In Memoriam: Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II

Like every phenomenon,
an epoch is mortal.
Today this epoch
passed away,
the second Elizabethan age
faded slowly and with majesty,
into complete history
to reside briefly
in the memory of many,
reminded of our own mortality

This shows too, that no matter
how successful and influential
you may have been, death does
not discriminate. Colour, creed,
status and wealth are not an aegis
to protect you from the swipe
of the scythe.

Death shall have its Dominion.

© David McCormack 9/ 10/ 22

Birds please keep free from avian flu
from avian flu keep free.
Please sing for world peace,
for world peace please sing.
Please chirp for the environment,
the birds,
the bees,
the trees,
and those endangered.
Chirp and sing in hope,
in hope sing and chirp.

© David McCormack 08/22

A choreography of golden leaves
conducted by the tree’s twig
in a light October breeze,
technically illuminated
by the lighting board of the sun.

Each dancer of the Folium de Ballet
switling and swooping harmoniously,
each dancer a terpsichorean classic,
pirouetting, orchestrated by a symphonic breeze.

Ballet grace profoundly soothing
at a time of accentuating anxiety.
What a great comforting experience
never to become hackneyed by repetition.

© David McCormack 10/22

Plague drove a Pandemic
high speed sports car
flat out along the world’s highways.

Famine accelerated
the all plastic Pollutant
Anti-Eco GT
War entered the contest
with the Nuclear Coupe,
a flash vehicle with a macho bang.
However, not recommended for cities.

Death drove a Consequence
Convertible Cremation Hearse,
a ground breaker

Millions on life’s motorways,
their fumes bringing permanent night
and eventual famine

© David McCormack 24/06/22

In Memoriam, 1914 – 1953

…your words pulsated in my young mind,
pulsate still in my old mind,
causing a sense of giddiness
profound as plangent metaphor,
rhythmical as stars shift
mellifluously tuned logos
synoptic tingle of recognition

Here, at your modest grave
shared with Caitlin;
my empathy became intense
with thoughts of mortality…
if a great poet can die,
what of a lesser?
Maybe dead already
from sterility of thought.

© David McCormack 09/2012