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


When the fields fall silent

I have listened. I have watched.
Cows in the field,
Silhouetted shapes etched out by dawn.
Inky black trees and
Picture-perfect morn.

Calls and bellows,
Less distressing
To the listener.
Witness of
Fielded freedom.


Temporary stay of execution, electrocution
And faulted stun.
Conscious and awake,
Gate rises,
Rolled into the hands of knife-edge reality.
Visceral end.

Now the fields are silent.
A mass grave without headstone.

No more commodification,
Legal, killable and ‘dispatched’ being.
But, never murderable.

Human speciesism
At its finest
Dining on power.
Hell, on Earth.
Dante’s macabre.

Let them sleep now
With no fear,
And no anticipation of who will follow.

Of future stock
And snorted breath
And hooves on grassy fields.
Of dawn light cast in dark eyes,
Unknowing of its pathway from this world.

When the fields fall silent
Let it be over.
Let it be done. 

Go on to: Where have all the humans gone?
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