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Have we become aimlessly weakened?

Green stemmed saplings unable to withstand

The cold snaps of the hardest ice age

And the frost cold blades of austerity

 

Or are we distracted by the glow

Of the constantly in hand mobile screens?

By celebrities preening endlessly for the prize

Of a mind numbing dumbing mediocrity?

 

And that constant quiet seeping away

Of the young who will never return

We raise swallows that never fly back

It is the blight that has afflicted this place.

 

Do these memories have any relevance?

Have they anything to teach the present?

Should they be left to fall like Autumn leaves?

Best forgotten, best left to wither away.

 

Pasts giants choose to stand in silence

Quietly without sound observing

A present that has nothing to say

That is filled with its own emptiness

But what is the present without a future?

And what is the future without a past?

 

(Final verses of the long poem This Place)

 

RAC.

 

This place seems like a skeleton now

Bones of an ossified stone fossil giant

Bones left exposed eroded of meaning

Everywhere I look there are remnants.

 

Fragments of what was here before

And memories of people’s stories told

Echo through the land. Those memories

Handed down not knowing the reason.

 

Stories handed down, stories handed on

I was a small child then and so young

Painful to know that those stories told

Are not told now. That pitiless silence.

 

(Excerpt)