Futile Preparations.

Futile preparations,
For a war that may not come,
Searching for peace still.

Chaos in the air,
Warfare looming every day,
Pray for peace to stay.

Marching to the front,
Soldiers ready for the fight,
Praying for the end.

Steve Halstead.

Island Life.

This island, surrounded by the sea,
Betraying those who call it home;
Its very existence is a reminder to thee,
That you are never truly alone.

The waves crash hard upon the shore,
A fierce reminder of the island’s might;
While the people on it struggle more,
To survive and stand up to their plight.

The island, sparkling in the sun’s light,
A beautiful façade hiding pain;
Its citizens fighting with all their might,
To be heard and seen again.

The very soil on which it stands,
Tainted by the greed of power and wealth;
People breaking, their hearts understand,
Battling for their own mental health.

This island may be paradise to some,
But to those betrayed by its own existence,
It’s a place where the moral compass is gone,
A place without any humanistic essence.

This island may betray its people,
But the people stand tall and strong;
Their voices rise up like a steeple,
Demanding human rights all day long.

I’m just wondering where all the money’s gone.

Steve Halstead.

Abuse.

A little bit too much too soon
Used to get me in trouble
I was never a wealthy man
And I got into some fights
I got busted on the music scene
Then juiced in red wine

I still don’t understand why
You have to be so understanding
You can’t do anything to stop me
You can’t fight a serious fight
You ought to hide those bruises too
Or ill get the blame again

You are ablaze with those eyes.
You can’t keep them to yourself.
Got to get it right, take it right?
Then keep quiet
You used to call me sonny Liston
In your diary, I read those notes
You didn’t say what the reason was
Bet you could use a man like me now.

Void.

I am void
No lines come from within
No sweet words
No beauty in my thoughts

I fight
Too hard perhaps
To make the words appear
I write
Short phrases
To make connections
Yet none come

I wrestle with myself
Too much
No process comes to mind
Can I tear the words
From within
Can I make them happen

I fear not
Not at present
But they will come
And pen to paper
Words shaping
On page
Then perhaps
I will achieve
And from my mind
Make poetry once more

Norman Turkington June 2021