Big Triku ‘Us’

We are

                                               lost.

Found.

                  Free.

Full.

s   a   i   s
 w  w  n   t
  e    a         o
    p    y          r
     t                    m
                               s.

                                               Lost.

Washed up

      in the lee.

~

We freeze

      as sheer

            translucent

waves,

      pounding down,

            atomised,

                  clothing

savage rocks in

      seething

            white.

~

We

      matter.

~

Let’s

      fill

our

      hearts

and

      face

the

      future

            walking

      hand

in

      hand.

~ ~

Note: this poem is a spin off concept from the poem ‘Who Matters?’ (Menu, Poems, Who Matters?)

(Also see Menu, Poetic Adventures, ‘Who Matters?’: An Adventure Exploring Poetic Technique)

‘Pride’ (Haiku and Big Triku)

Haiku ‘Pride’

The pride is scattered,

limping, dry season ahead.

Rain clouds will return.

Big Triku ‘Pride’

The pride has scattered

far, shattered, limping. Thirsty.

Dry season ahead.

~

Flies, dust, wet infected wounds,

pathetic hunger and fear. Sudden

new strength from desperation.

~

Resplendent female,

hot sun, purple storms. Eyes watch

her only future.

Our World

Imagine if we owned our world,

the air that flows to every place,

the turquoise ice upon a mountain,

and all of Nature‘s grace unfurled,

and we, a single human race.

~

Winter snowflakes flurry from the blue,

and settle softly on the morphing land.

The burning sun unveiled, and what a view,

a fresh new world laid out by Nature’s hand.

But then I draw a finger through the snow,

and so can see the pristine white below,

the surface tarnished by Pollution’s stains.

My eyes sting, face tightens, heart pains.

We know we must step up and take the reins

from Dinosaurs with diesel in their veins.

~

We need to close our eyes and dream

and see a future world to be,

for if you love a dream, and others

share it too, you’ll have a team

to help the acorn grow a tree.

~

A helicopter seed, so slowly sinking,

sliding sideways in the scented breeze,

over waving virent foliage, crinkling

water shrouding mirrored lichened trees.

Now wondering out across a leafy pavement,

drawn toward a swarming crowd of cyclists,

gliding forward, dragging wind along.

Flowers. Fresh air. London’s future song.

~

This world is ours, has always been,

though sometimes this can pass unseen,

we helplessly accept our fate,

or realise our choice to make,

just think how it would feel to see

our dreams become reality.