I wrote a poem about Barton Moss. Rarely share stuff like this but hope you all enjoy it :) As winter sprinkles chill on every leaf left on the trees I catch the seasons scent approaching on the curling breeze A musky cold, a woodsmoke-haze, A fog, a biting frost, A memory of grey and brown And mornings on the Moss Some time has passed since winter took me to its icy heart, A verge of tattered tents And placards bold with words and art A people who were weary with the weather and the fight All huddled round the flames to welcome in the creeping night These brave protectors of the land Who held a claim to none, These warriors of peace Rich in their poorness had become They welcomed me into their dream, Unblinded me with fire. Kaleidoscopes of purpose Filled my head with bold desire The orange glow of city lights could not infect the sky, Nature made her stars untamed And bold their battle cry The puppets of corruption did their best to hold her back They killed her trees, they pierced her skin with drills, they planned to frack She didnt give up once. And nor did we. The game was on. The puppets couldnt understand our passion and our bond. The verges may be empty now, the embers all stamped out But spread around in rainbow camps our strength is in no doubt And when I smell the winter near it fills me with such pride, The Moss has left its mark on us A warriors call replied
Posted on: Wed, 19 Nov 2014 07:54:39 +0000
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