Our Readers
POSOWOCO Correspondent!
To Sender

Dear Readers

Here's a poem about many claims on you.Some lines covering the details of claim.A few pointers as to where your time is going.But will you spend more time with me?

Yours Sincerely, POSOWOCO

Landscape With Sea 4292874 1920

Anyone wanting verse to let them gently know that they are not so free in the world?

Or that so many creatures and events have claims on their being and time?

Or a poem for the realisation, and therefore conquest, of what is and what is not ours to take?

Do you need to understand our earthly sustainable boundaries and its many outstanding claims?

Is everywhere that your life bumps into to also your climate's needs and wants?

Is it important to know where you stand and to set expectations early in your taking of the earth's resources?

Claims Claims on my time Claims on my climb Claims on my heart And claims on my art. Claims on my money Claims on my honey Claims on my mind And claims not confined. Claims on my eyes Claims on my lies Claims on my ears And claims on my tears. Claims on my thoughts Claims on my noughts Claims on my power And claims on my hour. Claims on my sadness Claims on my madness Claims on my taste And claims on my waste. Claims on my position Claims on my ambition Claims on my climbing And claims on my rhyming. Claims on my ageing Claims on my raging Claims on my health And claims on my wealth. Claims from the people Claims from the hand Claims from the water And claims from the sand. 29th August 2019

Since I was born there have been many claims on myself, my time and my promises.

These claims get more and more the older we get until one day we can see them for what they are.

I think it's the case that this is the same with our environment, fellow creatures and philosophies.

Our final claim of course will be one of the earth or sand where we all must return - this is not bleak but comforting.

The minute the world was born and spawned an environment capable of intelligent life.

There were many claims on it as a person, animal, plant, raindrop, gravity tectonics and all.

The claims come and go and leave their mark, nibbling at its basic currency; time.

Somehow it has to manage all this and it can be utterly draining.

It has a claim on itself after all and what would we do as its guests without it anyway?

This is our life and Gaia's poem is perhaps a silent cry.


claims on my time climb --

on my heart and claims on art

my money claims mind