A Nidderdale ramble
A poem generated from random words over the course of April. See comment below for full details of how I wrote it.
A chilly April morning. Lazy lambs
couch lifeless in the fields like balled up fists
in woolly mitts. I need no diagram
to clarify the Spring: the tousled strips
of trees beside the river view an uproarious
theatre of water, the riot of the weir and lake
of calm above. A flour-mill hums a usurious
din - such a pity! - but duck and drake
mandarins ignore it. Early bees
relay communications I’ll not grasp,
fragmented by interference from the breeze.
Their industry ensures they break the clasps
of celandines, scoop nectar from the space
within and rise up, humming hymns of glory.
The basic fascination of this place
is how it yields a diet to feed my stories
and how its peace enforces my reliance
on nature for composure. I see red
when systems of blind faith asphyxiate science;
when the high spate line is swathed in shreds
of plastic; when fellow human beings behave
in ways we haven’t seen since communists
controlled the Eastern Bloc. But now a navy
of mallards hold my fate, like battleships
engaged when diplomatic conversation
fails. I pray they have power to construct something good
from garbage which festoons the vegetation;
to budge bad attitudes which have withstood
each sequence of reforms we’ve sought; that nations
will graze in amity, as nations should.