To Unborn Generations

To unborn generations, what will this world be like?

Will everyone still drive cars? Or maybe they’ll just hike.

And what of mobile phones? A wonderful invention or

the curse of modern man, cause of hypertension?

Will we still desire this contemporary accessory or

will at last, we have some sense, and leave it just to memory.

PCs, Macs and laptops, iPods, MP3s –

is it getting too much? Someone tell me please.

Everyone now emails, or texts in shorthand speech,

so few now use the language, teachers try to teach.

Respect for Law and Order, is at an all time low;

gangs of children rule the streets, status dogs in tow.

People being murdered, no care to whom they are;

stabbings every day now, crime has gone too far. 

No control, no restraint; war outside the door;

kids killing kids, for what? Status, kicks, not sure?

Time to take the kids in hand, time to give them back,

a childhood full of fun and play, things today they lack.

Perhaps while we’ve been working, in this world of high-tech stuff;

we have not even noticed,  the kids have had enough.

Kill him! Kill him! Chants are heard;

These, just children, how absurd!

Turn off all computers, switch off mobile phones;

play out with your children, make streets gang free zones.

We need to be the grown-ups, show them how it’s done;

we need to teach them right from wrong, 

before they come undone.

A Children’s Revolution, taking place outside this day:

result of what? Technology? No time to learn from play. 

To unborn generations, this world of ours will be,

what we care to make it, one of joy or misery.

© Liola Lee 2007

I wrote the poem below in 2007. I felt the ‘Gang’ issues in society needed to be addressed. I still do.  We need to do something as the situation worsens on our streets and in our cities. The image is a scan of one of my Granddaughters who is now 14.

This is a repost



slumbering in earthen graves

some known others not

flesh on bones left to rot

faceless now lost in caves

laying long in dirty trenches

waiting for death to come

bloodied rows crowded tomb

rotting flesh smells and stenches

immobile bodies lay so still

crimson sticky puddles stick

open wounds carrion lick

‘til rats and birds have had their fill

no romance in bloody wars

boys and men go to die

for what? perhaps just lies

just some so-called cause

sleep now hush now darling

little boys one and all

lay you down and gently fall

asleep with Jesus calling

© Liola Lee 2007

With Remembrance Day on the horizon I thought I would repost this poem. I wrote this in 2007 to remember all those service men and women who fought in all wars. The imagery in the poem is more in reference to The Great War and the trenches. Please know The image here is of my beautiful Dad who signed up for the RAF at the age of 18. He and many like him served their Sovereign and Country in World War II to keep us free…I blended the image with a field of Poppies to create a dramatic effect.

I am

I am perfect as I am

or maybe not perfect

a mind made sham.

In the mirror, I look, I see

a fat persona, a big fat me.

Accept what is or what to do

cells divide far and few

renewal switched to repeat

a lab experiment or human feat

time manmade, manmade time

Mother Nature’s written rhyme.

Fast some –  forward

food that’s fast

energy drain not energy blast

yoyo diet, fat boy slim

couch potato, then to gym

Lift some iron, drop some pounds

then regain,  fat rebounds.

The cycle turns once again

read the books, know the score

digital fitness, apps and more.

Pop some pills, burn some fat

Big Pharma is where it’s at.

Waste your hard earned,

splash that cash

vitamins, minerals, body mend

latest gimmick, faddy trend.

A mind made image, do I see

A real reflection or another me?

I am perfect as I am

I am perfect

I am

I am…

© Liola Lee 2019

Sometimes we strive for a perfection that is not real. Sometimes we feel not good enough for whatever reason. Often we have a distorted image of ourselves. Sometimes it’s about learning to love yourself…






Call me

confusion reigns just now for me

life moves forward

then steps back three

this way that way

a choice to make

a chance a risk

shall I take?

taking time to work things out

first a whisper then a shout

voices calling on the phone

unknown faces verbal tone

anger danger people scared

ringing me as if I cared

but care I do hence my confusion

this job’s for real

no illusion

© Liola Lee 2019

Short poem about whether to take a job dealing with people in crisis…










If you could see What I see In those moments when You’re most vulnerable You might recognize Through the haze Of your sadness There is something within you The word beautiful Fails to describe I’ve heard you cry out For nothing more Than the most basic Of human needs To be touched In a way […]

via Common Ground — The Stories In Between

A beautiful poem by River Dixon. I tried to share it before but it did not come up properly. I am still trying to work out how to navigate things here on WordPress. I am attempting to share it again here. Hopefully, you will get to read it through this time and see it’s depth and poignancy as I did by following the link above…