The new estate

The bricks pile,

angled in certain shadows;
whilst in stark contrasted
trees, crows squabble,

vying for what little space 

remains, as pale twilight

searches for redundant 

and recently departed 

ancient oaks.

There is bustle, where once

only meadow grass rose to

greet the day; muddied boots

with no regard, tread purposeful,

the throb and thrum of machines

usurping the dawn chorus,

suborning all sound, 

save the tinkle of coin,

the distribution of dividend.

Soon, a  grey concrete

snake winds from door to door; 

a substitute, pale in comparison

to the once gentle flow of 

a crystal clear stream; and 

beneath the hum of complacent

domesticity, there is the rustle

of grass composing a song 

in bittersweet memory.

Here and there, as the settlement

grows, a faint glow shines 

behind closed curtains;

reaching for salvation,

as outside, standing in 

new formed rank and file, 

the guttered street lights 

reflect on what once was,

and there is both agony 

and ecstasy in the knowledge 

that so-called progress 

is as inevitable as time and tide. 

One day of course, in the 

natural order of things

the grey concrete snake 

will shed it's fragile skin, 

street lights will lose their glow

and ancient oaks will rise

from the ashes of our folly;

and it will come to be,

that those bricks, angled in 

certain shadows, will return

to the dust from whence they came.

Reviews

[Patricia Wedel]

dear Beccy... we live in a two-level home built in 1987
that is nestled in among fir trees that have grown much taller than the house.
On one hand, we cannot use the fireplace, however, all the Bedrooms upstairs
afford a view as though living in a tree house. There once were meadows and streams...
it started many years ago. All the electricity is underground. Many old homes in a Circle
with very tall flowering trees, and sugar Maples that color the Autumn. The sky is our refuge
that gives us space where Stars twinkle and the Moon goes through phases and smiles.
If only, the Cities had not climbed so high into the Sky. Your poetry is a eulogy to land that once
provided everything to grow our food and graze our Cattle... where Chickens ran freely and ducks and geese walked paths where flowers grew. I long for those days. They still exist in States where Land is open and grow our food. We can save the American dream. truly, Pat

[Chris Shaw]

A sad reflection on our green spaces, making way for more and more homes. Fields where I played as a child, long gone, as well as the trees in the woodlands. For someone who loves the natural environment as much as I do, I find this painful. My grandchildren will not have the benefit of the open spaces I enjoyed as a child. Instead they are couped up in their rooms with technology. Ugh...... One day, yes I believe mother nature will reclaim what has been taken from her. Beautifully penned with wonderful poetic expression. Well done Beccy.

Chris

[Gee]

It is sad to see the countryside being swallowed up by ever growing housing developments, even sadder that this the way I earn my crust.
Do so enjoy reading you.
Hope you are both well.

[Beccy]

Thanks Gee. Everyone has the right to a roof over their head, so I forgive you for being a part of the onward march. :))

My poem is more about the way we are inexorably divorcing itself from the natural order of things, the title being a reference to this; rather than a specific dart aimed at the world of construction; and the first two lines of the poem, 'The bricks pile, angled in certain shadows;' is a metaphor for the human race itself.

Stay safe and well.

Beccy.

[gram linski]

I like the journey of the natural to the uncaring man destroying and Nature coming back in the end, with the grey snake winding it,s way through the concrete jungle, cool poem Beccy,

[Robert Trakofler]

I hear those whispers too Beccy... I try so hard to convey them in the lines for others to hear no matter what frame i use I always feel lacking:( however you so very eloquently did, express it here says the Bunny Robert:)

[Terpsichore]

An exceptional poem that sends the undeniable message, that mankind seems intent on continuing along a path of self inflicted injury, and climate denier idiots apart, (what planet are they on,) we are all in some way guilty of laying waste to what we should be preserving for our children.

Every day that passes brings us closer to the tipping point from which there is no return, and it is glaringly obvious to anyone with half a brain, that it's time to stop our ceaseless taking and expecting the world to keep giving and forgiving.

T

[Pete Langley]

Yes Beccy...... when, if ever will we realise that trying to stop the wheel of life or divert it is futile. Everything upon this wonderful planet we inhabit is cyclical and we are only along for the ride. We have to wise up before Earth tires of us. Your poem shows our folly graphically. Stay well. P.

[lakinbob]

Hi beccy.

Generally I don't waffle on much about a particular piece of writing. Just read, enjoy, (or otherwise,) make a comment if I am minded, though not overlong, but from the bleak imagery of your first stanza, through to the following three stanzas that chart the inexorable destruction of our natural world, your skill as a poet is so very well showcased.

I was drawn in particular to the lines, 'a faint glow shines behind closed curtains, reaching for salvation.' In my view, they define how we somehow understand the damage we are doing, that we need salvation from ourselves, yet rarely venture outside the selfish immediacy of our day to day lives, preferring instead to pretend it'll be alright on the night.

And then of course, we have that final consideration. That one day, mankind will be no more than dust, a distant memory, as Mother Nature takes back what we arrogantly assumed was ours. It's a sombre conclusion, but doubtless it will come to pass.

As jacob says, a fantastic piece.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

fantastic piece...the snake, the concrete snake...roads and sidewalks no more meadows, streams...
we keep crushing the nature around us...so now we can look at neon lights, skyscrapers, malls...
aren't they beautiful...who needs trees?
quite a statement this poem makes, using really wonderful imagery.
More bricks, more bricks, more bricks.
j.