A most convenient door
My dry, disgusted hands
The hammer of switches
My tongue, keyed to riot
One poor correspondent
Do tell, do tell
Lucy, must I see these wounds?
Cecilia, must I sing my qualms?
Hunkered down in the soil of solid dreams
Riding the shirttails of too many men made mad
I chart our dismal progress
Blood streaming from our maps
Above a remote and alien world
The innocent die but not as well
The Poet Community is completely reader supported, please help me keep it going.
Have you read Guy Farmer's social justice poetry book now available on Amazon?
Read poems by Guy Farmer on this site.