With threnody of global cries,
excruciating pains of war,
I worry that my self-concern
screams inappropriate to air.
And yet inside my head, confused,
lost memories, dementia hints,
entanglements of synapse threads,
diffused, every thought everywhere,
as strewn, flung, scattered, round about,
me dizzy in carousal scare.
My share, community of care,
sufficient were I dare to brave
that venture of a serving rôle
with far less fortunate than I;
so why pay heed, mind bending stress,
and not address those greater needs?
Is it a sickness I detect,
neurosis of an upper class,
some privilege of therapy
for those well fed and clothed, well set?
Though that may be, but daily face
such scatterbrain of indecise;
can I divine yet hidden source
of wellness water streaming free?
From me please take this woolly web,
those primal instincts, self-preserve,
that fog those would-be strategies
of care, share, worldwide family.
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales, UK, from ministry in the Methodist Church due to Parkinson’s Disease, has had pieces curated and published by on-line poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, including Poetry Potion. He has, like so many, been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. His blog is at https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com
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A mind, a heart, a conscience, thoughts to trouble and double one’s own burden… or maybe lift it, and enjoy adding one’s own bit kindness to the pot?
A poem that appears complex but is not at all, and like all such poetry, the are chords a plenty to strike with everyone.