DISPLACED

Here in Canada there's a rush to create housing for the displaced, migrants, escaping conflict and persecution, from across the world. In order to create space near to urban centres, our politicians are promoting urban sprawl, with no thought to the consequence. At risk is the loss of green space involving prime farmland, and space for nature to survive. I personally feel that there are alternatives, but I am no one, so frustrated I write....

DISPLACED

We levelled the trees,

built homes as far as the eye could see, 

but we left some green, to satisfy the need 

of those displaced, a home

for nature though woefully lacking 

it served the need for only a few.

Of course, we knew it was not enough,

to fill the need of those displaced, 

and so those now homeless

jostled for space, that serves but a few.

Species displaced wander a desert 

of structures now covering their homes, and

not welcomed, 

wander further, and further, 

from what was their home.

Some survive, 

but only to displace others, who 

faced with no choice

 are forced to wander, 

an endless migration with no end in sight.

Nature continues to try to stem the tide,

but humanity, a species, 

with no end in sight,

nature now shrinks into the night.

Species once plentiful, no longer in sight.

                         ~~~~~~~

I write, often to simply vent my frustration about world events and things happening close to home. It's not always great writing. In fact some of what I try to write is simply terrible, but the words are there, and if I choose I can come back later, and much like a sketch, or drawing, erase this or that, edit, to try to make the words appear, or sound better. As to my words being good, or bad, perhaps by some to be considered not good poetry, no matter, as for me there's really no right way, or wrong way to make art, and writing is an art, there's just my, or your, way. Writing, making art, is a very personal thing. One's art may not be good enough to survive the test of time, may never find space between the pages, but by making marks we put the idea out there, where perhaps someone else might read it and take your thought to a different level. So, if anyone is reading my gibberish, make all the art that you can, and simply enjoy the process.