Too Late!


The flowers wilt on the wracked earth,

there are no buzzing bees,

temperatures soar untempered,

children stare out of slits in curtains

closed against the searing sun.


It was an emergency, now


emerges change was too late.

Nothing growing on the farms

where water has not been

husbanded. While, in the 

fields the bones of animals

point to the sky 

and their fallen

fetid flesh 

a troubling echo.


A gift we had of 

green Springs and golden Autumns;

we loved more

the fuel driven 

excoriating Economy 

ignoring the prophetic voices

crying in the rain.


Politicians will hide behind

banalities and excuses

asking for patience

while blaming






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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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