This is no time of crisis.
Crisis is a tempest roving shore to shore
Not gentle rain on subtle tour.
A crisis forges sickles for every Soul.
Scoops up the seconds, craves every hour,
Reaches past the cupboard and eats the cobwebs.
A crisis inks over everything, writes new rules.
Paints day to night and night to nothingness.
It halts the world, devours time,
Ending it.
I see no crisis.
For time,
That spreads itself long like streetlights skidding across a wet road,
Don’t end easy.
And the world, time’s friend, stops just as hard.
While we all feel frozen – moving like a model village
The rooms shifting smaller and smaller,
Windows locked like TV screens and doors but painted figurines.
This is no crisis.
For; the plants still grow, the stars still show,
The bars, the pubs, the schools still there tomorrow.
The birds, the bees, the flies, and Aussie dogs
Still growling, pining plenty.
Clouds dance still through carnival skies,
The sky still humming and the sun still flies.
There still be music and bands still play,
Gone tomorrow for the coming day.
This is no crisis.
The ephemeral Net, the marvellous Web,
With all its little spiders still weaving,
Threading Athena Goddess
She fears no crisis.
Because she knows
We’ll all take a six-month pause in a fount of youth,
and soak it up free in six foul weeks of loving, laughter, and she knows what else.
Then age won’t worry us
For we saved an Age.
This is war,
Yes,
But it ain’t no crisis.
Kids still frolic and the barbies grill.
The months may slow, but we keep time still.
For only creature wears the crown on this planet,
And it ain’t no beer robbing, murdering, jumped up little
China America Europe, wherever virus.
Talk to smallpox and polio,
To old guinea worm,
Just think where they went
Cause it’s coming – your turn.
The trees still grow,
The stars still glow,
And the days still flow to night.
This is no time of Crisis
