Poems for peace 2017

Looking West

They come from all quarters.
Money, age, status. . . . . . . . those things don’t matter When they stand in tatters. Belongings gone – no home or country to call their own. It’s a danger zone, a world of death they left. They won’t hold their breath when there’s talk of help on offer. They’ve suffered night and day and Learned not to trust what people say. First: the flight from their village or town. People shot down from behind while running for their lives. Then……………………………………..they reach the camp. Here, they find a refuge after countless days of travel. They felt their lives unravel as boats threw out their young. No jacket or ropes could save them from this destiny. The sea just swallowed up those broken boats, not fit for human cargo. How much further could they go without losing their possessions or their minds? They’d heard that in the West, the people were kind. And here in the “Jungle” the travelling is over. They’ve reached the final stage. This town where young and old have found a common ground. All equal in this place of mud and shattered lives. Money, age, status. . . . . . . . . those things don’t matter. These refugees still waiting night and day. Watching changing tides and hoping, hoping still for better lives.
  C P. McKinnon- Lower October 16

Nagasaki

As water flows down river bed

from sacred mountain high

and dew begin to glisten

beneath a morning sky

we hear the sounds of silence

as all life fades away:

It cannot stop to linger,

obliged itself to stay.

like drifting smoke it passes

in wisps of pleasant dreams

yet some have only lived

a lesser time it seems.

Like moths about the flame

their stories won't be told;

without a life or name

they're never growing old.

They've been and gone without a trace

in Nagasaki's resting place.


 Geraldine Cowan August 2016(Gabriola)