The new estate

The bricks pile,

angled in certain shadows;
whilst in stark contrasted
trees, crows squabble,

vying for what little space 

remains, as pale twilight

searches for redundant 

and recently departed 

ancient oaks.

There is bustle, where once

only meadow grass rose to

greet the day; muddied boots

with no regard, tread purposeful,

the throb and thrum of machines

usurping the dawn chorus,

suborning all sound, 

save the tinkle of coin,

the distribution of dividend.

Soon, a  grey concrete

snake winds from door to door; 

a substitute, pale in comparison

to the once gentle flow of 

a crystal clear stream; and 

beneath the hum of complacent

domesticity, there is the rustle

of grass composing a song 

in bittersweet memory.

Here and there, as the settlement

grows, a faint glow shines 

behind closed curtains;

reaching for salvation,

as outside, standing in 

new formed rank and file, 

the guttered street lights 

reflect on what once was,

and there is both agony 

and ecstasy in the knowledge 

that so-called progress 

is as inevitable as time and tide. 

One day of course, in the 

natural order of things

the grey concrete snake 

will shed it's fragile skin, 

street lights will lose their glow

and ancient oaks will rise

from the ashes of our folly;

and it will come to be,

that those bricks, angled in 

certain shadows, will return

to the dust from whence they came.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

You have re-invented the Joni Mitchell song "Big Yellow Taxi" -- they paved paradise & put up a parking lot. I love that you show progress in a bittersweet way. I hate looking at how the orchards of my youth became the sprawling metropolis of San Francisco Bay Area, but we must also embrace progress becuz nothing can stay the same. You paint all the varied colors of progress with a lingering melancholy tone (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Lorry]

YES YES AND THRICE YES!
We never did get to grips with the fact that we only borrow and don't own or have a right to claim what never will be ours.
No amount of cleverologists will ever be able to convince me that we were the wrong choice to take out the food chain and think we're in charge, especially when most of us shouldn't even be allowed to be in charge of the tv remote 😀
If there is a way to to see what future we are leaving to the generstions who follow, we would shamefully look at the ground and go straight to the naughty step.
No one has beaten old Ma Nature yet, and I'm sure she'll have her revenge if we don't get a grip of ourselves.
Now we have people going to live on mars, it is like a bad sequel to a movie we didn't like the first time. 😀

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Ah, the entropy of man and nature. Shelley had his Ozymandias and you give us this. I really enjoy both the theme and the writing here. This was a pleasure to read.

[Beccy]

Thank you. I wonder what Shelley would make of it all? Probably wonder why it is that those, lone and level sands have yet to stretch far away. :))

[Fabian G. Franklin]

And to think The Sphinx is still here, watching us all with catlike patience.

[Beano]

This is really wonderfully put together. The theme of our destructive progress is a fruitful one for poets, but rarely has it been so well expressed as it was here.

I've been using this period to extensively walk the surrounding Kent countryside, and the sense of beauty and calm, it fosters can never be manufactured.

The lines: ''suborning all sound, save the tinkle of coin, the distribution of dividend' were descriptive and powered the poem.

Best wishes
Jamie

[Lydia Shutter]

Reminds me of an old Joannie Mitchell song, "They paved paradise and put up a parking lot." Yes, the estates will rise and the trees will be taken away....and the beauty of nature will be hidden. Such a shame really. Of course, in South Florida there are times a new development stops being built in the middle of construction because funds run out. then the new buildings become overgrown. Well written poem, Beccy. Lydi**

[Norman 223]

A very moving poem , Beccy,We had an old farm house near us with a beautiful glade of trees and wild flowers. Three years ago it was demolished along with the trees and nine "luxury" bungalows erected. So far, NONE have been sold, or occupied and must be steadily deteriorating. Will it also return to be an overgrown wildflower sanctuary, as your very descriptive poem suggests.

Norman

[Eilis]

The earth has experienced so many periods of transformation in its lifespan. The fact that the Industrial Revolution kicked off a period of such rapid change as to see many species extinct and resources diminished and environments destroyed is a bit hard to wrap my head around. What took billions of years to build can be diminished so quickly like a mountain subject to quarrying.

But in spite of how dire our shenanigans are with regards to our own survival, your poem reminds us that the earth itself is resilient and will carry on long after we are gone because nature abhors a vacuum and is always seeking ways to fill the gaps.

A little grit in the cracks of that concrete snake and life will root itself again and again. Eventually breaking down the very foundations that our concrete world is built on. The fact that we must constantly be fighting against nature to keep the human world in the immaculate neatness that modern humans have come to crave is our first clue that we’ve been going about it wrong.

I love the way you describe the two worlds and where they collide. The earth will certainly survive us. Would be nice if we could stay a bit longer and learn how to live in harmony with it.

Another lovely and intelligent poem by you.

[emmajoy]

'... ... little space - remains, as pale twilight - ] searches for redundant - and recently departed ancient oaks.'

Such a moving and wonderfully expressed poem, Beccy And, one of the most tragic of happenings. We need houses, yes, yes, yes we do.

But what of the children who live under their roofs. What about the trees they might have climbed had the countryside been open to them. What about the sight of green dotted with white and yellow being seen from an upstairs window and knowing for sure that it's gradually fading... disappearing. But, knowing or perhaps not being aware, that it could be yours, could be your means to 'fly' the world and understand its billions of wonders/ Parents sharing it.. knowing how it was, might be, could be, is - in many places.

I could say so much.. The thought of that length of time, the ensuing draining of emotions until.. when.. whenever.. who knows, the soil gives birth once more is an unknown but, all gods and Nature permitting, it will birth again... some time Your final stanza says so. I believe you.

[Jimmy Yetts]

That transformation, that erasure of humankind's presence can happen quicker than many might imagine.
Your poetry is, undeniably, beautiful and haunting.
However--while we must be better stewards--nature without humanity is pointless.

[Neville]

You gone and done it again dont ya... A brilliantly crafted poem that feels like you took the words from my very own mouth and said it all for me... there must be thousands of us out here that view the destruction of our beloved countryside and open spaces as an offensive crime … I could go on and on.. but my head hurts so....