Nasturtiums
A poem by Michael Hawkes
November 11, 2021
I passed through many stages in the decades of my life,
From fickle faith through doubt to disbelief.
I endured mankind’s outrages, his suffering and strife,
Until I settled in my dotage with an overwhelming grief.
Grief for the wounded planet, for my children’s lost domain,
For all the wonders on it that will not be seen again;
For the loss of hope that abundant beauty brings,
For the loss of deep respect for life and for the sanctity of things.
I grieve the helpless role I’ve played, for my carelessness and greed,
For the loved ones left dismayed by all the signs I didn’t heed.
My grief is inconsolable, it’s the cross I have to bear,
With a soul so wrung and withered that I linger in despair.
At the same time, as though emerging from a dream
A nasturtium flashes orange from a bower of mellow green
And songbirds rarely heard or seen are chirping in the bush
While within the roar of traffic lies a tranquilizing hush.
From the heartache that I suffer there is some slight relief.
By dwelling on nasturtiums I can press the ‘pause’ on grief.
30/09/21 – Hawkes
Feature image: StockPholio.com
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[/col][col size=”10″]Michael Hawkes is an 80-year-old survivor of all the world’s wars. He learned (and loved to rhyme) by torturing the hymns he had to sing at school. A retired West Coast fisherman living in Montreal since 2013, he is an unschooled Grandpa Moses writing an average of five poems every week.
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