Poetry 1

The Rebel

Rebel rebel break the rule,

What does it matter that a “wise” man sees a fool.

Not for you the herd’s dull beat

Making tomorrow, yesterday’s repeat,

Living out the life of a clone

Marching with the crowd but always alone.

Shaping your life from some dusty tome

Playing it safe, staying at home.

Rebel rebel break the rule

Swim in the sea, never the pool.

Live your emotions, feel the surge

Follow your dreams, chase the urge.

Make life though short, an exciting game

Not a mad march for fortune or fame.

Capture the moment, live it now

Being alive your only vow.

Rebel rebel break the rule

In the end, you’re humanity’s jewel.

Shared Humanity

To have the courage of a shared humanity

The humbleness of a beggars need,

Say the things our heart can feel

So doing, nurture compassion’s seed.

See the others bleeding wound

Hear their silent pain,

Bestow on them your Golden Fleece

No hesitance, no thought of gain.

Walk life’s rugged twisting path

Offering each traveller your hand,

Sense the warmth return ten fold

Humanity covering the land.

Grand Plans

In this world where we serve oblivion

with a blind pride and sure conviction

creating plans to land a man on Mars

grandiose schemes to conquer the stars

eyes on horizons ever further afield

believing, to us the universe will yield.

Yet here on Earth we fail to see

a chaotic world of human debris,

our magnificent results thus far

a planet dying from a human scar,

oblivious that our plans sublime

are mere litter scattered in space and time.


No, I shall not die for the fluttering flag,

if truth be known, ’tis nothing but a multi-coloured rag

held aloft by some foolish hand

inciting worker and peasant to kill

on some green and wooded hill,

peasant and worker from some other land.

Nor shall I shed blood for the fluttering rag

that brings out fools to stand and brag

of brutal deeds painted grand,

deeds where rustic and craftsman lie so still

killed by my brothers' misguided hand.

No allegiance have I for the Nation

this man made autocratic creation

that divides my brothers in a world so small,

binds us to a country's cause, right or wrong,

bids us follow its drum, sing its song,

then sheds our blood in some border brawl.

No, I'll be no slave to flag or nation,

have no ear for power oration,

though its iron heel is on my breast,

my back feels its leather thong,

at patriotism's barracoon, I'll be no guest.

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