Conflict of societies
Fight for boundaries
Extreme collective aggression,
and we are at war .....
Ecosystem deteriorates,
Infrastructure crushed,
Modernisation of warfare,
are we heading towards humanisation ?
Let one Tsunami rise
or an earthquake shudder,
and everything finally at peace.
To make us understand
that we, the inhabitants,
only are visitors
And not born to own the land ....
Then why those mass graves,
Why the gunpowder,
and the nuclear weapons,
Learn some aesthetics and polemology ...
Let love wash internal rage,
and humanity tackle blood stains,
Altruism surface and nobility win,
So that birds can fly high
and animals enjoy freedom,
Ecology and greens flourish
as Mother Earth nurtures,
Serenity is in the air
to each soul's perfect flair,
Let logical reasoning grow
and Peace prevail ....
What stuff are we made of
We have eaten up greens,
Inhaled the best and given the worst,
The waste everywhere,
In the air, in water and heaps on land,
In name of modernisation,
Intruded woods and raw earth,
Colossal buildings, Material waste,
In name of science and research,
Synthetics and non bios,
Displacing all life, useless piles will eat space,
and for future generations, do we leave a deface ?
Is any other being on this Mother Earth,
Exploiting resources the way we do ?
Insensitive, what stuff are we made of ?
And generating the unending waste, civilised are we ?
Written June 18th, 2015
For contest "Stuff" by Thomas Martin
Second place win
The working navvy did dig deep
He followed Brindly’s new laid plan
A transport system to complete
A salvation for the labouring man
As the furrow cut with sweat and maul
With breaking backs and torn sinew
Each man in turn to heave and haul
Sustenance for starving kin renew
Tracts of land transform through spade and pick
Veins enriching the countryside
Bringing new life, each shovel, each brick
Levelling earth, raising national pride
A true revelation this arterial plan
Almost lost through modernisation
Abandoned, grown dense, dispirit man
As steam and diesel grew within the nation
Each lock assiduously built
Before first steam engine’s whistle blew
Weeds strangle, progressive man’s new guilt
The canals ebb, debris as seeds strew
More beauteous now than ever been
Our arterial chart of the waterway
Each torn muscle, victuals did glean
Bed and nourishment for one more day
The navvy’s ghosts look down, heads held high
Their gnarled hands rest in heavenly peace
Majestic waterways dug in sweat with sigh
A once industrial, now beautiful masterpiece.
© 16/11/2013 GG Inspired by Harry J Horsmans'
free verse 'The Cut' which is a colloquial name for a canal
I could pioneer my real self to your credit,
Astonished by facts concealed in my zest .
Was proud of my Victorian traits ,
But you evinced me wrong.
Evoked thoughts of modernisation into me,
Tuned me to a vivacious being.
Such revealing discovery of myself,
Exploring Rarest traits from treasure chest!!
Modernisation is hopping her repercussion
Modernisation is driving her civilisation
This is the safari; that brain the colony
The colossal obnoxious tenets of the West
Calling her to the deluding evacuation.
The edifice her architect had strictly structured
Who can dare to alter it?
Even on her own body and soul.
Variety upon variety, she want to put on
That is her whisper why, she mime the day.
A Bimbo! Mimicking the mockery of the West.
Who is barbaric in this case?
Reason! She revolt the reasoning
Focus! She resist the purpose
Loyal! She refuse the modesty.
Let her believe this one
That in her friction state
Her forward (will) never; her backward (will) ever.
Perhaps, she should recall this one
She need to behold
If she must to recount, in her world.
Is the heart material
or has materialism taken over the heart.
Are we fickle because of modernisation
or has modernisation taken over our souls?
Only a thought, a simple glimmer
An attempt at honouring a creator
An artist, a soliliquy in his brushstroke
His stolid demeanour many thoughts provoke
His unusual honesty naked at best
His lot be ended yet his memory attests
Without a doubt his mastery he met
An "Indian woman with umbrella" I view
And infallibly my curiosity it drew
From her downcast eyes
To her weathered boots
The umbrella signifies a hint of modernisation
Yet her look is a contradiction in my amateur opinion
It reminds me of me in this country I live in
Where my hue has me abandoned although
It is where my grandparents did grow
Sombre looking with no trace of arrogance
Unlike so many others time has surpassed
I look in the corner at the artists scrawled initials
And plan to remember this painting incredible
T.C Cannon is this artist's name
And now I hear just his art remains . . .
Watching old black & white movies
On a widescreen, HD-TV,
Mocks the classic style that we once loved.
Yet we are tolerant as we scowl at the visage;
As though the original film is what's wrong with the world;
That by viewing our faults, we might blame the medium.
But despite our technological revolution,
The film remains intact,
Raw and grained,
With its heroism and prideful acts,
Its dainty dames and strapping lads;
Misogynistic beauty in greyscale
Ruined by modern pretence; by the want of colour.
We once lived without photography;
Before camera obscura and daguerreotype.
Back when moments were only lived,
And never truly captured.
Never imprisoned in silver and ink,
To be hung on lavish walls
Only to be ignored.
Or locked in sleeves,
Trapped and unending in their poses.
Back before Kodak took over the world.
A timeless face needs no modernisation.
A classic needs no revival.
A love once lost should be left alone
Buried in the dirt and mourned appropriately.
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