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I got involved with writng poetry through meeting poets who use a building the preservation of which I am involved; the Old Chapel at Walpole in Suffolk: Walpole Old Chapel website
Shivering into daylight
as mist trembles about us
there is no way but up,
leaving the drowned valleys.
Children sob quietly;
hunger is a silent pain.
When the tree line ends
what then? No wood for fires
just rocky crags fit only for ravens.
This flood is no punishment
from some distant god.
We own this innundation.
Still the children cry softly
we women cradle them
as men climb higher
without hope.
We have no Noah, no ark
just guilt and love for the children.
*****
I nested in the high mountains
I watched them come
and I watched them go.
I saw their arrogance,
their greed increasing
in their fertile valleys.
I saw them send others
of their kind
starving to deserts and hills.
Sucking all life
to themselves they
poisoned the valleys.
Now they come to my frugal hills
knowing they come to die.
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