Away? Too Long?

Winter sun:

Remote and angry red,

Boiling its furious route

Through cochineal curdled clouds

Towards the crumbling coping

Of a wall I built

To keep the world at bay.

Didn’t work;

I’m still stumbling along paths

Scratched by anonymous others

Across ghost maps of

Another place I’ll never belong.

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