Poetry

The cyclist in the high viz jacket is
Late for work again.
So he pedals faster,
While the red light on his bike
Counts down the years
Till his Use By date.
He cycles away from his wife
Who was Best Before she had kids,
Away from his children,
Maturing in their suburban pine barrel,
Who won’t be ready till they’re thirty or so,
To his diary filled with
Meetings at some o’clock
That seem to have no end.
Tick, tock.

He is cycling to the holiday in America,
Boarded by sweaty children asking their mothers
When they’re going to get on.
He is cycling to his boss telling him
About the good work he’s done,
That it was just on time,
But there’s no promotion,
Just a bottle of wine.
He is cycling to a day
Punctuated by a sandwich lunch,
Because he has no time.
And then he’s stopped by his digital watch
Telling him it’s 9 o’clock
And he should be at work.
Tick, tock.

Broken, rusty pipe,
Misty morning drizzle;
I have stopped
Counting drips.

This morning I picked up my bones
And shook my weary head
I thought of everyone I love
While lying in my bed.
Then I remembered I am the sun
And I also am the rain,
Pouring down upon the ground
That life may rise again.
I saw the flowers grow
Green leaves all around.
I saw that I am god
That desires can’t be found.
I remember that I am
Not the one who wants
For a new house, new car, new time.
I am the one aware
Who sees what’s in my mind
Whatever it is I seek
That is what I find.
So don’t be the fear
Happiness is the one I am.
Because every cell can hear
Every thought I claim.
Isn’t it time my friend
To wake up and be the day.

Dear God,
What shall I tell the children
About right from wrong?
Shall I tell them where the poppies grow
Where the dreams of farmers
Became the nightmares of
Lonely old men back from war?
Shall I tell them how worthless
A signature was
To the people from Hawaiiki?
The broken promises of a broken crown.
Or about the children they stole
In return for rape and slavery?
Good for us they say.
Shall I tell them about the rivers
Filled up with shit from cows
And chemical spray,
In the name of interest groups
That are not interested in them at all?
Shall I tell them about
The necessary compromise,
That made the planet hot,
That killed of the seas,
And lined the pockets of greedy men?
Should I tell them it was their fault
For having been born at all?
Dear God,
Is there any god at all?

The devil came
His bright wings flitting
To my washing line
While I was hanging
Out my sins to dry.
He asked me slowly
With perfect melody
What the future
Today might bring.
I had nothing
My only offering
Was my shame
For my heart’s poverty,
For having stolen time.
From my family.
The choice is yours
He said so cheerfully.
You can give it back now.
Then he plunged his hand
Deep into my chest
And squeezed my heart
Until I had nothing left.
He squeezed out the guilt,
He squeezed out the pain,
He squeezed again
Until he squeezed out the shame.
He asked once more what
This day might bring.
I told him here and now,
I love my friends and family.