5/5 Sharp Cries

alitnobani Thu May 05 2011, 15:54

The ecologists warn us that the earth is subject to jeopardy. We will not enjoy spring and we will lose all the green fields which will become deserts because of nature abuse.
Poets will only cry for the great loss.
Sons and grandsons will only witness a catastrophe.
The seas will die. No more dolphins to dance.
The birds will sing sad tunes for the dead forests.
Man will cry for the precious green past.

Lets make our poems sharp cries to awaken the sleepy leaders of the world and save the dying nature.

Dori Thu May 05 2011, 17:09

Is so very true, it might not be long before it happens, I just hope it doesn't, I don't really like writing sad poetry = (

BC Williams Thu May 05 2011, 19:56

.
You pay our farmers not to grow, yet grow your debt beyond repair.
You've stripped the child of future hope and barred our nation's prayer.
You've regulated freedom's bought so long ago with blood well spent.
You've offered us a world gone wrong and stifle our discontent.
Our waters seethe with dirtiness;
you turned your backs, you let it be -
and then abrade the natural rights
of those who fish the sea.
Our land is clogged with filth. Our air - each breath impure
for we breath stalemate afterthoughts of money's gainful allure.

Do you hear us, our cries proclaimed
from lips paled with fear?
Will you not tarry, help us live
free of ill on this dying sphere . . .

© 5.5.2011 by BC Williams

Teresa Jane Price Fri May 06 2011, 09:52

I love the truth you share s vividly. Nicely done.

BC Williams Fri May 06 2011, 12:20

Thank you Teresa. This was a true challenge for me, thanks to our friend, Ali.

Teresa Jane Price Fri May 06 2011, 12:32

Oh, the songs bout the ancient mariner,
The sad tunes of love loss,
Sea storms and drowned dreams,
Now, never more true than for sea gulls.
Pirates of sorts, these coastal carnivores,
Scavenging opportunists, with claws sharp
As swords, striking, striking their enemy,
Collecting their due, the fish treasure.
Mobbing across the water, this noisy colony,
Seeking their prey, undaunted by the sea,
Unafraid of the boats anchored beneath.
Till winds arose from a man made storm
With a lightning blast, not far in the distance.
Watching as aqua green dyed a petroleum black,
And drifted upon the marsh's hidden nest.
Their families drowning in goo, black gold,
Their prey floating, dead, no more a treasure.
Left was their ship, wrecked by the storm,
As swallowed were their lives, colony and all.
And though they did protest, in hopes to protect,
Blanketed did the tar, the goo, till there was no flight
And left them to see dying, one to many.
Like the pirates, extinct they may become
All because of a man made storm.
So, did I think before that April
What would happen to the luck of a seagull?

BC Williams Fri May 06 2011, 12:49

Well I don't know . . . guess it will get you through the door! Teresa, I have to gush a bit before I speak of the appropriateness of this piece. You can write a story in poetry better than most modern writers I know. I knew that, but your writing always renews the thought afresh when reading your newest work. Best, (for me) your technique inspires me. I've played at emulating your coloring for awhile, but it's yours; and I have mine. And that's a great thing amongst peers:-)

I had a problem with this challenge because Ali seemed to want a political slant - or so it at first seemed to me. I like the way you romanticized the topic, bringing in the olden thoughts, then zeroed in on the plight of the gulls. You may have given me an understanding of what Ali was really asking for!

Beautiful work, as always . . .

bev

Dori Fri May 06 2011, 17:07

Awesome writing everyone, I'm trying to write a poem for this topic... =)

Fred West Sat May 07 2011, 09:23

Inheritance.

