Wind of Change - Environmental and Seasonal poems
Metamorphosis
Winter’s War with weeping air,
Icicles stabbed my heart to burst.
Vicious pellets of rain in my eyes,
My life drained frozen by icy thirst.
If I could draw my thoughts right then
I’d draw a swirling cloud.
A violent wind rampaging,
A storm crying out loud.
My arm a branch, my fingers, twigs,
Straining for Spring’s change.
The dozing wind just does not care
I’m trying to rearrange.
I see the smeared pastel shades,
The yellows blinding me.
But soothing blossom bed beneath –
A guiding path to be…
Pulsating sun beats in to life,
Frantically throwing out rays
Of hope and happiness to my mind,
The promise of warmer days.
The humid hand of the atmosphere
Holds and cradles my face
As the beckoning colours of Summer nature
Remind me of this world’s embrace.
If I could sketch my mind contents
I’d sketch a teasing breeze.
The sound of dying Autumn thunder
Oozing through the trees.
The wind is sweeping through my life,
Carrying a new, zesty smell.
And the glowing, golden aura around
Evokes change that all may be well.
Published in 1998 by Bishop Grosseteste University & Vayu Naidu, in ‘Writing from the Wall’
All in Black and White.
When the sun's fiery passion and flames are dimmed,
When the scarlet-orange horizon's shades are ranged,
When the colours of heat are to sleep, they're changed
To the dense eternal depth
Of the jet-black sky
And its eyes with silver sparkle
Watching down from on high.
Dwelling there within the vast wide dome
Sits the calm torch of the night.
Its soothing rays on the river top
Give the waves their milky light.
Gently lapping at the frosted bank,
Nature in harmonic talk
Beneath a sky of beautiful contrast:
The watching coal and chalk.
Peaceful breeze goes slowly by,
A caressing cool night air.
Whilst all around two simple tones
Conduct each nocturnal affair.
Hills so fresh, earth sprinkled with dew,
All's alight to the open-mind's eye,
Bathed in angelic light from above...
From the deep, dark, jet-black sky.
Written and composed in The Lake District, Lakeland Village, Newby Bridge, overlooking River Leven.
Wind of Change
Will the wind
Blow today?
If so,
Which way
Will the wind blow?
Will it blow
North?
Carrying aid on its breezy wings,
Blowing away man’s troubles?
Will it blow
West?
Whistling by without a care,
Not stopping to worry about problems?
Will it blow
South?
Bringing troubles on its gusty back,
Adding to Man’s mounting misery?
Or will it blow
East?
Silently swirling by, as if to say:
‘Man – sort your difficulties…which you let blow in.’
PUBLISHED: October 1995
PUBLISHERS: Triumph House
PUBLICATION: Christian Poets from Yorkshire.
Lands End.
Why can`t people see
The Earth`s treated wrongly?
It`s only care and love
Is from the Lord God above.
Man doesn`t seem to realise
That everything eventually dies.
Each and every single nation
Disregards God's fine creation.
Too many souls upon this Earth
Takes for granted the miracle of birth.
What must The Creator think of mankind?
Towards loving his world, we are all blind.
For the animals, man should care,
Accept the kingdom is to share.
They are not food for you and I,
They do not live so they can die.
Why are creatures just dismissed
As victims to the scientists?
Man shouldn`t resolve to cutting their throats,
Just so some humans can have nice coats.
Killing God`s work must be a disease,
Now it's spread to cutting down trees.
Aren`t the 'clever' humans at all aware,
That we need trees to breathe our air?
Maybe man is not clever at all.
Only intellectual in making trees fall.
And humans are just satisfied
That more of God`s fine trees have died.
And when we have finished with His trees,
We go on to polluting His once clean seas.
Soon there will be no water, for us to drink.
But the problem is, we don't stop to think.
For the air, diaster loomes,
That`s polluted by car fumes.
Humans just don't stop to reflect
That it`s us who`ve caused the Greenhouse Effect.
It certainly isn`t human's roles
To give the Ozone Layer its holes.
Fairly soon, there will be no time to cry,
When the Earth and its `owners` are poised to die.
Innocent people are dying at war,
Because man is greedy and just wants more.
Until we all learn to compromise
The amount of fighting will simply rise.
The human race should stick together like glue.
Not fight each other, and destroy the earth too.
God's army will kill, 'cause they think it's funny,
But all of man`s greed comes down to money.
Without it, people have little to eat,
And many are forced to live on the street.
Helpless children without food are dying,
Because the world just isn`t trying.
Living on dirty streets is bitter,
Ridiculously coated with mountains of litter.
Humans are treating the earth like a toy;
To play with for a while, then finally destroy.
What right has man killing the work of the Lord?
A costly mistake, we can ill afford.
Too many think that they are exempt,
From saving the world, making an attempt.
Life is not handed to you on a plate,
As people will realise, but much too late.
Man has shown the Earth no love or respect,
And before too long now will begin to detect
That we have commited a treacherous deed,
An unforgivable sin is that of our greed.
Good guardians of God`s earth, we`ve failed to be,
It`s too late for a resurection now...surely...
Dead Batteries.
Said one hen to another hen, "Do you much like your cage?"
Another hen replied to she, "It fills me deep with rage."
I cannot move, my feet are sore, my family have gone.
We have no ground, just this thin wire, on which to stand upon."
Said one hen to another hen, "I know just what you mean.
I'm barely fed, I feel so cramped, I'm terribly unclean.
Other hens are going mad, some try to peck at me.
