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Adam White Poem
Earth Voice
[Source: Various media reports of towns developed across Europe during the boom years which now lie empt; and the growing migration from the cities to the childhood towns and villages where the newly dispossessed grew up - close to kith and kin].
Concrete, steel and glass creations
Stand deserted. Shipwrecked in ghostly isolation.
Shiny new towns with names not faces
Echo with the murmurings of ghouls
And shrieks of financial loss and isolation.
Roads where no car dares to pass.
Railroad tracks with no timetable. No spinning wheels.
Great monuments to what we had become.
Irrelevant. Empty now.
Welcome home my brothers and sisters (Bienvenido de Voelta)
Children of Naxos, Villacanas and Alfandega da Fe
And countless towns and villages which sleep along the way
For I have missed you . Eagerly awaited your return.
Lay your false gods aside. Let their land of plenty quietly die.
For my earth is rich and I offer this unconditionally to you.
with joy not hesitation; and though we may suffer drought and infestation
We suffer together for that is the natural order
And that is my promise to you.
Let us build a permanent home
Sheltered by the sun; the wind and the rain.
Make use of my stones and rocks to build firm foundations
To feed and nurture. Your community. Your sanctuary.
And measure your contentment in quiet satisfaction
For these intangible gifts are more valuable
Than all the concrete, steel and glass that you’ll ever own.
Copyright © Adam White | Year Posted 2012
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Adam White Poem
Just one more day. A few maybe.
Or next week and every week thereafter
Til year’s end and I wait anew
I have nothing but dutiful time
And know every waiting room in my mind
For surely you will come or pass close by
For though it’s true we have never met
And destiny works hard
Forever to keep our parallel lives apart
Your absence is more eloquent
Than your presence would ever be
Adieu and don’t forget about me and we.
Copyright © Adam White | Year Posted 2012
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Adam White Poem
HOPE REGAINED
East of ambition; north of darkness. But south of where he’d like to be
A river flows. Or a stream. He chooses what he sees.
And sometime past while walking on the stony bank
Between the lone pine tree and his dreams.
He loosed his grip; a violent thought wrenched it out of reach.
And now you hear him in the early dawn or late at night
Stumbling among the reed beds; the shallows choked with weeds.
Aware of the enormity of his loss; the emptiness beneath his feet.
But here and there; under and between; he plans to search for evermore.
For now he knows which way the river flows
And what he seeks will be found; on the far shore of these waters deep.
Copyright © Adam White | Year Posted 2012
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Adam White Poem
QUICK EPITAPH
[Source: The Bank of England’s decision in July 2012 to print an extra £50B on top of the £325B which has already disappeared]
Throw more sticks on the fire.
Pile it up. Build it higher.
Watch as the flames consume all.
The first and the last. The present and the past.
All points inbetween. And thereafter.
It’s blazing light a beacon to illuminate the path. To guide our fall.
Then spent lies hunched. Scorched hands outstretched for more.
Soon to be a corpse. Stripped bare of reputation and integrity.
A memorial stone to their guile and skill.
Their project. Which failed.
For here in the smouldering ashes lie the great and the good
Who danced with fire. An example to us all
And the burning embers were their funeral pyre
The last reminder of their folly
Their incompetence. When all else failed.
Copyright © Adam White | Year Posted 2012
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Adam White Poem
Between the easy virtue of the night; virgin morn
We board the train. It thunders ever further on
Melancholy metallic chants; it’s voice. Rhythmic song
Our fragile dreams mere freight; to carry with no particular regard.
And passes stamped; tracks irrevocably laid
Await the jolt; the ticket collector’s awakening call
We will the thundering beast to slow; or lose it’s way
For perhaps this will be the night; the journey ends
Far further along this unforgiving track; or not quite there
Just not where they think we ought to be.
Copyright © Adam White | Year Posted 2012
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