When this plague passes over
And we emerge from our arks
Let not the euphoria of seeing
The rainbow in the horizon again
Becloud our vision or deafen our ears
To the sound of heavy chariots from
The end of the spectral
From whence travel a people
In the direction of the sun rise
With boundless treasure
In search of new lands to sow
Crop and human seeds
Let us not stray far away
For these wanderers seek titles
They will come first as farmers
To buy our crops
Yet will not allow us a square metre
On their own soil
Their prisoners will dare to do
What our envoys dread to do in their land
They will pay bride prices
To become one with us
Nomads will seek to become chieftains
And will drink with primogeniture
Till they enter chambers of princesses
In the name of wedlock
And become lords of vast fertile lands
Which natives boast not of
We crave for civilization but
God forbids us allowing princes sell lands
Where dwell the bones of our ancestors
We shall welcome strangers but
Will not share our beloved land
With vile visitors
Lest when midnight comes,
There shall be no shelter
I will never have a million dollar voice
I will never be your favourite choice
I have no voice to silence a crowd like thunder
Or pierce silence like a hot blade through butter
My mouth can move and draw air from my chest
My mind hears a melody, my lips manifest
I sing with the angels floating on the clouds
The words are eloquent and my pitch is loud
I don’t have a cheering sold out audience
Just running water showering over my head
On my square metre stage I am one of the kind
The melody I sing is beautiful in my mind
We have a 809 Square metre section,
That is not up for dissection,
No for any price you care to mention.
I tell anyone who will listen,
Why I take this position,
For the future of the nation.
A tiny house may look cute,
And as a solution seem to suit,
Providing housing to the destitute.
We can not say it is social housing even at a pinch,
As with not even a spare inch,
For Neighbours, family or friends to lunch.
And when music gets loud and voices raised,
Ears and other body parts will likely get bruised,
And if one is sick, others will also become diseased.
Hobbies will become thing of the past,
No quiet areas for a book lovers repast,
To sleep becoming a difficult task.
So yes they may be cute,
And earn some repute,
As a stop gap, on the way to something that will better suit.
In the meantime they may well discourage over production,
Of Items that will no longer fit by more than a fraction,
And the outdoor life may once more become an attraction.
Until a true social housing solution is found,
A lucky few will find,
Invitations to lunch where dissection has been declined.
DUCK DAY
In Primorskaya today the river ice was breaking.
Two mallard ducks were celebrating
In a Lake-Huron-shaped patch about one square metre,
Taking an enthusiastic bath, making selves look neater
Dipping their heads in many times for glee -
First bath in six months or so, maybe;
Then a short swim: paddles about a dozen.
The river is still mostly frozen,
But ice all around looks moth-eaten now.
Many dark patches where water is just below:
That liquid map of the Great Lakes in motion
Is changing rapidly into the Pacific Ocean.
Long winter, and springtime’s shorter -
But ducks are celebrating the triumph of water.
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