J.H. DickinsonPoetry, Essays and Art By J.H. Dickinson from All-Creatures.org


A British Madness

I beckon.
I feel you draw near.
In the underwood where life wriggles and writhes,
big, fat flesh worms, dark soil, jet.
Fresh grass, wildest flower.

I smell your age, rough wiry hair, black, white, flash of night.
You are ancient.
Part of the land.
The deepest echo of the past.

Yet now we make excuses to bait you, batter your head in, poison you,
Shoot you.
The British wonderment.
Countryside and Idyllic meanderings,
Gone wrong.

Lost in the mad cow connection,
bleating bureaucracy,
inadequate inaccuracies.

I smell you. I feel you.
Deep scented, I breathe you in,
wet eyes, dark nose.
I will stand for you.
Against the brutality
And for a future of sanity. 

Go on to: A given name
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