Smog has lifted across the land 

    All that’s left is shifting sand

    Where once the raging river ran

    Natures thirst is drained by man. 

    Deserted now the forest floor

    Oil slicks mar the sandy shore

    Wading birds all feather bound

    Choking fish, a burial ground.

    Businessmen in pin stripe suits

    Ladies dressed in designer boots

    Greenhouse gases getting hotter 

    All driven by the yen and dollar.

        ©j.black

    

    

    

   

    

    

Let’s rid the world of this pollution

——————————

Another shooting a heinous act

Innocents have been attacked

Because of some demented cause

Endorsed by their invented laws.
Somewhere people shout and cheer

Do they not the wounded hear

What evil lies within their head

That they the blood of blameless shed.
No celebrations this new year

Replaced by sorrow, shed a tear

Let peace be our new resolution

And rid the world of this pollution.
©j.black

       Merry Christmas

 Awake unto the silence of the night

An eerie feeling, shadows in the light

A peace that only inner love can find

On Christmas Day let joy and grace

 combine.
Let not anger spoil this precious day

Relax, rejoice or maybe even pray

How lucky that we can even see

A present underneath the Christmas

 tree.
Be thankful for what this yuletide brings

Be not obsessed with just material things

Think of those less fortunate than you

Your kindness may just make their dream

Come true.
©j.black

Walk out through spirits past

Footprints in the frozen grass

Sunshine casts a shadow fair

Warming all souls lying there.

Birdsong in the treetops sound

Add beauty to the holy ground

Memories within my heart

For those too early who depart.

History buried under ground

Carved on tombstones all around

Rich or poor it’s hard to tell

A moral we should remember well.

Depart this world without a care

To do this true love you must share

 Be careful when you do offend

We know not when our life will end.

    ©j.black

Remembering my mother at 92. ( an excerpt from a work in progress
 “My mother on the other hand worked in the home, which I can see looking back wasn’t an easy task, the old black gas cooker, no washing machine and all those clothes and dishes, work, work, work, never hungry, never sad ,that I can remember anyway, my mother had to be a wizard in philosophy, economics, relationships, a cleaner, a chef and a friend ,but was not shy at times to produce the wooden spoon, enough said. They both loved the bingo, their only escape from the daily running of the home, both teetotallers although never objected to any of their children drinking. The old photos of my parents beam the love and affection that they had for each other. I admire my mothers strength and her unwavering religious belief, seen especially after the passing of my father, which must have been a real test of all that she believed in. Of course she had lost her confidante and friend , but none of this seemed to impact on her everyday job of keeping her family together. 

The door in our house was always open to whoever came to visit, be it for a friendly chat or anyone with a problem, big or small my mother ( as I’m sure all neighbours past and present would attest ) would be there to console and give them advice as well as run her own household and keep it together, something we should be all thankful for. She was a strong country woman of her time living for her family and thankful for the life she had. I can just see her long black hair, standing at the sink washing clothes by hand or the numerous dishes that would accumulate after meals no such thing as a dishwasher back then.”

(the pipe always reminds me of my father)
 ©j.black

Trumpets blast, but will it last.

Fear now fills the halls of power

An oligarch has left his tower

Spread the wealth among his friends

Regardless who he must offend.

Can the world survive this fate

Major powers he’ll isolate

Without the blue just red and white

Steals like a thief into the night.

Like many leaders gone before

Who on a pedestal did roar

A man of peace came laid his hand

He found his power built on quicksand.

©j.black