Saturday, 30 January 2021

One Poem by Margaret Kiernan


Voice for the Wolf-



Desolation, measured odds of

wind cries through ravines,

Spring floods gain impetus,

to the oratories of Eco banter

with Hedge funds.


Hunted fleece, since long-ago

when men got me put down, as

survival odds I estimated, now

rising heat and melted floes

leave no consent.


Going higher to the roof of abode

I contemplate centuries of

extinction, it runs back to now,

survive to fail is not my call,

fur traders have gone home to their Gods

yet, the axe persists.


Whooshing eagles fly up the mountain

almost wavering in their flight

like, weary commuters going home ,

their feathered wings carry

above the wrung-out sedition

of governments out of sync’

with natures choirs,

soaring sweetly.

Emerging writer. Poet at Over the Edge, Galway. Published on-line and Literary journals. Pendemic. Blue Nib, Lit.Mag. Journal. Honest Ulster etc.


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