All Cry the Silent Noble Boulders

All cry the silent noble boulders,

Cry for a people all gone mad.

Where peace and love should solely reign,

You watch fear and violence spread and stain.

You’ve watched as laws of the land are made,

In this stunning city by the sea.

These laws are their safety net and their protection,

Should their leaders ever fall to powers corruption.

Now, having borne witness to the marvel of evolution,

The slow steady rise of humanity with its potential,

You now watch them descending into anarchy;

Because greed and fear is stronger than empathy.

How can they not realise that destitution drives crime?

How can people not realise that taking a life cannot improve their own?

How can one man glory in his wealth while ignoring another's suffering?

How can leaders put profits before their people's well-being?

So, pray your thanks to the howling wind and rain,

Which scours your surface and lessens your majesty.

For the faster the elements erode your greatness,

The less of this abomination you'll have to witness.

Here in Africa our story is one of continued struggle.

Having won the struggle against hate and prejudice,

Can we not work together for the betterment of everybody?

Knowing that only if all are happy, only then can we be happy.

I began writing this poem in June 2010 and it is probably my favourite of all I've written so far, but not necessarily the best, a strange combination. As such it was a really tough process to put it up and I'm sure I'll come back and edit it at some stage. (as I've just done 31/05/12 haha)

It grew out of one line that was going around in my head, "All cry the silent noble boulders," which I got somewhere from way back. But it became more than that, it fed into my anger at the way my homeland South Africa seems to be going and my thinking around why.

As such the 'noble boulders' the poem speaks of are those on Table Mountain and the hills around Cape Town that look down on the "stunning city by the sea".

What are your thoughts about both the subject and the poem?

A great photo taken from the sea fort showing just how the 'silent noble boulders' look down on the city.


Comments from the first posting:

1. Dana Dampier19 April 2012 10:42

   I could feel your emotion and how important South Africa is to you. I'm not aware of the issues there, but you made me care.

   
   
2. DQPoetry19 April 2012 19:53

   Thanks a lot for that comment Dana, it means a lot!
   
   South Africa is a beautiful, interesting country with wonderful people but it is facing a lot of issues.
   
   It would be great to get people thinking through poetry!

   
   
3. Dana Dampier23 April 2012 14:07

   I believe that is what poetry is all about... to get the mind of others rolling through our words!

The story of stuff (Christmas reflections)

Do they ever wonder,

Those poor Chinese,

Where their goods go,

And who they please?

While we turn a blind eye,
And  buy all that's cheap.
 But how can we justify it,
And our humanity still keep?

But how can you change,
 A system built on greed,
With desperate workers,
who have families to feed?

You can buy locally made,
Or Fairtrade goods.
But this won't change the system,
We're not out of the woods.

All that's left,
Is to use your Voice,
And help others to see,
That we have a choice.

This isn't the only way,
That it can be,
We can have a world,
Where all are free.

I had thought of them years earlier, but originally wrote just the opening stanza as my Christmas poem for 2011, while I was thinking about where the gifts we received had come from.

I'm re-posting it now for the http://dVersePoets.com poetics prompt 'buttons', as one of the stereotypical products that come from sweatshops across Asia is obviously clothes.

For the dVerse Poets who read this post I encourage those of you, who haven't already, to slick on the 'Social Justice' tag and read some of my other poems on similar subjects

I would be interested to know what you think!

25/12/2011

This question came to me while thinking about sweatshops a few years back; it seemed apt to think about it again just after Christmas.

If you want to know more or how you can help the fight against abusive sweatshops (those which pay virtually nothing to workers in dangerous conditions) check out the UK organisation No Sweat's website: http://www.nosweat.org.uk/  

Post-Christmas micro poem:

Back after Christmas/My pen working again//Only question is/Did hols muddle my brain?// (Hope u all had a good break!)

Why work?

They say that work defines you,

But is that ok by you?

It wasn't ok by me,

Until I thought, maybe it should be.

Buddhists see work as an outlet,

For creativity, innovation, effort.

A rewarding experience that makes life,

Whole, allows you to keep a family and wife.

They say 'If you do a job you love,

You'll never work another day'.

But could this true I wondered?

As all around me advertising thundered.

'You need to work to be able to consume!'

The latest car, house or experience,

An iPod, iPhone, iPad, it all,

But what if, I, don't want to?

What if I want to work not for money,

But for the love of using my skills.

I don't work to kill, myself or others,

I work to bring life, end strife, help mothers.

Everyday I'm blessed to wake,

Because I'm inspired to go to work.

I'm inspired to inspire, and light a fire,

And never work another day, until I retire.

I wrote this poem for the dVerse Poets pub poetics challenge or writing a poem around the theme of work (as you may have guessed!)

I made a decision a number of years ago to never work for money, but rather to always work for something I love and believe in. This has led to work for a number of not-for-profits, environmental/sustainability organisations and now the child focused humanitarian organisation World Vision.

I love it.

I often arrive at work and suddenly think about how lucky I am to be paid to do what I love, and to help others at the same time, whether (hopefully) inspiring youth in New Zealand to be all that they can be, or raising money for our community development work in the Third World.

