If thunder clouds roll in and turn the landscape drab and grey
Or yet again the news predicts impending judgement day
When I believe we've reached the limits of stupidity
But one more senseless act restores a grim reality
I have a place I go to, where the world is fresh and clean
Where palm trees line a shore of sand, so white and so pristine
An insulet unreachable by those who would deny
The peace I crave, where I can't hear the raucous battle-cry
Of those who seek to win the fight, and stand in victory
Defending honour, country, justice, truth and liberty
When all they really want is something no one else can share
A sense of privilege turns out to be their cross to bear
But on this sun-drenched island, I have built a mighty fort
Its barriers cannot be breached, nor entrance to it bought
I spend the day in peace and safety, somewhere they can't find
There's refuge in this citadel, it's hidden in my mind
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Author Notes
Today's word: insulet (n.) a small island.
Punctuation is deliberately sparse.
My much-treasured Christmas present for 2017 is a book by Paul Anthony Jones: "The cabinet of linguistic curiosities". Each page contains a descriptive story about some obscure or archaic word. It occurred to me it would be a fun exercise to try and write, each day, a poem featuring the "word of the day" from the book.
Thanks for reading.
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