Bleakly I watched the rain coursing down, as if forcing into
our cold comfort house, where gas is becoming as rare as the
meat on our plated meals, we try to manage for the health
of the earth, for sealed promises for it to become a healed
place, where each and every child can be wild amidst the
greenery, flutterings, flowers, birds twittering as they rustle
in the green hedges singing the triumph of Spring over Winter.
I traced the droplets and watched them coalesce into rills
just as the trickles fall through the troubled earth, deep
tracks through rocks, until it flows into freshets, streams and
rivers to the seas; where polyester plasticised natural things
frolic, forage and play in the plastic bubbles of pollution.
I’m gobsmacked, gobstopped as I groan at the elite of
the earth, changing their manners to suit the matters but
speaking platitudes, bad attitudes more of blah, blah, blah
to the violated, desecrated world – for to listen is to believe,
to believe means motivation to the notion of act, act, act.
‘Its awful,’ they say to the camera, ‘Action,’ to the activists.
While all the time they carry on with their agenda, their
propaganda, waging war on the poor and destitute and
the deteriorating climate of the delicate blue planet, They
think that their money will be their saviour not a change
in their behaviour. So, the seas roar nearer, the deserts
are drier, forests are for fire and temperatures are higher.