Poetry

Chocolate Box

And the trees take their last breath

before the mountain gets its luminous dusting for another season.

Below, the village smarts itself up

for photos

taken by every confectioner around

to be stamped on tins and boxes, ready to be discarded

without thought once the consumers have gorged themselves into stupor.

Yet when the year turns,

the people make to sweep away their sluggishness

with good deeds.

The trees reappear, breathing deep, refreshed,

and watch.

And listen.

In the distance, they spot small groups coming together

to tidy and repair.

They hope.

Poetry

Loud voices

Overhead, the tannoy begins

its daily screech

calling on the broken people

to give up their reach.

Pulling the clouds back

across the brightening sky

and drumming in orders

mimicking the buzzing of a fly.

“Bring out the ear plugs,

let’s deaden the sound!”

Someone shouts

circling the round.

At first, the response is dull,

little more than a whisper,

then the idea pops open

in their minds like a blister.

The movement surges,

a road is paved;

a future awaits where

they might all be saved.