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 http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2014/03/140331
unbuttoned or undone 
great poetry, I love the pics, the contrast in the very cold and tropical atmosphere.
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Thank you Miss H. Glad to see you here and I much appreciate your input. Smiles
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Grim, em.
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These are grim times, rjb. I can’t fake happy.
Huge hugs.
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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.
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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.
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Please, please, please send some of that rain our way. We haven’t had a drop for 8 weeks now!
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My daughter in Florida tells me it has rained non stop…
Here we have some clouds, wind nearly everyday but no rain.
How about a rain dance? Or prayers to rain gods? 😉
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All our prayers are going to gods who might, just might, make sure no one dies during the Olympics. I hope they’re answered.
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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?
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😊 I’ll confess that I knew I had a winner with that last line!
And you so got me with ‘big ole buncha loved it’. A snoopy dance is in order. Thank you so much for your hyperbolic enthusiasm.
Huggss.
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Yes indeedy, HUGZ and Snoopy dances are the stuff of life. 😀
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“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 !
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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!
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Amazing.
Beautiful, dark perfection.
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