THE WESTERN HEAVENS CRY

THE WESTERN HEAVENS CRY

Rain gently wetting all that's green and dry

Celestial notice that the heavens cry,

Ending our slow summer days in the sun,

Anguishing at what humanity's done.

Drone carried missiles exclusive of sound

Spray innocent blood on contested ground;

Guiltless targets rapt with work and play.

Comes violent death on this routine day  

Inner-city violence, selfish greed,

Wanting and getting distinct from need,

Society devoid of security,

Few children survive to maturity.

Virulent diseases ravage the earth;           

No one could dream how much water is worth;

Entire nations lack necessary food;                       

Disasters transpire as the heavens brood.

Absorbed in our privilege we ignore,

How helpless other humans are offshore.

Can't bother to think, content as we live

But their brief lives measured by what we give.

© Ron Unruh, 2014

ONE RECENT ORDINARY DAY

ONE RECENT ORDINARY DAY

No one here but us at Mud Bay today. 

With tide water out, at water’s edge
scavenging birds leave opened shells
to dry under cloudless sky with snow tipped peaks
in the distance, a train’s approach and ducks lift silently
and turn away.

From White Rock comes the Amtrak,
horn echoing in the hills through Crescent Beach,
across the bridge, around the bay, passengers’ faces
savouring delights of sparkling waters and sun bleached logs.

We sit as butterflies flit to find
flowers, blossoms, anything sweet.
Printed pages blur as sleep takes over
and no one cares. No clock to punch,
no projects to complete.
I’m done, retired six years ago,
free as these birds and bees.
Next time I’ll come with paints and take home
plein air treasures, perhaps to sell or give to friends.