Tag Archives: Spoken Word Poetry

Listen

Listen
by Barb Day

Can you hear Mother Nature weep?
As man reaps the benefits
Of a perfect creation
The only colours left on her palette
Hues of brown and grey
The only green to be seen from an ATM machine

As acid rain drips
Drops splatter history books
Blending with the blood stains of slain species
Butchered to extinction
Discard the shark. Keep the fin
Whales dying
In the aftermath of a bloodbath

Birds’ beating wings silenced
As CEO’s wait silent in the wings
Sow concrete subdivisions to reap the profits
But their credit cards won’t repair the damage they deny
As the Reaper stands by
Overlooking horizon no longer gold with wheat
What will your gold card buy you now?
When there’s no food left to eat
Every cloud’s silver lining ripped apart at the seams
It seems immaterial what you once held in high esteem

Food flowing with poison
Rivers arteries clogged
With the cholesterol of overindulgence
Elegant waterfalls no longer cascading
And rushing downstream
Rushing, rushing like the stream of suits and briefcases
On Wall Street on Monday morning
The rivers mourning
Warning of last chances caught in the current
As continued dumping in streams
Turns rivers to sand

Preserve the ground on which you stand
See brittle twigs break off and fall
Hear the forest cry for sanctuary
Speak as chain saw scars
Through trunk already marred
Where you carved your names
Samantha loves Shane
Your only claim to fame

Weeping willow weeps
As axe falls
Severs the lifeblood
The sap a flood of teardrops flowing
Onto dry earth
Roots ripped from the dirt and bark torn like paper shredded

The bells toll the peal of impending doom
The world has blown a fuse
But still we refuse to stop the abuse
We choose not to acknowledge the smog we breathe
We bleed the planet with our greed
Strip it bare, but beware
Sand in hourglass will turn to ash

Our world on life-support
We huddle, praying for redemption, salvation
For the preservation of the slaughter of God’s creation
Clean the slate
Clean up your act before it’s too late

Wait! There’s time to plant a tiny seed of hope
Watch it grow
And lower our heads in prayer

Let your children’s children
Play in parks of green
And still see sunlight through polluted skies
Don’t bleed the planet before it dies
Don’t leave future generations victims of our crimes

See, hear, speak out!

pic by worradmu | freedigitalphotos.net

pic by worradmu | freedigitalphotos.net


Barb Day, lives in Paris, Ontario with her husband and daughter. A Writing for Publication graduate of Mohawk College, Barb’s short stories frequently appear in local publications like “Daytripping”.

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The Cat in the Hat

by Barb Day, March 2013

The Cat in the Hat
That Cat in the Hat Is a very spry guy
He can balance on a ball with a book in his hand!
And a cup on his hat!
But not everyone is as spry as a cat

Take old Mr. Jones who lives alone
Not quite ready for an old age home
He asked his wife after they wed, after the war
“Will you still love me when I’m 64?”

Now Mr. Jones is 84
Mrs. Jones has been dead fifteen years or more
And Mr. Jones’ old bones are feeling quite frail
It’s been awhile since he ventured out

But today his pension cheque is in
So he must venture out
To pick up bread and honey
With his nickels and pennies

But poor old Mr. Jones’ feet are unsteady
And that curb’s concrete is crumbling
Now Mr. Jones lies crumbling and crumpled like a tossed away crumpet

If only Mrs. Jones was here
But now he lies alone in pain and fear
Why does a walk have to be so hard for Mr. Jones
Wherever he goes?

Then there’s Elyse
Elyse had Baby One when C.J. was still around
And things were sound
But when Baby Two entered the scene
C. was no place to be seen you see
He went back to the hood

And Elyse understood
This time C. was gone for good
This morning Elyse must walk downtown
Baby needs diapers and food
Elyse is not in the best mood
Struggling with a stroller
With a two-year old in tow on the way there

But on the way back
The skies are no longer clear and it’s clear
They must take a bus
Now she juggles an umbrella and the bags from Pharma Plus
The fold-up stroller and baby on her shoulder

Those steps up to the bus are just too much
She stumbles and the bags tumble
Spilling their contents onto concrete
As she weeps

Then there’s the story of nine year old Neil
One day he can walk and run
The next a crash leaves Neil crushed in car metal
He wakes in hospital
His mother crying trying to suppress her pain
Knowing her child will never walk again
Neil will be in wheelchair

But Neil perseveres
And pursues a career
Designing buildings with improved accessibility
To make changes for people with disabilities

So planners and developers
Keep in mind your design
And municipalities keep our roads and our sidewalks maintained
And make public transportation user friendly

Because not everyone is as spry as that Cat in the Hat
Look! Look!
He can hop up and down on that ball!
But that is not all
Oh no. That is not all

No, that is not all we can do
We can do more to make the lives of 1.9 million Canadians living with disabilities
Barrier free for a complete community
Because we don’t always see and conceive
That not everyone is as spry as that Cat in the Hat

*published in Broken, Barb Day’s collection of spoken word poetry

image by Stuart Miles | freedigitalphotos.net

image by Stuart Miles | freedigitalphotos.net


Barb Day, lives in Paris, Ontario with her husband and daughter. A Writing for Publication graduate of Mohawk College, Barb’s short stories frequently appear in local publications like “Daytripping”.