PLUMA Featured Poems: “Wil of Arabia” / “In Kuietterland”

poem away home

 

Wil of Arabia

by Wilfred Waters

 

The hot, sandy sun beats

The ground like an angry giant

Belting a toy drum

 

A year’s seasons

Are four brands of punishment

Than a turn of light,

Colour, sound, leaves

 

This is the desert

The streets exist for sweepers

Past them we speed

Away down the 30 like a bushfire up a

Slope of crackling gumtrees on a hot day in Australia

 

This is a land filled

With story tellers

Of carpet sellers

Who refer to their rugs as babies

Refusing sale to a bad home

 

Who are so genuine

So filled with non commercial

Uncool love

They will tell you a story

For half an hour after the sale

Which took 2 hours of other stories to get to

For their pleasure in your company

 

Capitalism can be done right.

 

This is one of the world’s gas stations

Ships snake across the globe

Stopping off at the North and South Piers

On a journey of replenishment

So Americans can do their road trips

Greeks can ride their ferries

Australians their mining trucks

And so Malaysians can fly

 

So we can all live this modern life of

Total

Annihilation of the ancient challenges of survival

 

This oh so satisfying existence want of want

Where the Arabia I know

Is no sweat in summer for the aircon

The twist of a throttle

Offers 50 times walking pace

Where a 1000 mile boat trip

Is no pain for the diesel slurping

House sized monster of torque

Churning a blade of metal

Unstoppable by the most persistent of Pacific doldrums

 

Where food tumbles in abundance

Not from branches but shelves

Oblivious to the fashion of the sun or rain

In places called

Super

Markets

 

We have won

We have beaten the weather

The earth itself

Is our thing

We are not Locke’s fearful beggars

Stumbling through a Nature

Whose primary response is to try to kill us

Our lives are not solitary

Nasty

Poor, brutish or short

 

Thanks to oil

Thanks to Arabia

The life of a King the poorest of us lead

 

Except

The 1000 construction workers

Dead

So far

In creating Qatar’s world cup fantasy

 

They are the poorest of us

Their lives

Are nasty

Brutish

Short

 

But should we let them suffer in solitude?

Heart attacks due to

Overwork in the height of summer

Without airconditioning?

 

A life of struggle as though the

Benefits of oil never found them,

When it lays all around them?

 

What does Wil do in Arabia?

What will you do in Arabia?

Live like a king.

 

More at Gisnoborders

 

 

oOo

 

 

In Kuietterland

by Armineonila M.

 

Only crazy feet come to Kuietterland

Only crazy wilting puppies licking seats

The mammals sink under their feet

sing the sole bunny beat

for suckerland

then smell the stench of trickery

in muzzled symmetry…

 

Oh, poor puppies

envy the falcons’ helipads

and hypochondriac horses

sing the sole bunny beat:

 

“Lick the dishes,

lick the floor,

use your head

to shut the door!

La-la…la-la-la…”

 

Only one way route to Kuietterland

Only throttled barking lasts

Lift the mob with poor dead puppies

Kuietterland pays cold burnt bars.

 

More at Muse in Briefs 

 

 

 

oOo

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