Peck pecking-
small blue raptors at the seed station:
their easy flights of fact and less than easy interaction
worthy of prolonged observation, a word song.
And there, see, on the honeysuckle flower,
the improbable wobble of a bumbly bee landing-
all of it beyond our engineers feeble understanding.
Above me, in a languid sky hesitating to be bright,
the flight-path to Gatwick airport slices
with its many knives of several unpleasant vices:
a cruel discharge of aviation fuel
that hats our Koi pond with a horror film;
vast chunks, so much desperate metal machinery,
being obscenely gleaming, runts of our overblown arrogance;
all the cunts in government doing everything
in defiance of nature's better nature.
Sad [but I am glad]
we cannot still command the rain or harness lightning-
and somewhat frightening the way the birds
trill their miraculous innate skills
despite our desperate mimicry, our demi-god fuss-
the murderous absurdity of us.
We will never better all the better things that we are not.
Chris Madoch. Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved.
Image by CM for i2i designs international.
Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved.
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