Thomas Duncky Poems

Little sight and little light
That is how dungeons are day or night
Filthy little dark holes
Cave-like but with no doors
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I've heard some people do,
but do you really believe its true?
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What would i do, says some poor poet, if i wasn't writing poems?
Be some off street technician installing computer modems?
God forbid!
But this dear poetry of mine doesn't bring food on the table
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What you with crippled wit poetry call
I christen it poesy's pathetic fall
Many a budding and seasoned bard
Exhibit this fallen art with a heart so bold
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Do we fear death now?
When life has been this to us
Terrible, grievous and foul
And miserable, unfair and too much fuss
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Happy is the Malawian whose fate
No politician nor religious con dictates
Who with tireless labour his family feeds every day
And with honest trade his bills pay
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I Hear It

Like a distance wail
I hear a baby's cry so well
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So, all the slain dogs were brought here
The rest of the dogs left out on that day swam helplessly in fear
Blood shed! Mothers, sons and daughters drowning in tears
But as i behold these tombs now of the heroes we hold so dear
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Some men were born better than others
Some live much more better than their brothers
Some inherited much more wealth from their fathers
While some toiled to earn what they've so far gathered
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