The grove

Poem for the week, 6 February 2023

 

 

 

 

The grove

Winter is the burning.
Rotten hearts of once sturdy oaks
stripped and axed and set ablaze.

Ashes fall from the sky.
Dark flurries of cremated yew
scattered on grit-covered snow.

Embers glow; soot remains.
The dead particles of old friends
keep us warm and on our feet.

Until the sun rises.
...
Until the sun rises.

Ice melts; nature wakens.
Springtime bursts with saplings, new buds
breathe unwooded joys of youth.

Pruned branches stretch fresh arms.
Treetops nod and gently whisper
secrets that winter forgot.

Leaves reach out to be touched.
Sycamore and ash are reborn
shady havens for lovers.

Until the sun goes down.
...
Until the sun goes down.

First published in 'magnetic resonance imaging' (buy here).

Sociopath media

Poem for the week, 30 January 2023

 

 

 

 

 

Sociopath media

My wall's a stream of platitudes,
those mass-produced collectables
viewed through heroic spectacles,
waving a flag and a god and a bloody big gun.

Each day turns into saccharin,
a box to put your feelings in,
where truth is out, replaced by spin,
refreshed non-information dressed as favourited fun.

Like me and fill your database
with status, feeling, time, and place.
We're free because we share our face
in terabyte-size clouds where clever algorithms run.

Other poetry by this author:

Magnetic Resonance Imaging: lyrics of love and loss
Those Footsteps Behind: around the world in 50 poems

See more at http://brucemarsland.com 

This is not not a rondine

Poem for the week, 23 January 2023

 

 

 

 

This is not not a rondine

Earth is burning. Choked by smoke, torn by storms,
deniers clog the web and airwaves saying
this is normal, this is fine; lies we're paying
through the nose and throat for.  Truth transforms
from fact to Wonderland on news platforms.
Moguls make bank; it's us they're betraying.
Earth is burning.

Outside our media studios, future forms
itself as cyclones, wildfires, locust swarms:
rough beasts from fiction intent on staying
here, the real and now, and they're not playing.
Earth is burning.

from The awkward geometry of a warming oblate spheroid (buy here)

 

Post deconstructionism

Poem for the week, 16 January 2023

 

 

 

 

 

Post deconstructionism

Our landscape has changed.
Spaceland, faceland, wasteland, what you will.

The users wtf and lol in the distance,
a gurning orgy of burning thesauri;
a lethal injection of terse free verse.

The others --
there's no sound of them
on this blasted derivative heath.

Meanwhile,
a thousand cottage industries
forge endless aphorisms;
embryo memes in screaming template font,

post after post after post,
gathering virtual dust on virtual walls.
Three likes.

Other poetry by this author:

Magnetic Resonance Imaging: lyrics of love and loss
Those Footsteps Behind: around the world in 50 poems

See more at http://brucemarsland.com