Posted in Found Poem, Luc-Bat

The Famine


A barren, thirsty field
grows nothing it can yield to sell
and break the wicked spell
of hardship’s living hell. No crops
to share with local shops,
the hunger never stops and fears,
which bring the heart to tears,
imagine all the years to come.
Tomorrow’s hopes are numb
and where a meal comes from is void,
the harvest now destroyed.
A past with days enjoyed will roll
into a lifeless hole
buried by the dust bowl, concealed.

© Susan Schoeffield

Written for the 2/26/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings “Inform Poets” to write a “found” poem, taking words from another source that were not intended to be poems. This was inspired by an article I read about famine conditions in West Africa.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s