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     Please remember that the poems in the following pages are written and copyrighted by myself, John Richard Hustings. Feel free to make personal copies but if you display them on a web page please be sure the poem is followed immediately and exactly by the copyright notice below the next paragraph.
    Thank you and I look forward to hearing from you. - Copyright 1995 by John Richard Hustings - I require that none of my poetry be reproduced in print, on any video media or distributed in any manner, other than through private (non-profit) web pages, without prior written consent.

 

 

 

 
        The painfully short days of summer
        Have been beaten back into submission
        By the dead and frozen ages
        Of a wasteful and sullen winter.

        And as I stand upon this frozen wasteland,
        This northern fringe of nowhere,
        My eyes catch the gleaming
        Of an autumn day's last sunshine.

        And like the hand of God wiping clear
        The slate of human indiscretion,
        Winter blots out all of nature
        With a blanket of frozen white indifference.

                                         SEPTEMBER 1985
 

 

Warm golden sunshine
Green eye soft skin gentle heart beat
South Pacific sky.

 

Wishful thinking!
I said
Why?
She demanded
Because I'm me, and you're you
I said...

 

Complain, that's all you ever did
So I'm not perfect
What make you think you are.

 

White sand under foot
Balmy breeze against my face,
I almost knew why.

 

 

 

As they rocketed
across the desert
he breathed a gentle sigh
his hand slipped
from the steering wheel
and he and the Cadillac
slipped into oblivion.

- John Richard Hustings -

 

 

Up, 
      down.
Up, 
      down.
Hard right.
Hard left.
Hold on, Hold on.
No no! Don't let go!
Ahhhhhhhh!
Up, 
      down. 
Up, 
      down.
Hard long left.
Screeeeach.
That was fun.
Let's ride it again.

- John Hustings -

 

 

Shhh, Did you hear it? No?
Listen! There it is again!
It's like a hum,
no, no, more like a rhythm
like a calm heart beat,
or, maybe more like, music!
And, there are birds singing.
A breeze is rustling palm trees.
I hear some laughter,
the sounds of children playing.
There's an older laugh too,
a warm, inviting laugh.
But there is a rumble now as well,
it's low and threatening,
building like a mounting storm
and then the crash of waves,
No. I guess you're right,
I didn't hear anything,
anything at all.
Just, maybe...
never mind.

- John Hustings - 1986

 

Where Have the Children Gone?
Where have the Children gone?
Why does the sun not shire?
Sir, have you seen my town?
Do you know what you've done?

Once the was a world
Where flowers and trees
Gave our children a place, a place to play.

Sir, have you seen them cry?
Please won't you tell them why?
What did you hope to prove?
Only that, half a truth is just a lie.

Once the was a world
Where Valleys and hills
Gave our children a place, a place to play.

There was a city here.
Now there is just a hole.
Death fills the sky tonight.
Here he come, our way out, praise God!

Once the was a world
Where rivers and streams
Gave our children a place, a place to play.

There was a playground here.
Full of our lost future.
Where have the Children gone?
Over there, see the light, in their eyes.