The Slave’s Song

So you come into my world of convenience, let me show you
Through the hidden fingerprints of others that pay the cost
On paths that there are no apps or Google to direct you
The living underworld where you are the devil himself

I’m the slave without a ball and chain on my feet
The inconvenient truth, the ugly reality of modern life
I’m the fools gold that is treasured but has no real value
If I ask you to follow, will you dare to come with me?

So you come to my world of smart phones and laptops
A tap of a finger to bring you all human knowledge
Made with coltan from the new gold rush of Africa
A blooded gift from one seven year old to another

I’m the slave that hides in the shadows of the world
The voice that you pretend you cannot see or hear
I’m the normal in the abnormal anthrocentric world
The choir where no birds are allowed to sing freely

So you come to my world of designer clothes and bags
Where the cotton grows filled with deadly chemicals
And manufactured with fewer rights than your pet
These should not be a luxury items in anyone eyes

I’m the slave that can no longer be forgotten
The itch you now wish to scratch away to dust
I’m the awakening the blinds you more than ignorance
The worse of two evils that there is no middle ground

There’s a trail without the need for blood and wars
There’s another world that’s better for us both
It’ll take us home, out of this prison cell,
Where there’s blue sky and sun to share

So you come to my world to escape it all,
And you think you’re free from the liars and fools
Through the ease of using an app or click of a mouse
Laughing at those that you think you’re the master of

I’m the slave without a ball and chain at my feet
I’m the beggar, the looser, the cheat
So you arrive at the store to download the latest edition
Will you tap or walk away, the choice is yours

So you come to my world to escape it all,
And you think you’re free from the liars and fools
Through the ease of using an app or click of a mouse
Laughing at those that you think you’re the master of

© Fi S. J. Brown

Advertisements

An Earthly Balance

In the month of October the leaves change themselves into many colours
And all round my neighbourhood from branches they soon drop like tears
As sadly I look to the distance hills that seem to grow further away by day
Obscured by the ever growing houses and cars replacing crops in the fields

One day it felt like ten thousand leaves fell about by my head as I pondered
With a mist descending with a quickening pace Photoshopping out the hills
And a gentle breeze was replaced by an angry gust of Mother Nature’s rage
Even the birds seemed frightened of her so kept their songs to muted grey

My eyes wandered left and right as watched the destruction she caused
But my thoughts were elsewhere lost in thought of those now forever gone
A father, a friend and a great uncle too all now stars in the evening skies
Even the chaos she caused would not change the internal mess I now felt

In this constantly changing world the view from my window now tarnished
Emptiness replaced where the leaves had once sat among the song birds
But like the soldiers of Flanders Field now lying on the ground in blood red
Humans and Mother Nature fighting to keep control that each feel their own

Too many have swapped the colourful life for that of autotuned human grey
Follow blindly like a sheep that can be manipulated into doing another’s work
But now many are awakening to this each dawn with their swords ready
And on Mother Nature’s side they will fight to keep this world in balance

In the month of October the leaves change colour but life on Earth carries on
And the armies evergreen trees protect us from Jack Frost’s chilling laugh
Humans are only one of the characters in this play not the star and director
So let us let take a back seat and enjoy the show with the others not alone.

© Fi S. J. Brown

A Surprise

Hey you, please stop for just five minutes of your time is all I need,
Gently sit yourself down on that chair of brown and olive green tweed.
Slowly closing your eyes on ten for your little journey is about to begin,
See that red door open it wide and step inside to explore therein.
What can you see, hear, feel, smell and touch but where are you?
Let every sense guide on this journey to a place you many once knew.

The green of the chair has dissolved into a forest where its life began,
A place to escape a world of grey to plastic women and lying madman.
To the left is an old oak tree with branches stretched in every direction,
He is the grandfather of this world and in charge of its protection.
In a hole around the centre sits an owl of white purer than any snow,
Singing songs and telling tales far older than any human would know.

Below your feet do not kick or pick the crowd of toadstools gathered,
They are gossips and liars so always leave their questions unanswered.
Wait what is that sound like fingers down the blackboard at school?
Oh it is a grey squirrel running down the oak’s bark acting the fool!
Follow in and out the trees until you can no longer see or hear him,
As a gentle breeze catches up with you and starts tickling every limb.

Walking on into the forest a clearing stands where a two rivers meet.
Take off your socks and shoes to let their waters calm your tired feet.
The sun starts to set with a sound like a church bell tolling for mass,
Day is now almost over and before nightfall you must whistle with grass.
It brings up the red door once more to return home away from here,
Close the door as you enter and open your eyes but never forget there.

© Fi S. J. Brown

 

Written for World Poetry Day and International Day of Forests.

The Tea Song

As it is ‘World Poetry Day’ and ‘World Water Day’, what else was a teaoholic writer to do but combine them!
tea

 

Each morning I now switch on the kettle,
And look for a cup for my wake up brew.
I try to forget that look you used to give,
As you slowly sipped on your Earl Grey.

 

With eyes matching my favourite drink,
And lips sweeter than any sugar cube.
You stole my heart and my teapot too,
And wore that red tea cosy on your head.

 

You were the saucer to my old China cup,
Catching my tears and I kept you warm.
Now I feel like an used bag left in the bin,
All squeezed out, bare and flavour gone.
© Fi S. J. Brown