This poem is written as a spoken word piece so read it out loud and please let me know what you think!

What does it mean to be a child?

 School children enjoying their uniforms in Tanzania,

Photo © World Vision New Zealand 2012

Every child living life in all its fullness,
But what does that even mean?
A child in all their usefulness,
Living in a world that's healthy and green?

Or maybe it refers to their belly,
And the fact some look so lean,

But we can't blame the parents really,

When the rain just hasn't been.

Because just as importantly,

This is one we can achieve.

We can see a world that's hungerfree,

If we only work and believe.

Perhaps it's also about education,

To help them rise above?

Could this be the key to their emancipation,

And help them to fly like a dove?

What about those held in servitude,

How can we help their cause?

We can draw attention to their multitude,

And work to end all wars.

But really the key to the phrase,

Is a child must be a child,

Able to grow through that phase,

Running and playing and wild.

I finished this piece for the dVerse Poets pub weekly poetics challenge where you are given a key word, phrase or idea and encouraged to write a piece.

The challenge this week was to celebrate Maurice Sendaks life - the author of children's book 'Where the Wild Things Are' - and because I work for World Vision, an international humanitarian organisation that focuses on children, I decided to look at our mission statement and see what it means for the life of a child.

It goes: "Our will for every child: life in all its fullness. Our prayer for every heart: the will to make it so."

I know this only loosely relates to the topic but as Maurice Sendak was someone who obviously cared a lot about children I think he'll understand ;-)

Any comments really appreciated!

I Fear

We are the masters of our universe,

And, having conquered all we care for of the terrestrial world,

Our gaze has turned aquatic.

Armed with our life saving breathing apparatus,

And curiosity coupled with greed,

We sink deeper into the clear depths,

Not stopping to look behind,

And realise that everything we have discovered,

We have destroyed.

As with the world above,

We are leaving our mark on the world below,

Bleached corals, small numbers of fish, missing turtles and sharks.

We are now destroying the sea,

The only benefit beneath the ocean,

Is most marine life has not yet learned to fear us.

I wrote this poem while diving in beautiful Papua New Guinea (PNG) in 2010, where my brother took these photos. It was the most beautiful and untouched place I have ever dived but, even there, there are some signs of what humanities actions have meant for the reefs and marine life.

This reminded me of places like Indonesia where, although beautiful, the damage is shocking in some places. 

We have destroyed so much of the world and I worry that now we are moving on the oceans.

What do you think?

Self sacrifice

 
He struggles on, lost, disorientated, alone,

The water tugs at his heels, slowing him.

But his lonely death is already assured,

To his kind separation is death.

An adventurer or a loner, lost and forgotten,

Sacrificed to the nests constant need for nourishment.

No poems will be written to his passing,

No statues erected in his memory.

For in a society that cares only about the survival of the whole,

The death of one means nothing.

I wrote this poem after finding an ant struggling to get out of a basin with the water droplets slowing it. I helped it out, at the same time realising the futility of doing so, because apparently once separated from the scent trails made by others in their nest, ants are sure to die. It seemed callous that this was fine as long as the hive survived. 

Then I wondered, are our societies the same in regards to our opinions relating to war or social justice issues like homelessness, health care, drug addiction, and economic competition?

Your thoughts?

There’s no Christmas on Xmas Island (Welcome to Aus)

If your land was shattered by famine or war,

You’d grab your family and head for the door.

You'd have to travel through places no better than home,

Over the whole world be willin to roam.

Drinking only hope and eating your dreams,

You’d do anything with peace as your theme.

With no other options for life as you please,

You’d pay a captain and take to high seas,

Headed for a real Shangri-La, a land free and fair,

Through dangers untold, you’d swallow your fear.

You see, many have done this, they’re the real deal,

Now you know all this, so how do you feel?

Cause they came all this way only to find,

There’s no Christmas on Christmas Island,

And  these kind foreigners are not all so kind,

This isn’t the paradise they were hoping to find.

Seen as the same, they’re hated and despised.

We spit out there name before they’ve even arrived.

Most boat people are legit, but not in our eyes,

Yet no-one’s talking of the hordes from the skies.

We discuss ways to deal with the curse’d boat people,

While shouting messages of love come from every church steeple.

What ever happened to “do unto others”,

Seems our ex-PM’s love only stretched to mothers.

Take a long hard stare in your looking glass,

Cause from where I sit this ain’t the green grass.

I wrote this poem while studying in Australia. I was appalled to hear about refugees being held on Christmas Island (a tiny island in the middle of the ocean between Australia and Indonesia), sometimes for years, while their applications were processed. Many of these refugees were the hated boat-people, who at the time were fleeing from the conflict in Sri Lanka or Afghanistan on rickity boats. 

It seems an apt time to publish the poem coming up to yet another Christmas where there will be no Christmas on Christmas Island for the refugees held there.

Yes it is a big problem but they can at least be treated like people who have already suffered enough.

What do you think about this case, or they way refugees are treated?

Photo of detention centre from safecom.org.au

Photo of burnt out buildings from The Australian 

Micro Poem:
Christmas comes with clanging bells/ calling in the night// but Christmas cheer not all can claim/ with calamity clinging on their characters