Pamela Benham

South Sea, UK

English was my special subject in education. During the last two years, I have discovered a flare for writing poetry on various subjects. Fond of nature, I write about the seasons. I felt privileged to have my poetry accepted by the International Library of Poetry, after entering monthly competitions, from February 1996. To have pieces agreed for publication in books, see my name in print, have a professional reader include my works, with others on tape, is a pleasing experience to treasure. Below are two poems of contrast, depicting the vulnerability of man, on this, our remarkable planet.

Polar Regions

The polar caps of north and south
Have frozen wastes so deep, that nought,
Can there survive, lest all about,
Their lives at risk, if rules they flout.
The seasons change, as other lands,
A different clime, with sun and sand,
High rocky craggs, the distant scene,
Or stony shores of shallow screan.
Wildlife struggle to exist,
Yet their survival there amidst,
Seems somehow guaranteed,
If all pollution freed.
Sleek seagulls on the wing can dive,
To depths below the heaving tide,
Where creatures great and small, abide,
Get flung back on the foaming tide.
To cope with frost bite, freezing cold there,
To stay alive, man must be aware,
Of fragile fragments everywhere, then some,
Will to the surface, unexpected, then some,
The icebergs that aloft will flow,
The freezing seas, above, below,
Without care, could lose man without trace,
Upon the face of this enormous, barren, space,
To be his sad end, his resting place...

Desert Sands

The desert sands that mar the lands,
When on world maps, we find them, scans,
So much red earth and wasteland ground,
Yet some have places found, in useful productivity.
When storms that rage, can change the lands,
The landscape is transformed, but man,
Whose knowledge must him embue,
On roads across, known by a few.
Those at their peril enter in,
A mirage seen, when memory dim,
One must cover all or perish when,
The heat and thirst devour the skin.
The creatures that below do go,
Awaiting next when waters flow,
To bring them up again, refreshed,
Until the sun, the moisture saps,
Then leaves the skeleton defleshed.
When rains come down, plants reroot,
From earth, so quickly to surface shoot,
Myriad blossoms, like a carpet shape,
Incredible beauty, and colours make,
Scorched earth a brief paradise creates,
Too soon for them, their doom awaits,
Upon these arid broken sands,
Part of Earth's crust and hinterland.