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Frm Ash to Ashes

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  • Frm Ash to Ashes

    From Ash to Ashes

    Natures monuments
    Giants turned to dust
    As the verdant parade
    Stands to attention
    A Chinese whisper
    Rustles through its leaves
    A buzz of desolation

    Teeth bared but no maw
    Felled forest no more
    Chain of life links toppled
    By petrol driven chain of death
    System purged root and branch
    When will we twig
    As Eco Echoes pain

    Life boughs
    To our appetite for production
    A clearing, emptiness
    Silent, silent
    Where humble branches out
    Canopy’s quiet dignity
    Sheltered from CO2’s reign

    In a time of men
    Summer has met the fall
    Yet we can spring
    Sending out a trunk call
    From winters barren chill
    Deciduous and Evergreen
    Allies caught in friendly fire

  • #2
    Loved this, you just breezed through that, and so beautiful the finished piece. Highlights from second stanza are the authoritative voice, as well as the seasonal and cultural references. Spiced with Life. Thanks for sharing Parkinsonspoet.


    • Parkinsonspoet
      Parkinsonspoet commented
      Editing a comment
      Thank you it is always a joy to read your comments

  • #3
    Oh my goodness - 'life (boughs) to our appetite for production' - love this particular play with words.

    Always, it's a balance. Always it's knocked off course and we struggle to get back to where we ought to be. Was this incited by a particular deforestation event?


    • Parkinsonspoet
      Parkinsonspoet commented
      Editing a comment
      A friend posted on Facebook that there is no wifi in the forest but you can find a better connection. I replied saying you could log on which led to an extensive exchange of posts with a forest theme.. I sometimes brainstorm a subject in preparation for writing a poem. I had previously intended to wrote one about deforestation and with the resource we created it just tumbled out of me

  • #4
    Quite impressive word-rolling, Pp! Great job floating this poem down the river. (Written at my wooden table, seated in my wooden chair, surrounded by books on wooden bookshelves.)


    • #5
      power to line at end.