FELLOW TRAVELLER
Chained by traffic
I stalk a cattle truck
for five tortuous miles.
Filling a gap in slats
a calf’s eyes unnerve me,
bewildered, frightened, pleading,
the whole world reflected
in its questioning eyes.
Perhaps my stare looks sympathetic,
possibly he thinks me an ally.
Helplessly tailoring excuses
trying to shrug off the spell
cast by guessing its future,
I feel guilty as a meat eater
and for all potential beneficiaries.
We organise our lives
to make remorse seem alien
and dinner table isn’t all truth
but reads the truth in us.
The calf is ignorant
about its ultimate ending
but is hoping for safety
like I look for security
I never quite reach.
We have that in common.
It’s as though I knock
on the door of the future
facing the wrong way.
RUSSIAN OPPOSITION
When they come for you,
flourishing accusations,
identical for everybody,
they have persuasive means.
There is accommodation
where you will learn
what you have to say
facing their compulsions.
They have ways of questioning
that are not always known
and you will have the urge
to whisper for your salvation.
They can prove so easily,
but only to themselves,
that you were always
greedy for their downfall.
Your identity will be lifted,
you’ll be given a number
and face-covering hood
to flesh out their aims.
There will be no trial,
and if you should survive
to the other side of daylight,
the future will not be revealed
just like their names.
Moscow rules are rigged
for ease of elimination.
You may already have had
your last smile.
LOSING THE PLOT
The bad news trespasses
from its containment on TV
around armchairs and tables,
under a spell of its own force,
and nudges equanimity aside.
What you are left with
to carry through your day
to its natural conclusion,
when you close your eyes
and try to rest,
are images that measure concern
like a wound measures pain.
This can be translated as
the world’s tolerance and respect
has been buried so deep
you wonder who you are
when compared with the rest.
When the answer is peace
nobody in positions of power
will ask the question.
Why is this such a mystery
when everybody shares
the pain of the world.?
Life is a continuous extension,
the past determines the future.
When lessons not yet learned
touch a map, the map closes…..
Earth has too many people
and not enough human beings.
A HUNGRY PRAYER
Limbs, with skin like parchment
over bones seemingly dripping
from a wasted body,
is all too easy to explain.
The boy stammers a prayer
to the failed hand
of his dead mother.
Starvation takes no prisoners.
The distance in his eyes
is punctured with tears,
and lacking in hope,
is filled with an horizon
measured to his fate.
We’ve mislaid sorrow
that should be felt
because there’s a safety net
for our own poverty dwellers,
the rest have forged lives
that sustain them
at an acceptable level
but too much unnecessary waste
would keep those starving people
surviving and nourished.
Our throwaway excess
is the weight of help
to make all life valuable
in a land of death.
We can’t ignore
a hungry prayer.
Gordon Scapens - is widely published over many years in numerous magazines, journals, anthologies and competitions, most recently First Prize in the Brian Nisbet poetry award. He lives in Preston in the United Kingdom.
His book ‘History
Doesn’t Die’ was published in 2023.
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