Deflation

Grey poplars hiss displeasure
At this out-of-sync dishwater sky,
Mercury sliding, clouds on the ground.
Draggled wheat fields darken,
The shocked land losing hard-won riches
Laid down and laboured for.

And in the leaves’ wind-silvered sibilance
I hear the slow escape of summer:
A punctured season
And a long, slow road ahead.

 

Last little nature poem before I head off on holiday. And given the current state of Britain’s weather (awful) politics (shameful) and economic outlook (dreadful) I can safely, though sadly, say I have never been more ready to leave this shambolic, benighted country behind. All we can do is hope that things will improve come the autumn. A bientôt, mes amis. N.

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One thought on “Deflation

  1. There is always regret as summer leaves us, Nick. This poem absolutely captures that regret with its insistence on on grey poplars hissing displeasure and a dishwater sky. A punctured season. Wow. This is poetry as good as it gets. Have a wonderful holiday. Recover from a tough year.

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