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.
THOUGHT PURGE 
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.
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Thank you Tio… that was much needed positivity. Much appreciated.
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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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True, and not just climate change, though that seems most ominous. Scary indeed.
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This one feels like it came from deep inside of me. Thank you….
Elizabeth
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Thanks Elizabeth. Hope you are well and safe.
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Monsoon s bandage! The broken world has turned upside down!
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Indeed, it has! Been hectic and I don’t come to this blog often, but always good to catch up and read your poems, Susan.
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