Uncertain Skies

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Hazy skies hang in a very still air.
Is it smoke and dust fabricating mud
To spread in thin rags and sloppy spots,

Or just the Med throwing her love in the air,
A little drop of kindness for burnt grass
And dried flowers beat by winds at war?

When the Sirocco carries sand,
Does it not also drag fear and pain,
Unseen shadows of engines
That move mountains and cross howling seas?

Are  cold, harsh, northern winds whipping us
With the last breaths of polar bears,
Of desolate lands, of displaced people
Holding their shame with gritted teeth?

Rapacious greed slaughters us all
Before our bowl of gruel.

PHOTOGRAPH BY PAUL SOUDERS, CORBIS

 PHOTOGRAPH BY PAUL SOUDERS, CORBIS http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2014/03/140331

About emmylgant

Cloud watcher and dreamer sometimes wise, often foolish, but I am what I am.
This entry was posted in Life, Pandora's box, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

15 Responses to Uncertain Skies

  1. Heartafire says:

    great poetry, I love the pics, the contrast in the very cold and tropical atmosphere.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. ceayr says:

    Your imagery is as inspiring as always, Em.
    Those ‘cold, harsh, northern winds’ remind some of us ‘displaced people’ of grim reality, too soon to be faced.
    Don’t stop writing.

    Liked by 1 person

    • emmylgant says:

      Thank you. Writing is a way to cope when nothing or no one listens or speaks with understanding; when reality has no name but uncertainty and the soul–my soul–desperately seeks to prepare, lest it should give up believing that the sun always rises.
      Poetry is images looking for your heart to kiss lightly.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. john zande says:

    Please, please, please send some of that rain our way. We haven’t had a drop for 8 weeks now!

    Like

  4. Hyperion says:

    I think this time I’m going to see if I can say something without my usual open mouth bulgy eyed hyperbole. Here goes. . . Sorry. Failed. Loved it Em. Big ole buncha loved it. “Rapacious greed slaughters us all before our bowl of gruel.” I can’t even begin to hyperbolize enough on the images this brought to mind. What an ending! Did I mention how much I loved this one?

    Like

  5. PapaBear says:

    “the last breaths of polar bears” Ah, Emm, your verbal imagery is breathtaking. 🙂 And, thanks for reminding me of the wind – Sirocco. It stirs memories of others I have known, like the Chinook, the Sundowner, the Foehn, and the Santa Anna/Diablo. In another life these were part of my professional vocabulary. If you deal with national and world weather you have to know them. In addition to these there must be at least 20 or 30 more names of local winds.
    I loved the poem. ………………………..Hugs !

    Liked by 1 person

    • emmylgant says:

      Thank you my dear Paul. I am fairly ignorant of winds that I have not met, I must say. But it it makes perfect sense that recurring winds that affect people come to have a name.
      I am glad you liked the poem in spite of its bleakness. and that you took the time to say so. Hugs back!

      Like

  6. Katalina4 says:

    Amazing.
    Beautiful, dark perfection.

    Liked by 1 person

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