Theirs No Time For Us
Time is fading away
So many burdens to carry
The hour-glass is draining
Our relationship is dying
Our bodies are decaying
Our minds are forgetting
Our youthful days are gone
There's no time for us
We took each other for granted
We can’t live forever
So many smiles left behind
Our love has strained
Where did all of the time go?
Time waits for no one
So many empty spaces
Words that we should have said
Under the earth has captured my lost soul
Theirs no harmony in the dirt
Theirs no place for the unforgiven
Bonded in chains, below the darkness
Where did I go wrong?
My second chance is gone
The salt of their skin has its flayed
geometry, sharp crevices beneath
the classroom where my dark teeth
tried the savoury chalk and failed.
I have been a teacher for the sum
of my disjointed life; never knew
otherwise, never learnt, as I grew,
how to study the breadcrumb
where the heights have gathered.
My students, ants in my breath,
state they are builders of words
in silence and thrive, feathered
like fangless tigers, within death,
my blandest subterranean birds.
some abstract men
that rule this smart world
with dire obstructions
and extractions
Villanelle: No lives are theirs those who embody rule of law
No lives are theirs those who embody rule of law
Inhabit the corridors of authority
Must of needs lay lives down their peoples to succour
Makes no difference whether tyrant emperor
Or those who sneak in barely in democracy
No lives are theirs those who embody rule of law
Falter even once nay their lives forfeit before
This the rule must be for those in authority
Must of needs lay lives down their peoples to succour
The judge who takes sides for the favours of a whore
The prince consort who soils queen’s bed with germs mighty
No lives are theirs those who embody rule of law
President who risks State secrets with paramour
Minister who fills own pockets with rigged treaty
Must of needs lay lives down their peoples to succour
Qian holds Heaven where must reside nothing impure
Lest the downpour soak toiling souls’ immunity
No lives are theirs those who embody rule of law
Must of needs lay lives down their peoples to succour
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Not Mine but Theirs
I would like to start a poetry trend
But am not sure where it should end
With a challenge could we all compete
Even after hearing pattering of little feet.
If my poems were to become problematic
Should they always create much static
How can I use my poems for ammunition?
So they can compete in the competition.
Maybe I'm becoming obsessed and brilliant
And your responses to my poems are resilient
While I am writing my poems upstairs
Thought was not mine but had been theirs.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran
As our habitat grows
Is it our selfishness
Do we think of the wildlife
In our world of bliss
The cougar will encroach
On our habitat grounds
And because he is there
Will we take him down
And the Duskey Seaside Sparrow
What of she
We have blanked her existence
From all living tree's
As all creatures will hear
From the words below
As we encroach on your habitat
Future years will show
We must learn now
For tomorrow's too late
How many in my lifetime
Through the extinction gate
Because of need, I toil, I sweat,
I bear the burden of others’ ills.
Despite the efforts, nothing’s gained.
Again and again, my blood is spilled.
Middle class man in a dead end job
Doing the best for the family, the home.
Stabbed again, by the men with no eyes
Gives my mind the intention to roam.
More money to gain or is respect the want?
Do I dare make a change in my life?
Will I be able to provide for the children?
Will I be able to make happy, my wife?
Keep looking ahead and lose not my own.
At least that’s what I keep on saying.
For a day will come when all will get theirs
Or at least, that is for what I am praying.
May darkness reign them cold and black
and their ways be made their own attack.
Cold winds rip them turn and turn
and harsh winds fires burn and burn.
Their bones of kin ache and break
troubles double their forsake.
Because of need, I toil, I sweat,
I bear the burden of others’ ills.
Despite the efforts, nothing’s gained.
Again and again, my blood is spilled.
Middle class man in a dead end job
Doing the best for the family, the home.
Stabbed again, by the men with no eyes
Gives my mind the intention to roam.
More money to gain or is respect the want?
Do I dare make a change in my life?
Will I be able to provide for the children?
Will I be able to make happy, my wife?
Keep looking ahead and lose not my own.
At least that’s what I keep saying.
For a day will come when all will get theirs
Or at least, that is for what I am praying.