I feel so ill, I feel so sad, I'm longing to be free."
Another hen replied to her, "It's possible, I think.
There's one warm place where some go, with plenty food and drink.
A wooden barn just over there, owned by those big 'Men'.
Occasionally they come and choose the odd old lucky hen."
"We don't see them for evermore, after they are carried in,
But I guess that they are happy, free from this life's din."
"The 'Man', he will be choosing soon, be quiet as a mouse,
For lucky you may be picked to be free, in their 'Slaughter House'."
Said one hen to another hen, "I'm not sure what this 'House' could be,
But it must be better than THIS, oh please let it be me!"
"I just can't stand this cage much more, each day of life I dread.
"I long to go to this 'slaughter' thing, or else I'd rather be dead..."
Silence.
Man builds a motorway.
Silence.
I like it.
Man builds a power station.
Fresh air.
I like it.
Man dumps waste.
Cleanliness.
I like it.
Man kills animals.
Kindness.
I like it.
Man is greedy.
Money.
I hate it.
Hunter and Rabbit.
Hungry Hunter in a field,
Happy Rabbit in a field.
Hunter has a gun,
Rabbit has to run.
Hunter aims at head,
Rabbit is shot dead.
Hunter with a happy face,
It`s a cruel human race.
The Life Of A Wave.
Somewhere deep on the face of the Earth
About to grow from the miracle of birth,
A spot of water begins it's first wave
Before venturing to the surface to brave
The salty rapids of the wide open sea,
To join with the others about to be
The newborn King of the ocean blue,
To ripple gently, to wild rages too.
Blessed with the heat of the great sun above,
Glided over smoothly by the snow-white dove.
To mingle with the creatures, the lodgers, the friend,
To manoeuvre slowly towards it's destined end.
Once a tall wave so high, so grand,
Now rolling towards the calling sand.
One last crash on the sandy beach
Then grasping for it's destiny within reach.
Slowly floats to it's death, a reluctant endeavour,
It's life fizzes away gently, for ever.
Unedited, this is the second poem I ever wrote, aged 10...
Still Street
Still, motionless street,
Light, wispy clouds
In an azure blue blanket of sky.
Sound is only the buzz of a bee,
Nestling in a row of multi-coloured, assorted bright flowers.
A car engine, faintly somewhere in the distance,
And a child's happy shout
Are the only things breaking the silence.
Another sound; this time a train rattles the tracks
Somewhere...
'Squawk' is the call of a seagull which flies overhead.
An aeroplane, out of sight as if invisible, cruises
through bright, sunlit clouds above me.
Wandering dog, moving silently across brown worn grass...
worn only by time.
Air cool, with only a slight fresh breeze.
Lovely silence, almost unbroken, is a pleasant part of the world
Which man CAN'T destroy.
Therefore it will go on forever...
Won't it?
For What A Word's Worth...
Take an average,
Bright, yet young and unassuming.
Listen to him scold the hills
For their dumbness.
Let him praise the city
For it's bustle.
For he who walks the gritty path of development
Hath strayed from the original road of nature.
May the mounds of moss
Outlive business and finance.
Let it be known the greatest invention
Already exists.
In all its splendour
Stands the real world of
Vast open green land
Bathed in dew,
Boasting a brilliant kaleidoscope of
Blooming buds.
Azure sky hosts the warm glowing torch
And He looks upon the luscious lime valley,
Splashed in bright colours like an infant's painting.
Content carefree breeze
Roams the land
Caressing each beauty of nature;
Every brook, every creek
Each valley, each sheep.
No insurer can price the rainbow's value,
An array of colours merged
In the sparkling waterfall.
No bank can see the gold
Glittering in the stream
As it cuts through the land,
With interest.
No business can see the place
Of nature's natural magic
Worth so much in love,
Yet priceless.
...the sheep cease their feasting, and look.
The wind halts it's canter, and looks.
All of nature watches,
As the sweet scent in the air
Is replaced by
Tarmac, lorry fumes, and bodies of sweat.
The city is moving in.
Able men in sap-stained overalls
Cutting the countryside in half
With roads and paths
And other such routes
The city is unpacking.
In defence, in retaliation,
Worried wind picks up it's pace,
Rasping red raw ears,
Biting each cold face.
Wild waterfalls and rivers
Now roar at industry's try.
Jack mingles with the ruthless mist,
Cross clouds begin to cry.
For each crack and line
In rock and stone
A facial expression is told.
His land shows anger at attempts
To modify the old.
All of nature comes alive
Each living thing to have its say.
Wind and rain now closes in
To drive machinery away.
Yet nature knows
Man's physical power
Will murder in the end.
All the beauty of Earth's natural skin
Will be destroyed beyond mend.
The World at Night.
Night Time
Light is poor
In the bedroom
I hear a snore
Stunned silence
Morning soon
crack in curtain
In peeps moon
Light grows
Silence stays
Sun comes out
In morning haze
Silence broken
Birds sing
People wake
Alarm clocks ring
Adults to work
Kids to school
Night creatures gone
Once more - humans rule
"Yellow."
I sat beneath the sun's music
On carefree, happy sand.
Sandwiched between golden blankets
Of zest-filled sky and the ground.
The gentle base of the beach beneath
With the flashing lemon above.
And I, shining in the middle -
Glowing with glory and love.
All poetry on this page is © Jonathan Fitzgerald and is the sole property of its owner.
It may not be used or reproduced without the author's expressed, written and signed permission.
All images are either personally designed or thought to be freeware.
Email: jonathan@poeticjustice.co.uk
