Stress

 

Stress is a killer, It can take your breath away. It can make you feel like you're drowning, And there's no way out.

But there is a way out, You just have to find it. You have to find something that makes you happy, Something that takes your mind off of your troubles.

It could be anything, It could be a hobby, It could be spending time with loved ones, Or it could just be taking a walk in nature.

Whatever it is, Find it and hold on to it. Let it be your escape from stress, And let it help you find peace.

Stress is a part of life, But it doesn't have to control you. You can control it, If you just find the right way to deal with it.

-cocoatea.poetry

Montage - Mervyn Morris

 

England, autumn, dusk –  

so different from the quarter-hour 

at home when darkness drops: 

there’s no flamboyant fireball 

laughing a promise to return; 

only a muted, lingering farewell, 

and day has passed to evening.

I been there, sort of: New and Selected Poems – Mervyn Morris  

The Sleeping Serengeti

 

The serengeti sleeps

harmony between predator and prey

except for the night prowlers, maw open

tip toeing through darkness

unseen, unheard, unknown

by the sleeping serengeti

-cocoatea.poetry

10.2.25

Cane Gang - Olive Senior

 

Torn from the vine from another world 

to tame the wildness of the juice, assigned 

with bill and hoe to field or factory, chained 

by the voracious hunger of the cane 

the world’s rapacious appetite for sweetness 

How place names of my servitude mock me: 

Eden, Golden Vale, Friendship, Green Valley, 

Hermitage, Lethe, Retreat, Retirement, Content, 

Paradise, Phoenix, Hope, Prospect, Providence 

Each with the Great House squatting 

on the highest eminence 

the Sugar Works overlooking 

my master’s eye unyielding 

the overseer unblinking 

not seeing the black specks 

floating across 

their finely-crafted 

landscape 

At shell blow assembled the broken-down

bodies, the job-lots scrambled into gangs

like beads on a string O not pearls no just  

unmatched pairings the random bindings 

like cane trash no not like the cane pieces

laid out geometric and given names

and burning. 

http://www.sentinelpoetry.org.uk/0106/olive_senior.htm