The world turns

The world turns

Beneath my feet

I struggle to hold on

The effort of staying upright

On a slippery slope

Is part penance

For being human

The rest is lost

In self-absorption

The felling of trees

Caused less fuss

Than a stumble

On the linoleum.

There is chaos on the screen

Smoke and blood

People scream

There is horror beyond

My reach

The frame of the window

Encapsulates a view

Of blue

A peaceful sky

As the flames rage.

If I were a betting man

I would put my money

On the remote control

Everything is but

A switch away.

Peaceful bliss

A lovers kiss

A stranger walks

On the other side

Object permanence

The dog would be confused

Lovely though it is

I wouldn’t let it on the sofa.

Ownership

Is nine-tenths of the law

Ask the dictator.

He who makes

And breaks the rules

Wins the war.

I am my own task master

With a voice

To call my own.

A woman pushes a pram

Out

From between the jaws of death

Great plumes of smoke and dirt

Pull at the hem

Of her skirt.

This is not good news

The edge of the world

Is a blur

Of shifting shapes

Subtle changes

Mean nothing

When the ground moves.

Reality is not a perception

If I close my eyes

The world revolves without me

The images remain

My refusal to see

Will change nothing

For no one

But me

And I don’t believe

In turning a blind eye.

Surveillance is part of

The price we pay

For enhanced growth

So they say.

As the trees fall

I shout timber

But nobody hears me

Above the noise

On the screen.