! A Plea Poem by Bob Blackwell

What good has the world done today,
what deeds that make it now a better place?
Very little do I feel.
My land, should be our land, for all to share.
Seldom words describe a fair division
Of the wares from land on earth.

Together we should strive
to have a better life, for all men,
all creatures great and small.
Please see the beauty,
not the stain upon the land.

Why must we rush about to make a buck,
to drill for oil and gas and such?
Go underground to hunt for gold.
Greed for oil makes big mistake,
its mine not yours to use for fuel!
Make war so cruel, so wrong,
so greedy to want it all for us.

Why can’t we just sit down,
and wait to see the beauty of it all.
To sit by sea, watch waves,
wash sand upon the shore,
pebbles damp that glint and shine,
so quiet in the sand.

No! Underneath is where we want to go,
to dark places, that have no beauty,
no sun for us to see.
No sense, just blackness,
and maybe just a glint of gold.
Sad, it is this mind of ours
that tells us not to share.

Wicked too this mind
that cannot see,
a hungry child,
that cannot help,
a troubled land.

We are so small upon the earth,
yet feel we own it all, for us.
Treasury this world of ours of plants and trees,
flowers that bloom, fruit that feeds,
and grass so green,
insects small we cannot see,
mountains high and seas so blue.
Who knows, who does know what this is all about, so
Why think to sort it out?

Nature comes naturally, caring for itself in turn.
Seasons come seasons go,
weather changes all the time.
Hot, then cold, next rain, then drought,
now storm, and then a hurricane.
Everything brown and falls to ground.
Spring returns and paints it green.
So light the green that slowly darkens.
So beautiful to watch things grow.
So; why does war go on and on?

In this diverse and magic world,
we love to see the contrasts of,
seas, mountains, deserts, fields, and plains.
They transform, and change with the seasons,
as they come and go.
From pole to pole and east to west,
the changes that illuminate and feed.
Seeds become trees, so big and tall,
their wood burnt, keeps us warm.
Blossoms change to fruit that feeds.
Grasses green, turn golden brown,
seeds then ground to make our bread.

Of this I’m sure, there must become,
another scene, a picture or a vision
to motivate, a sense of love,
not hurt, between the peoples of this earth.
A philosophy that says, we love our contrasts,
shades, beliefs, and different colours.
We tolerate and share; not separate, and keep,
to discriminate against our fellow man.
Then this world becomes our world
for us all to love, and share.

7 March 2006
17 October 2006 edited and revised.