|Ada Cottage Writing|
Panel vans white, coated with grime
Coughing black soot in traffic-choked line
Past marketplace awnings, English, quaint
Candy stripe canvas, diesel fume taint.
Grey suits overlook turbid Thames tide
Blue ties analyse opinion poll guide
White paper soaks up blue heartland's rage
Dotted blue line snakes over map page.
Amber campfire breaks cool autumn night
Traveller's tales deny hopeless fight
Ravens eye new nests on stout oak's girth
Badger prowls wary past fresh set in earth.
Shredding gale spears ice-dart splinters
Face blasted raw, merciless winter
Bone white frost coats old wood and lawn
Chain-saw chorus greets final day's dawn.
Bruise yellow machines exit their lair
Cherry-pickers work trees blossom bare
Steel jaws rend open iron-hard soil
Fire-pits fill with sluggish black oil.
Blue helmet line makes calm advance
Hot blood spits futile defiance
Kings of the castle, black oaks ascend
Life and death games at childhood's end.
Up bole and branch, yellow coats swarm
Fortresses fall before cruel storm
Captive defenders handcuffed away
Butchery begins in grey light of day.
Not holly's thorns nor great oak's might
Stand fast before snapping saw's bite
Thousand-year growth falls hour on hour
Carted away, for fire to devour.
Acrid smoke swells, haze hangs head high
Figures fade away, lost to seared eye
Yellow jackets stand, watch history burn
Some slip to green and never return.
Day on day old woods take the pain
'Til fires are doused with cold acid rain.
Punch-drunk protestors, freed from arrest
Shoulder their packs, limp into the west.
All things must pass, eighteen months on
Blue swept to red, grey man long gone
Where once autumn burned in fiery tones
Shame-faced policemen remove traffic cones
Cross old bluebell carpet, now tarmac slab
Old forest buried beneath concrete scab
Happy salesman squats in Rover Vitesse
His rush hour trip - now ten minutes less.
|Too long, nice imagery, no humanity.|