When you gaze at the open plain
what is it that you see?
Is it the great outdoors or a reflection of me.
The ancestors came and roamed the lands,
look at the history of their work through their hands.
What do you see when you look out there,
is it their world or the world now bare?
What you should gaze at is the sand as it is now,
look for the history of loved ones now gone,
but think of things that used to belong.
Working and living and loving in freedom,
making of arrows to feed the family,
looking at eagles so sacred in flight.
Dancing round fires to hasten the night
party for us is a joy to behold
for them a statement to be more bold,
they waft the smoke over them, then come to the dance
some would go further and into a trance
so what is it you see when you look on the plain
is it your life outlook or is the same?
Do you see your family life as it would be so many years ago
this is called inheritance never ever let it go
©Fred West 2011

alitnobani Sat May 07 2011, 12:33

By: Ali Taha Alnobani
To the leaders of our world
© 2011 by Ali Taha Alnobani

Thus the sea was
A bride who has a necklace of tales
A world of love
Dancing in dales
And a glass of wine
Sparkling of delight
In her loosely might
Blue and white
She was yours
She was mine
****
Thus love was
Two warm hands under a tree
Two nice birds coming closer to me
Mountain and coast
Earth and sea
Talking the harmony language thee
***
Thus the earth was…
In winter, telling the story of warmth and songs
In spring adorns brides by flowers
Calling us by nature gongs
In summer releases our jailed desires
And In autumn wraps hearts with colors
****
But I saw curses
Followed by life forces
On the horizon of distant stars
Written on them the names of offenders
Written on them the list of killers
Those who did not hear the trees crying
And who like nature harmony dying
***

BC Williams Sun May 08 2011, 15:59

Fred and Ali, I am so pleased to see work by you both. This is an important topic, one that deserves our attention.

All of our writers, though our voices are different, send a message that rings loud and clear: we want to preserve what's left of the world we love and need.

Let's pray our small endeavor finds an effectiveness with the powers that be - that through regulation and common sense, our world's bounty might be preserved for future generations.

Thank you all for your contributions.

bev

Fred West Tue May 10 2011, 09:39

The day starts and it’s bright with light
Then man starts his day and the light goes away.
Another day of pure light and air
Man pollutes in the upper atmosphere.
It is not the planet that is at fault,
But mans attitude to the way it is run.
Man looks at trees and sees dollars written in the leaves,
He looks at oil and sees the sign that makes the wheel turn,
He looks at an animal and looks at a profit
The planet cannot run so fast and dies a little every day,
In the one thing in which it has no say.
What will you say today??
©FRED WEST 2011

BC Williams Tue May 10 2011, 11:06

Very nicely put, Fred! Seems a shame, doesn't it? Thank you for your second effort:-)

bev

Dori Sat May 14 2011, 08:22

AWESOME writing everyone, I at first didn't know what Ali wanted, now that I have read the poems (specially Fred's "INHERITANCE") a poem jumped into my mind (thanks Fred) =)
I'll do my best and write one down here.

Dori Sat May 14 2011, 08:58

The Buffalo

Many moons ago before the white man had even shown,
every where you looked Buffalo would roam.
Their shaggy heads and slick bodies
would turn up the ground beneath the powerful hoofs.

The hunters of the plains would take what they needed.
They knew the importance of parlance - would it ever be this way?
The Indians would thank the Great Spirit for all that he provided,
they thanked him for there livelihood.

One day it happened that other people came
taking from the Earth and all that was there.
Always taking and never replacing,
what happened to the plains they once knew....

What happened to the buffalo, once shaggy and wild?
All that was seen was white bones that used to be their livelihood.
What once was green grass of the plains is nothing more than brown dirt in its place.

Years have passed, generations of the past now live on the plains.
One lone Indian stands tall and brave,
tears falling from his eyes as he looks around at the place his ancestors roamed.
He sees litter and huge buildings where the buffalo once roamed.

What happened to the plains of his forefathers?
He wonders if it would ever be the same again.
Would the buffalo come back again, all shaggy and strong?
Would the green grass be the same?

So many thoughts enter his mind . . .
why does the white man fence up the land;
is there anyway we can take away his tears?
To see the buffalo roam free would be awesome to see.

© 5.14.2011 by Dori Maschke

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