Broken World

broken world –
monsoon clouds like Band-aid strips
on an ebbing sky


Alternating between banal work and the feverish dystopia of my newsfeed, it does feel, sometimes, like the world is coming apart in an insane hurry, everywhere. In the middle of war and hate and climate change and the pandemic, if there is a safe place, it seems like it is getting smaller and smaller or fading away in the fog. Meanwhile, there’s poetry, rare but still able to say that, once, there was a time, somewhere, safe enough so a poet could, for a while, put pen to paper. 

8 thoughts on “Broken World

  1. Yes, it is a dark season for humanity, all the more important for the poets among us to sing our songs and shine light out to the world reminding all that beauty still remains in the small things, love can guide us, as it has so many times before, out of the darkness.

    Your poetry is part of this much needed light.


  2. It is happening fast, isnt it, and all at once? We, being poets, still find ourselves tapping at the keys, hoping there will be a world of living beings up ahead who may yet read our words and realize we knew what was happening, but our leaders cared more about power and greed than earthly survival of the freaking planet. Grrrrrrrrr.


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