Our Environment (and the mess its in)


 Ten we totalled, five plus five

One took poison, now nine’s alive

Nine remained, one crossed too late

Jugonaut’s wheels turned us to eight

Eight we numbered, eight we were

Now seven stroll in obnoxious air

Seven we numbered, seven we be’d

Now only six ‘cos one doth bleed

Six we numbered, six we was

Now we number five because

A germ came, so we numbered four

A crash, then one of us no more

Three we numbered, just a trio

Gunshot – no more Uncle Leo

Two we numbered, one plus one

We fought and fought – now one is gone


And now one wanders – all alone

No one to kill – ‘cos they’ve all gone!!!!


I stood gazing from my island
To the larger realm beyond,
I saw a land full of cold emptiness
While my land was full of song.


Once my thoughts had turned to leaving
Just to see what I could find,
In that land full of bright promise -
Leave my island home behind.

And I walked the hills and wondered
Sat down by the stream and thought
And I came to the conclusion
I might give this up for nought.

So I strung the lines and whistled
And I lay the pots and smiled
Ten green acres where my heart lay
Worth more than a million golden miles.

Where my head would fill with thunder
And my heart weigh down like lead
And put back my worldly chattels
Kept the world I had instead.


it came not until dawn’s grey light -
that new, insidious sound
of demons and devils reaching to the sky
to teint the very heavens with their dross.

all watched but nobody saw -
they were too busy enacting Armageddon -
but this was no rehearsa!

no ears chose to hear the screamed warning
that shattered every peace -
apat reigned
until the demons gained
the day aswell as the night

and darkness fell in perpetuity.


it's a bit hard writing letters,
when you've only got webbed feet, and a clumsy bill -
nevertheless, emboldened by bits of bread crusts,
the Seagull took up his quill.

"it's no picnic flyin' round 'ere,
what with smoke, an' acid rain,
an' noxious gas,
an' walkin' on the beach is no fun,
avoidin' chip papers, dog turds an' broken glass".

"though some of you will share your food,
it's hard to see how fun is 'ad by brainless gits
who rev their engines gleefully
and try their best to kill us,
it doesn't 'alf get on your tits!".

"man makes more mess  than ever WE could,
and 'e's the one with the brain, (is that the truth?),
so, think of that when, indignantly,
you try to kill us
for crappin' on your roof!".

Against the culling of (on this occasion) Seagulls, of which we have untold numbers round here, but nevertheless who have as much right (probably a lot more) to be around as anything else and are only in the main eating our rubbish anyway.

Dowlais Top Revisited.

What is there here at Dowlais Top to please a poet's eye?
A bloody Asda Superstore between the hill and sky!
An aluminium monster there, eight hundred feet on high!

Containing stalks and apple cores, there waits outside this shop
Two hyndred metal trollies, chained and padlocked well to stop
The kids who'd like to liberate them over Dowlais Top.

Instead of chewing grass the sheep can chew discarded cones,
Crisp packet mingle, freely with the fast - decaying bones
Of the old ram so unluckily run over by Dai Jones.

And as the boots are filled outside, for miles around you'll see
Wind - blown plastic carrier bags, with shopping given free
Escape across the car park and bedeck the only tree.

A large three - mouthed blue box awaits for paper, clothes and tins -
Lip - service to recycling, it's where the Third World wins,
But litter fills the car - park floor, cos no-one uses bins!

Though cloying, softer landscapes leave the heart to wander free,
The only song that's sung up here is what to have for tea,
It's hard to think that what's here now is the "beauty yet to be!".

On visiting Dowlais to discover a large ASDA store right on top of the hill, close to a lonely housing estate, well away from the main part of the town.

The fox.

tall brown sail, on the sea of a summer's evening,
as the wind-blown grass waves become part of the land's tide,

cautious, yet curious in their new-found freedom,
wide worlds
to explore and new friends to find.

innocence, glorifying in life, when a sudden
sharp noise
displaces the wind
and the comfort of the familiar Earth is sought.

now a strange fear overcomes, and an
unknown terror
strikes, and the young heart beats faster.

sensing an enemy's approach,
blind panic overcomes
as precious seconds turn to hours.

soon brown becomes red, and the
savage barking of hounds and men
is lost in the silence of a barbaric death.

tall brown sail, once on the sea of a
summer's evening
now worn as a declaration of Man's inhumanity.

