Litter and Birdsong

November 20, 2016

All nature’s cycles vitally by purgings go around But men’s; Even a dog’s pooh wishes well the ocean beds Pressed out of the earth we came, our litter likewise parades In our own image To straiten, strew, the streets uncouth-like, slatternly Where fare bright spindliest flower-shows brightly-weeding walls Also, here what we call Vermin careering wild alive through life and joyous - All’s goodness notwithstanding;

Bar man’s self-like reflections littering gutter kerbs Serving up back to us our loose-tendentious days That mock kind nature; Old scratchcards scratched discarded forlorn hopes Mires of the mind on streets – inverse of paved with gold - Dick Whittington’s old scam

Under a flowered treetop’s bending leaves Upsurging in its eminence, and despite of trash; Stands aspiring ‘making a go of it’ as people say, its spread, A subject of attrition suffering needless scathe Revelled in day and night across polluted town Incessant as its ever-restless mills Of constant traffic; cars, lorries, idlers, squads Of drunken vagrant lags; yet bearing all And flowers too, trees boast Sat sweetly singing singers- simple birds

Whose rounds and lullabies are seldom caught On ears upgeared to melees, babels of combustion Which seek to fake right order out of self-made mires - Against their schemes of things – nor yet Might inklings enter in that valiant estimation To put to rights by countermand, recension, Their contrary attune to psychic beaten paths En route to penitentiaries prognosticated, And signalled by unsightly blights of litter; feed galore For sweepers, binmen; their everlasting spreads Man scatters where he does not gather; that one talent Cause for dismay and everywhere self-evident

In the towns the crowns of lownds ride Ferris wheels, A merry-go-twerking feckless who lasciviously Close come-ons drawing-on wall-eyed Their outward visions tunnel-blind and photoshopped Unnoted is what bird, what throstle, sings, (All’s hers which brings it brightly to our ears)

Commuted, muted, dud, these hydrocarbon buccaneers And queenly lobsters parsing fingernails With hairbrush as an airbrush as the gear To screenwipe off a consciousness the upper world Outside oneself; – yet health, and corny colour - Kept Yakulted and browned by walk–in beds; fulfil With sickly bling, their silly heads, no contravention Admit, complacent to the gills; enamour’s thrills The normal serving, missing, missed What beauty natural living things observe, Replenishing sensation (properly so-called) which urban loss Cursed, crossed, assassinated, sent to sea, whitewashed, Preferring on a plate conveniences And going round and round insouciances Unknowing and unknown in nature’s nomenclature,

Browse there insurged spent litters, plastics, manufactures lately dead, Survived by, superseded of, yet more Dead plastics, manufactures lately fed To counteract drear glooms; to facial pokey rooms Until the darkness come again down-low and lowers – Then - lay new floors – pursue the malls - In ever-fluid course For packs, and staunches, On leaks of emptiness inroading basement woes Where liturgy supplies its timo mortis; here's the door Is ever set ajar; and seeking to inhume With a Harpy’s grin.  Against men’s mortal glees Fate slinks with corporeal coils Happy to prowl and gather to her dusts Whether from living rooms or other feathered nests Of weary-whiled style lives

And yet there thrives despite, a lovely mirrored light; Amain a natural world nurtures, projects, proclaims Emblems of pledge and promise from a realty non-compeer Renewal, re-establishment against ill-misreport Of obdurate finalities, rock-solid blank brick-walls Of squalid null, of bog-all else, beyond what’s brash, hard cash, And crank engines of shuttle-bustle thrummings, Technology, indubitable substantive definites That what-you-see-you-get; and nothing more

Deplore! - Steeped in a well so deeply-dark dissembled Stand turbulent naysayers revolving convolutions On stumbling ways intuiting spoilt waters, Unseen, although yet pure, most potable, abundant; True drink beholden of a hope where holiday maintains Large Delphic grace

This is a place where no word minds beget Or any thought; nor cobbled, franked, or flawed Is not supplied by a love performed in heaven

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