Storm Clouds Over Africa


Storm clouds over Africa,
Dark, grey, green,
Jealousies of others lives,
Places been and seen.

Looking out then looking in,
Find a better day?
If we could only get control,
Yes, enforce our way.

And so we kill and maim and fight,
Power to be first,
Keep on taking, taking,
How to quench the thirst?

Each, in our own
Perspective of the world,
Look around, believe
Another’s more impearled.

Yet what is ours is ours alone
A benefit of light
And taken with us when we leave
Prepares us for the fight

© Copyright September 2014 – Robin McShane
All rights reserved as per this blogs copyright statement



T’was Sunday morning on the farm,
The cows had all been milked,
The pigs lay softly snorting,
The fences all rebuilt.

Chickens were a-clucking,
Dogs barking away,
Rain had started falling,
On this quiet, special day.

The breakfast table groaned
With a hearty meal to come,
Coffee sat a-brewing
As the farmer thought him done.

But dark clouds now came rolling in,
Threatening their stay,
The painter’s brush so wide and cruel
Would paint them all away.

The brush it swung so fast and true,
For the painter another role,
And the farmer and his merry bunch
Thought that they were in control.

How sad to think we live our lives
In the illusion that they’re real,
Until another comes along
And all the skins unpeel.

Our canvass fades before us,
What we thought was ours for keeps,
Then simply disappears,
Into the ether seeps.

© Copyright March 2014 Rob McShane
All rights reserved