful lot of food forever in her craw,

We were supposed to stand above

Her trance communion

And raise Her gruesome game

Instead our startling adventure is mired in our shame

That mostly what we do is sacrifice Her in our name.

 

There’s every kind of rapture, every kind of grace

Every kind of capture, every kind of chase –

And though no one appears to save us from the human race

There’s everything the sacrum knows is sacred.

 

January 2015