I
The prose & prosaic lives pursuing career
From apartheid in Africa to US freedoms (1983)
Poets voices muted, too much hunger
The luxury of democracy, enduring systems
Of dispossession, of marginalising, silencing
With vigilante foes of one's own kind - for fame? -
Yet systems of food distribution, & of medicines
Need democracy, too, urgent reform
Pandemics reinforce the civilized caste sytem
II
Is there a military-pharma-cyber mafia?
What will my pen say - or my spirit say -
When the prosaic careers go silent
The itch to write nudges me to poetry
For the likes of Patience Worth (d.1641)
Quaker girl worked fingers to the bone
Yet desired art of writing, exploring ... Now
The unraveling of time: Pearl Curran became her pen
400 years later! There is a colonial captive
A hidden teacher-philosopher from Old Afrik, here
Telling of a tax-technology-robotic civilization
Of new high priests, go-betweens in art, science, family
"Flowers are the music of the ground from earth's lips spoken without sound." - Edwin Curran
During my morning saunter, I saw the crocus smile,
even as the dewdrops danced on dandy daffodils
The peonies poked out their puny buds from under the earth
and the vibrant violas shook their violet heads,
Lilies looked lovely in their pink and yellow dresses;
I stopped and stared at colours bared,
the sweetest scents staggered my senses,
The blissful breeze waltzed with the flowers,
As the birds belted music in the background;
Had I stepped into a fresh flower fairyland?
Grateful to God for His colour coordinated creations,
I realised ~ the harbinger of good times, Spring has arrived.
03.13.2021
For Brian Strand's "Your choice 2023" contest
Not Knowing.
Taken to place
I’m brought to a new realm
Taken back
Brought to the land.
Unfamiliar with this place
I’m losing my mind
This loss of not knowing is lunacy
Taken back.
Brought back
This is what the land looks like
Unfamiliar to the new beings.
Terry Curran.
Child Of No Father.
Down the lane the wind blew into a mist of flame
I reached for hope but all was lost in a flash of flare
I reached for ages, I went for miles, and all I was left with was a cry for help
I watched the world fall down in a grief of pain
Man had taken his last fall; now all that was left were children of no fathers.
The world had set down upon me, and everything fell before me
My distance to the ground was becoming higher and I could no longer reach
The will of man was going to be in ruins and I was the last child standing
I couldn’t find belief but all in vain I cried for help
Man had taken his last fall; now all that was left were children of no fathers.
Man had splintered his home, earthly hopes and dreams of their children
He lived in duplicity in his own nature, owning to his own ruins
The cycle of life was becoming one again; I could smell the fresh air again
Like a new born child, the air felt different and reviving
Man had taken his last fall; but I was no longer a child of no father.
Written by
Terry Curran
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