Paul Willason Poet Free verse

Anatomy of Disaster

Disaster is imminent 
shout the popular press
and the anointed 
from lofty pulpits. Wars,
pestilence, earthquakes,
divine wrath are about
to be visited
upon a wayward world.

Meanwhile, a lovely still
has settled on the surface 
of the river and has become
a canvas for a pair
of swans on which to trace 
their brief passage across
a mirrored morning.
Beauty seems so fragile,

tethered to a moment
when the sublime manifests 
itself through a tear in time
and gives pause
to the march of armies, 
the self caused calamities 
that rush towards 
our little, insignificant lives

and illuminates
the sad distances we have
opened up between ourselves
and what burns brightly
at the centre of things -
these lovely mirrored mornings
to which our stiffened backs
are turned.

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David Kavanagh August 31, 2026 at 11:49 AM A beautiful piece of poetry Paul, that cuts right to the soul, a poet’s poem for sure, we know human nature isn’t going to change anytime soon, but we don’t have to be preoccupied 24/7 with every annunciation of pending disaster, there is fleeting beauty to be found, fragile as it is, but it’s there nonetheless, We are creatures who know too much to simply exist innocently, yet perhaps not wisely enough to stop destroying what gives existence meaning, your poem is a joy to read, and a Fave for me, any day of the week, cheers David Paul Willason August 31, 2026 at 7:14 PM Hi David, Thankyou so much for your positive comments...lapped it up. With the prophets of doom in the ascendancy, finding a quiet refuge is becoming more challenging. A question of perspectives and how one wishes to populate the mind I guess. The Cosmos remains an interesting place. Cheers my friend, Paul