Smoke curls where laughter once lived,
a street of bricks turned brittle dust,
where a child once dreamed of growing wings.
The air carries a silence loud with grief,
a mother clutching memories,
a father holding nothing but loss.
They did not draw the lines on maps,
nor whisper strategies in darkened rooms,
yet their lives unravel like old cloth
under the weight of decisions made afar.
The planners sip their coffee in gilded halls,
speaking of targets,
of victories counted in nameless numbers.
They do not hear the wailing,
do not taste the ash.
A young boy picks through rubble,
searching for his sister's doll,
while across the sea,
the architects of ruin sleep soundly,
unmarked by the war they waged.
History will forget the names of the fallen,
but the planners' statues will stand tall,
their faces carved in stone,
their hands bloodless.
And so, the innocent bear the cost,
their bodies the ledger,
their pain the ink.
The war ends,
but for them, it never truly does.
Categories:
planners, angst, grave, grief, happiness,
Form: Free verse
Town planners would us astonish,
When they rocks and hills demolish,
So as to new cities polish,
Their smart dwellers make less foolish
And it all turns out Bad Rubbish;
Reason to them all admonish
And Town Planning just abolish…
Town planners should themselves furnish
With what would a terrain burnish,
Not sensitive eyeballs punish;
Town planners watched by all eyes
Can’t afford to be that unwise.
As they neighborhoods garnish,
Their image sadly tarnish.
Categories:
planners, change, city, creation, cry,
Form: Rhyme
Planning our future while residing in an Ivory Tower,
Could endanger its very foundation,
As you will be relying on information,
From People you have never met,
Whose qualifications you may regret,
Not having personally checked.
Residing in an Ivory Tower,
Tends to cloud one's judgement,
As you look out the window at mist that never seems to clear,
That looks no different than smog.
That model showing what your grand plan will look like,
That sits in your office 40 stories up,
Looks quite different to those,
Who live on the ground,
Where the Sun seldom bothers to shine.
So, if you are planning to,
Go down in the lift any time soon,
Don't be surprised if you find yourself,
On the surface of the moon,
With your space helmet,
Left behind in your room.
Categories:
planners, analogy, anger, baptism, betrayal,
Form: Didactic
It's clear to me,
over thousands of years of evolution,
woman sat around the campfires,
developing pathways in the brain,
enhancing communication and socialization,
men alone hunting in the wilderness,
had to plan to capture,
and be quiet,
as not to scare the prey.
Categories:
planners, allegory,
Form: Free verse