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.

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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