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Tom Higgins May 2014
I went fishing last night,
And once again I never caught anything
Except the wind on my face,
And the salt spray in my eyes,
And the scent of the ocean in my nostrils.
I spent nothing apart from a few calories
Which I burned up walking over the beach,
The sand and the rocks and ****,
In that tidal area between sea and land
And ended up with another totally free experience
Of what it feels like to really be alive,
Everyone should go fishing at least once.

Tom Higgins 01/11/2013
Tom Higgins May 2014
The young lad knocked on my door
And asked me "what am I here for?
I look up into the clear night sky
And the wonders I see make me ask why
I was born able to look upon such a vista above
Yet down here hate is often stronger than love.
Why do people have to live in fear
Of losing all that they hold dear?
Why are men always fighting some war,
Is that what I was really born for?"

The old man knocked on my door
And asked me "what was I here for?"

Tom Higgins 02/12/2013
Tom Higgins May 2014
The politician, his words are hollow,
you get to taste, but never to swallow.
He wants you to believe that he,
will be the one to set you free,
to live the life of which you dream,
and be the cat that got the cream.

But, he will always forget to mention,
that this was never his intention,
it's been the same through history,
no change to the status quo has come to be.
Because those with power take the view,
that the many are here, to serve the few!

Tom Higgins
Tom Higgins May 2014
Water, as most of you will know,
Has the chemical formula H2O.
Now this essential liquid is, as well,
In its natural form devoid of smell,

And also in its pure state
It's clear and clean and really great,
For keeping living things alive,
As without it nothing can survive.

Yes it really is such magic stuff,
Because without it things are really tough,
And it often makes me stop and think
Each time I pour myself a drink.

What would I do if it all dried up?
Turn on the tap, but an empty cup.
Nothing from the pipes emanating,
Panic, as I'm not used to waiting.

This is not how it is for me
I live where rain falls frequently,
And I can drink, shower and bathe too
As often as I'm wanting to.

But in other parts it rains only rarely,
And people there, well they can barely
Find enough water for their needs,
To drink, to wash, to nurture seeds.

For them life is infinitely harder
They've learned to live with an empty larder,
And simple hygiene is so hard to achieve
When the detritus of living, they have to leave,

Lying, rotting, stinking on the surface all around
Polluting any water source in the ground.
Because of the extreme poverty of these 'others',
On my TV screen I have seen the faces of the mothers,

Whose children died because there has never been
Access to water which is drinkable and clean.
Yes, something that we take for granted,
Because we were born, where we were planted!

Tom Higgins
Tom Higgins May 2014
In the darkness of the night,
a camp fire glows, yellow, orange, bright.
Around it sit people who we now describe
as together having formed a tribe,
and as they roast their latest ****,
enough this time to eat their fill.
The father figure of them all
begins to reminisce, yes, to recall
stories of great deeds that he
has stored within the recesses of his memory.

And through passing millennia it was thus done
tribal histories passed from father to son,
until the populations of tribes had grown,
and many different stories had come to be known.
Then there came the great idea to draw
depictions of what each day they saw,
when hunting the animals they needed to stay alive
they recorded each species which then, did thrive,
painted on cave roof and wall,
wondrous visions which still enthrall.

Change came slowly from this time, and
populations moved to find new land,
so they could ensure their survival,
by looking for space without any rival
tribes competing for scarce resources,
life was hard with Mother Nature's forces
stacked against this new species, who,
compared to Earth's history, was almost brand new.

Successful tribes began to grow,
and with life experience they came to know
that the hunter gatherer way of living,
was particularly hard, and unforgiving,
and that for their populations to expand
they had to find new ways to exploit the land.

So from this point change came faster,
sometimes punctuated by a natural disaster,
but change it did, and before too long
they built settlements that were big, and strong,
on land from which they now knew
the kind of crops from the soil best grew.

Agriculture now became widespread,
and meant that many more could be fed.
Much time for many was now freed
so towns grew larger, and so the need
for new things that now could be made,
so with food surplus came growth in trade,
as goods manufacture added worth,
sold to townsfolk who did not till the earth.

As trading increased with other tribes
there grew a need for new ways to inscribe
the dealings that took place each day,
to make sure buyers did the sellers pay.
This led to development from pictorial depiction
to the earliest forms of inscription,
stone and clay tablets were at first employed,
and the new middle classes now enjoyed
the great advances these changes brought,
as written language could now be taught.

Then tribal history, once passed paternally,
could now be written, and shared with all, eternally,
and legends from the peoples darkest past
could be written in stone or clay to last,
down through the ages they could now be read,
long after the ones who wrote these words were dead.

This has meant that in our so called modern times,
we have seen the commission of unspeakable crimes,
because generations of 'scholars'have read ancient scrolls,
and accepted as literal truth, what there unfolds.
So here we are in these "enlightened" times
still blaming an imaginary friend for our crimes,
instead of understanding what is clear,
and abandoning such illogical fear
by accepting that all such superstitious "glories"
were merely created as tribal camp fire stories.

Tom Higgins.
Tom Higgins May 2014
In Flanders fields the poppies blow,
Between the crosses, row on row'.
So wrote the poet John McCrae,
Recording the reality of his day.
Now after ninety four years have gone,
The use of the poppy has now moved on.
Instead of remembrance of the brave,
It sends addicted millions to an early grave,
And today our young troops fight and die,
Without anyone asking the real question, why?

In Helmand's fields the poppies blow,
Beside the compounds where they grow,
Surrounded by hidden IED's,
Planted to **** and maim with ease,
The brave young men sent on patrol,
Hoping they return alive and whole,
As they risk all to do their duty,
The poppy crop provides illicit *****,
That funds the continuation of this war,
In which no one can say what we're fighting for!

Tom Higgins 12/11/2012
Tom Higgins May 2014
The killing has started again.
They shoot us, and then,
we trumpet our last breath
then we crumple into death.
The African men,
who killed us, then,
hack out our tusks,
leave us as husks
in the African dust.
But, **** us they must,
as for doing this deed,
they'll be able to feed,
their children, for a year,
thus reducing their fear.
They were paid more
than they ever saw,
making them willing
to do the killing,
because Chinamen
carve our ivory
then
sell it to
the nouveau rich,
who,
want everything which
money can buy.
I hear Mother Earth cry,
stop!
As gold inflates their vanity
but provides not the tiniest drop
of any decency or humanity,
to encourage an end to this insanity.
They just live the lie
that they can buy,
the elusive emotion, happiness,
derived from trinkets and rings
and other silly, sparkly things,
that they think they can forever possess.

Tom Higgins
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