Tuesday, 4 June 2013


To the bend of the river
Cold mud between bared toes
A dragonfly skipping from fronds overhanging
The deliberate, yet slow, passage from mountain
To sea
I come
In longing for tranquillity
Capturing peace of mind
And working away the gaudy dressings of that other life
Of cut and thrust
The blast of car horns
And the sardine press of peak hour
Instead, I endure
Endless hours under a bowl of blue sky
Running lines baited and not
Counting cumulus clouds
And the swats at midges, sand flys, mosquitoes
Hearing the bass throb of croaking frogs
Against the rickety scratch of crickets
Nature's timeless symphony

Ruined not by coming night
And the empty promise of empty beds

But by the invading ignorance
Of glass and metal poking like greedy fingers
To the heavens
The false gods of civilisation
And the pillagers of what was once

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