Day 8

 Day 8

Twenty little projects ...not easy 


Hill farm blues


The land is a sleeping woman.

At Chernobyl, the nuclear accident 

includes a release of a hundred thousand 

bluegreen butterflies


He sees a heavy field by the power station

And when he touches her rattling fence

He knows- great She who sleeps from

Carlisle to Whitehaven, I love you.


He tastes the reactor release 

a flock of mercury birds

or hears a suite of quantum computers, 

all approximating sentience.


He is too nesh to fight the robots,

his father said what doesn't kill you 

makes you stronger to the broke arm boy.

This land-woman wakes.


Yan tan tethera - follow the lovely beck 

of imagination, a diver tied to a feather stone.

Like the fake lake, deeper,

She eats a village for breakfast.


Kit the rhymer is finding it hard to see,

one day this land and poem will either burn or flood.

A clever John Deere tractor  announces 

the arrivals of Marxist Leninist angels to Her side.


Comme ci comme ca,

the cow checks likes on the gram,

a branch tears through the eyesocket 

of a once-proud noble on the battlefield.


She weeps.

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