2 Poems by Warren Paul Glover


We waved goodbye to Venice, as she slipped under the waves,

a thousand plus years of history, drowned in a watery grave.


No more Floating City,

it’s treasures well and truly gone;


lost for future generations, while the climate change deniers

shrugged their shoulders and moved, simply, on.


While the world watched on in wonder,

asking which city or country was next,


Presidents and world leaders,

sent out sorrowful texts.


The vulnerable sat and waited,

praying for their homes


The Pope, like Methuselah,

looking nearly a thousand years old.


As Religion wrung its hands,

asking where was God at our time of need?


Mass evacuations

produced millions of refugees.


But people came together,

creating hope for you and me


living in our cities at risk,

the disaster insurance business suddenly very brisk.


As the betting books closed on Miami,

and the odds shortened on LA,


thankfully the scientific community

seized and saved the threatened day.


The billions spent to save us,

from Mother Nature’s threat,


spared a few other cities,

from sharing King Neptune’s net.


It’s a pity we lost poor Venice,

the grandest of them all to go.


But it spurred us all to action

so more wouldn’t follow.





Breaking from cover, stealthily as a cancer,

they gorge on the goodness of the grape.


Vine vampires


sucking the blood from the bottle

as if it were milk from a mother’s teat.


Cackling like witches they demand more.

The barman stares; he’s seen it all before.


Friday night and the work-dead

are released from their chains;

to gather, like animals, on an African savannah.


Their watering hole, their well-spring,

is a haven from the hate-filled day.


Their laughter, like waves,

carries them through to their washed-up weekend.

About the contributor

Warren Paul Glover is a British-Australian screenwriter, playwright, poet and actor, living in Sydney, Australia.

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