Poetry 10

Perhaps Guilt!

Refugees, displaced persons,

ethnic cleansed, homeless,

those, who in this world

experience death before dying;

to stir our apathetic hearts

you invade the comfort of our homes

through hi-tec images, internet-info.

Like satellite pictures

beamed from another galaxy

we gaze in disbelief.

Perhaps guilt makes us feel relieved

when the picture changes

to the latest soap

or some healthy life-style show.

How can we comprehend such pain,

such raw anguish

from the comfort of an armchair?

When the Time-Bomb Goes Off

The bike just sits there,

dust covering its lovely sheen,

puffing up the Fintry Hills

well, it’s no longer my scene.

Y’see, as a Clydeside apprentice

I proudly learnt the tradesman’s skill,

little did I know then

the price, asbestos lungs that kill.

Now I just sit here through the painful day

gasping each mouthful of air, wondering

how can I make the bastards pay.

They new it was a killer

a time-bomb in our lungs

but, because it was so quick and cheap

they firmly held their tongues.

So what, if it cost the workman’s life,

there’s always a couple of new workers

in the care of the worker’s wife.

Please try to understand my anger

as I and others bear their cost,

a slow death from asbestos lungs,

a vibrant life lost.

Anguish for family and friends,

all in the name of profit;

now that really does offend.

Our anger without direction

is a blind archer behind the bow,

we have to use our anger

to smash the status-quo.

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