The Desert We were flying in a desert, an oasis to drink dry. We gorged ourselves on date palms and spat in nature’s eye. We’ve been lying in a desert where the wine of life’s run dry, for the plane’s no more returning, all the fuel’s been blown sky-high. Now we’re crying in a desert, only echoes hear our pain, throw it back against our faces, scorch our souls with their disdain. Yes, we’re crying in a desert, where the hot wind dries our tears, leaving salt on gold-grained sand hills, desolation in our ears. We are dying in this desert, arid waste consuming weed. Who recalls the fertile pasture that died to feed our greed? Some Day An Environmental Sonnet ‘They know not what they do!’ We’ve heard the cry, but comes it from ignorance or wisdom? Where quiet hedgerows once cloistered country homes, lies blister’d our landscape, with signs on high marking motorways from Elgin to Rye. Blossoming new towns spread industry’s hum, and urban regeneration has come, bringing space to stroll about, drive, and fly. But know they what they do? Let us keep tabs.... Does progress mean destroy our treasur’d land? Grow G.M. crops and drench in killer spray? Does better life mean sprawling concrete scabs? and stinking oil polluting golden strand? Know what they do? I fear they may, some day. Haiku for All Seasons Overnight green leaves shoot Blossoms banish winter snow Man plucks new young buds. ... Long, balmy June days Cricket whites on green pitches All scores are settled. ... Leaves glide slowly down Green now becomes autumn gold Hard earned tan blisters Tod Benjamin lives in Bournemouth, England, and is a retired businessman who, after years of globetrotting in the chemical business, wintered in Florida as a retiree golfer until forced to give up golf. He has written, for his own pleasure over many years, short stories, essays, novels, and, whenever he has to express a cry from his heart, poetry.