My attempt at a protest, however small, against the murderous arrogant  bastards who profess that killing a  defenceless  small  animal for their own sadistic pleasure is "sport".


where winsome white joins brilliant blue,
and golden glints sun's golden hue,
where playful ponds and lilies lie,
this is where the herons fly.

where winding weaves the rambling rose,
and scented stock in garden grows,
where fiery fox goes bolting by,
this is where the herons fly.

where swallow, swift and nuthatch nest,
and gentle green meets gaudy guest,
where yellow's yawn shows darker dye,
this is where the herons fly.

where purple patch of thistles tall,
and flirting flies share woven wall,
where balmy breeze is summer's sigh,
this is where the herons fly.

where brutal brown meets granite grey,
and cruelly cuts the dawning day,
where shattered - stone man - ravaged ridge ,
and brightened brick form bloody bridge,
where devils drive with manic might,
and car is King and  Road is Right,
where lives are lost - it's nothing new,
that was where the herons flew!


savage teeth met gentle brown,
tearing at her heart
and moving centuries,
heedless lay waste to helpless,
this rapist knowing only
the climatic cut
of the last blade stroke,
while the violated earth lay beneath,
silently screaming!



brought to light from dark,
hewn and taken under protest,
no voice expresses Earth's mute anger,
to avenge this pillage.

Earth's riches taken to fulfil their unending purpose,
unlike their greed, you are not endless;
two hundred million years you lay in peace,
yet a tenth as many seconds see you
and destroyed.

To take and not to return
sees Nature's dictated balance disturbed,
no matter how great her powers of compensation
she is critically wounded.
But her turn is to come,
patience awaits its just reward.
As her heart is ruthlessly ripped,
her soul rises in mute protest,
Earth's violators are taken, trapped,
enclosed within her.
Suffocated, through her unmoving arm's volition,
Earth's prisoners will not resurface ,
taken, and captured in a moment's breath,
and a moment's life and soul,
suspended, bereft,
beneath the breathless Earth forever!


Giver of life, most of all we need -
once, at the dawn of time,
you were as Nature intended,
Pure! Immortal! - needing no catalyst to fulfil
Nature's life - giving promise.
But mortals came,
used you, abused you,
Teinted you with their Man - born destruction!
Placed a dark shadow across your very soul!
Your very essence!
Vilifying your purity, like the first rape!
No thought for generations unborn!

Yet, behold your refusal to contain this violation, and witness the return of Man's unbidden gift,
as self - induced Armageddon draws ever near.


Ritual of our soul!
Though life's essence is made mortal,
to be finally extinguished through your
hidden actions, you are perversity!
Though deeply - rooted consciousness dictates your effects on life,
your ritual cleanses and makes whole
the soul.
Together with those made immortal,
you rise, fall upon the Earth,
bent on destruction, and return from whence you came.
Will another two hundred years pass before your vengefulness is rectified?


First! Beginning of life!
Container of both life and death!
Since Earth's first breath, you remained on the edge,
the Silent Watcher!
till your time - sent signal to alter Nature's laws of tide.
Relentlessly you poured your body forth,
in a pure act of spiteful violation,.
Earth's folly since the dawn of time
became your prisoners, never to be released.
You continued, and will continue tirelessly, needing no rest!


Parched lips in Hot July spoke no words
Of other waterless places, where
Millions marched aimlessly, no destination
Theirs; the music of many  tears rang in
Decibels of death from their dry lips;
Like an apocalyptic appeal, but the sound
Was drowned in a sea of deafness.

Now Kilimanjaro marches solemnly to the sea,
In a death-pact, to sink as low
As its once-great spirit.  The land
Of its birth reduced – from within
And without – her Earth-given riches
Victim of man’s profanity.

Those born within the shadow have now
Lost first place in the
Human race, such distinction now belongs to avarice,
Though his name was not on the original competitor’s list.

Nelson-like, we raise our eye to the telescope
And see no ships!  No hunger or pain, myopic
Madness rules the day, and the verdict on the world is


we are of monsoon, and long,
of mere showers, and a trice,
of soaring, seething steam,
and frozen as ice.

we are captured and still,
we run free to the shore,
are of darkness and dust,
are of snow, and are pure.

we are lost in the day,
and are found in the night,
we will kill and destroy,
we will give life and light.

we are raindrops, who wait
and desire the sea,
we will all join the rain
of eternity

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