with much trumpeting, called together families
of pachyderms: We’re going on a journey.
Beyond the burning bush and luscious forest,
the memory of trees, the bones of loved ones
is another place and I will lead you.

Now we live on salt and thorn, the taste
of sorrow, the promised land a mirage, metaphor.
Awaking to another blasted dawn; the first born
dead, a plague of promises. We will be
carrion, old elephants whisper like law.

Thirsty and yearning for an end to adventure,
there’s nothing in this wilderness but suffering.
Sunbright bones identify our path;
we aim for Eden, with our ears for sails,
across a sea of sand, scratching for sustenance.

From hidden ducts behind our eyes, elephants weeping,
a slow procession, lacking even music. This silence,
the buckling of knees, our young ones cargoes
lost upon the way, all bones and sagging grey:
such sadness can never be forgotten.

The Moses of elephants found an idea of God
and followed without knowing. Faith! He said,
which made it sound important, solid, real.
I believe and you are coming with me.
Parts the sea of doubt with broken tusk.

©  Clare Kirwan

Producer defends a natural tragedy

Clare Kirwan is a Merseyside poet and short fiction writer and hopes to bring out her  first collection this year. By day she works in a library - like Batgirl. http://brokenbiro.blogspot.co.uk/ Twitter: @ClareKirwan

A TV picture shows there's not a leaf on the tree,
with only tears falling as drops on the land.
This merciless world is the giver and the taker,
above all life, but do we ever understand?

Each day is a struggle, whoever we are;
to find a job, sometimes to park your car!
But it all pales to nothing if the rains don't come.
The trivial is essential under the searing sun.

The girl's sunken eyes reach us deep inside,
the deepest language we all comprehend;
where the rivers of belief dry up like the soil,
to wither the cause of conflict – to make war end.

© David Francis Barker

Somalia Islamists lift aid ban to help drought victims
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David says, 'I try to paint, write poetry, prose, sometimes music - I guess that makes me an artist.'