Look! A post!
My long-neglected blog rewarms some dormant circuits in the WordPress server banks – just some poems I wrote (as homework) over the Easter holidays in Geraldton. One of them is actually related to Geraldton, the other not so much.
Firstly, The Windswept City, a sonnet about Geraldton. It’s coastal, so it’s very windy. The last line of the first stanza refers to the local attraction, the “Leaning tree” – a tree in some field that (due to, again, wind) grows primarily sideways.
The Windswept City
An undulating hummock, pearly hills,
A thousand grains create a dune, a whole.
And ‘neath the creaking, twisting of windmills,
Long-fallen trees still live clasping the knoll.
The beaten shore windswept eternally,
A sky of kites a bay of flow’ring sails.
A land of rustling air and shifting trees.
A place where nature’s rushing cousin wails.
And as the setting sun closes the day,
Another windswept day turns into night,
And boats catch alight distant from the bay,
An evening blaze of fire; horizon’s light,
The fallen trees still live, townsfolk all lay,
beneath the air’s eternal boisterous flight.
Ozone, a free verse (and dramatic monologue), is pretty easy to discern the meaning of – it’s about global warming. It needs no further explanation:
I choke and splutter
Against waves of thick, poisonous smoke.
My cousins and friends – rivers, forests, mountains and caves
Also fight, also fall to the angry jaws and whirling claws of the machines.
Gas-guzzling drills bore gas to guzzle more gas,
A cycle of gluttony and greed,
To power their asphyxiating automobiles, their breath-blocking buses and suffocating SUVs.
But soon they’ll bring their own end.
Their punishing fumes stretch me thin, and rays of light, heat, harmful radiation,
That will scorch the earth that gives them all they take.
I’ll snap, die, and the world will heat, and they’ll have no-one
And underneath the burning surface, in the underground bunkers they’ll retreat to
A dreadful silence – it’s all their fault; they could have saved themselves.
But now SPF is moot – the solar system’s fiery core,
All life’s blazing root turned scorching bane,
Will sear anything not buried deep or steely hard,
Even under the former ice-caps global seas.
They’ll drown without my shield against the spinning fusion core
That lights, however little, skies in other galaxies.
So only if they stop, only if they cease their onslaught,
Against every river, tree, stone and cloud.
Then they shall be saved from a self-brought apocalypse.
Time is running out.
Thanks for reading. Bye!