Copper and Diamond

On the railway-edge of

The borders of town,

 January’s watchman lowers

Industrial warehouse evening shutters

On a wet gone-along day.

Territory

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In my small morning-walk

Part of the world

Water  puddled in

The harsh tracks of

Invaders long gone

Reaches for the winter sun

With lips of ice.

 

 

 

Overnight the frost has

Made stiff cells of the earth,

Powdered the speartips

Of grass and salted

The shoulders of broad leaves

Into a single, silently screaming scrum.

 

In another, far-removed

Ignorant-of-nature place

Politicians squabble, chatter and

Greed over territory like 

Opera villain magpies.

 

Can they be so unaware of the impact?

Why don’t they listen

To the falling?

Heed the fallen?

Is it too late?

Can we still rebuild the Dove Gate?

Use the Get out of Hell Card?

 

18/11/2012