Poetry – One Mother Many Sons

One Mother Many Sons

Sometimes I despair of what we are doing. The overpopulation continues – producing huge numbers sweeping all before it in a mad rush for space, food, water and shelter.

Mass migration, deforestation, desertification, desecration, fanaticism, desperation, slaughter of life, butchery and death. The mantra is for more growth, more expansion. The rich get richer. The poor starve in the midst of plenty. The numbers increase by the minute. A mad hurtling forward. Everyone looking after their own

Mad belief that it will all work out.

What can we do?

Get on with our lives.

While those at the top scheme and cream from their yachts and penthouse suites. And those at the bottom dream of pent-house suites and yachts. 

One Mother Many Sons

One mother in the bush

Under the sun

Holding her child

In the wild,

Her only one.

Passing down her line

To roam and redefine

The changes

Strong and true

As her family grew.

Through many threats

And chance

They came through.

A mere two hundred thousand

Years flew

As the eyes peered

And minds grew

Flint to steel

And spaceship crew

Conquering all before

In rabid mode

Into space

To explode

With a mantra of ‘mine’

And bombs to


Now seven billion on the shore

Chopping, slaying

For ever more

With nothing left

To remain

Of the wonders around

That we disdain.

Heading for ten billion

Without a care

As we settle every score

With seething brain

And madness as our pillion.

Twenty billion on a sterile ball

Of plastic joy

And concrete and steel alloy

Still heading on

Is the best we can do.

Thinking a hundred thousand

Years more

Is our due.

Yet the next fifty

May well see us through.

Adieu, Adieu…… Adieu

They’ll be nothing left

To miss you.

Opher 10.9.2015

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