A poem #98 – Call it change

Put all of the offices at the bottom of the sea
one-thousand metres or more down,
they do nothing up here but spread our darkness
they know of no consequence, no bounds.

Put all of this triteness in a canning jar
and shake it vigorously around,
break up the monotony of this endless terror
where the notes disconnect from the sound.

Put all these tired, old problems aside
cut them into their objective parts,
these serve only to distance us from each other
to drive good people of the world apart.

Put all these learnt “differences” that drift aimlessly
together so they are no longer estranged,
weave them into a beautiful, vibrant cloth
and call it change:
call it change,
call it change.

JP Collins

A poem #64 – Short-tempered

I have become increasingly short-tempered with life,
but what has caused this anguish and grief?
Is it the billions of stars above our heads,
to which most pay no heed?
Or the sickening, pathetic actions
of the extremist religious creeds?
It could be our working life,
and our incessant administrative need.
Or perhaps it is our requisite for riches,
and the impending greed.
Maybe, it’s just what we’ve done here under the stars,
damaging the earth, and the air we breathe.

JP Collins