War on Terra So bring on the 'planes that bring down the towers nothing's the same all's hearts and flowers while we go insane counting the hours until the game gets devoured "This is" they said "War on Terra" which fills me with dread -maybe my error but George Dubya's dead eyes stare blank as a mirror while Blair bobs his head and the Pope gently quivers And so we must ask who is bad guy and good who's Sherriff of Nottingham who's Robin Hood. When push comes to shove who's the Man in the 'hood? And when we decide who to boo who to back we will split and divide and devise and attack and be fuelled by the lies that keep us on track while the rich and their spies just laugh at our backs. We don't like the taste but we like to see blood on the screen, laying waste while we're washing down bud. How different to haste -driven trenches in mud. And those in the know say please go and shop take your part in the show or the economy will stop. And those in the know also tell us that God is running the show which I find rather odd. And the flames of the fire will fan out and burn until we get higher until we learn we have just one desire to return to our home. Until then, keep in mind it's a game don't think 'Us & Them' when we're all just the same we are born and we live eat, fuck, shit, pass away it is all ours to give or take away we choose how we live day by day beyond all this what can we say? The Way the World Ends I am staring at the secret where the water meets the sky and the horizon still believes in all the clouds that whistle by. I feel the wind that runs its fingers through the grasses, through the sky, wind that blows and glows the embers of something small to keep me high. The world is growing softer -It erodes more every day, and the rock wears into sand that melts into the sea so that all along the jagged coast the line is giving way but the tumble of the cliffs and plants is irrelevant to me. This is the way the world ends -in the corrosive tang of spray, in the actions of white horses, the only sure thing is decay while the rock becomes the sand becomes the glass becomes the pane. In the secrets of horizons we are beaten down by rain while infinite dark forces are giving birth to stars. This is the way the world ends -not with panes but broken shards. (c) 2003 Richard Strong |
Richard Strong grew up in Stratford-Upon-Avon and studied Drama & English at the University of York. Has worked as a theatre technician with the Royal Shakespeare Company and worked and travelled in South East Asia. Has had poems invarious small press magazines, and currently working on a "predictably autobiographical" first novel. |
