Poem in Autumn: NeverLand of Now

17 October 2015

For Frank Bowman


Decline of civilization imaged in fall of fig leaves

Perchance its endgame in my garden of delights

The fruit too small to eat, but no biblical intent

And beauty yes, in annual riot of growth and colour


As Syria tumbles down and her human offspring

Scatter in an epic exodus, bearing ancient seeds

To plant a global orchard, two million Steve Jobs

On a great meandering, the world can only wonder


Yes! Yes! Crieth Carlyle from The Grave

As little england wriggles away from memories

Of last war’s refugees, from its own

Wandering Jewish tendrils winding round


The centre of the Being we call Britain


Enough! Enough! Whispers Carlyle’s feisty Wif

Enough? The world weeps

Mediterranean tears, our screens dim

With salt, sweat, the blood. Enough.


More Than Enough until we wake

To see ourselves as one species

With One Work to do, shall we survive,

Embrace the Unwanted, Victory for All


We are better than we know

We arrived here with altruism in our bones

This is The Time Foretold, the NeverLand of Now,

When Aslan roars out of his cage, the angels sing


It is not Jerusalem to build, it is but Earth


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