The Peak Oil Poet

i saw God sitting on a log
down by the river clean
smiling out towards the dawn
at secrets there unseen
...

when all of what we are today
is dim dim distant past
a racial memory mostly myth
known to the shaman caste
...

come to me oh Irish and do what you do well
i've hunger for your amber ways and with you i would dwell
i've many reasons good and bad with you to share some time
and you have never let me down but that's true of your kind
...

i seek a refuge of the mind
a haven of the soul
that place where standing i can rest
or sit in peace
...

the Bible tells us not to steal
it’s there in black and white
our laws are based upon it too
do not do wrong - do right
...

I've heard about the oil peak - depletion of reserves
and doomers claiming that we're screwed is getting on my nerves
and prices going ever up no matter what the cost
but the real problem seems to be peak-people
...

i'll tell you first i'm not a Jew
a Muslim? No, i'm not that too
i'm not a Christian that's for sure
a Buddhist? No, not any more
...

to see the world in 'Black and White'
ah ignorance is bliss
you're good or you are evil
no middle ground in this
...

the sun in blazing fire torments the drying land
the mountains shrunk in glare seem far away
i wander without reason about a shadowy stand
for what is in my mind i can not say
...

We squabble for the pennies of the poor
our towers of glass and steel?
cathedrals - nothing more
our hymns? - commercial jingles
...

Gods gift: our soul, peeks out sometimes
when poets fall in love
for every cell of being cries
the praise of God above
...

the gentle murmur of the voices
a sudden joyous laugh
and over here a rising enthusiasm swamps
for a time
...

I sit
my universe a cloud about my head like an unseen halo
shrunk
as the universes of those that sit, distant eyed
...

a pile of rags centred on the path
the crowd parting to avoid
the out-thrust dirty paper cup
clutched in a barely human hand
...

long time ago a simple soul was lost unto this world
abandoning all dreams and goals and caring not at all
and as the years unfolded and darkness settled in
this small and hidden soul was sheltered - hiding deep within
...

She can't have been more than seven
an 'almost' accordion
tunelessly, noisily but not loud
clutched in her little hands
...