The Coronavirus Chronicles #8 - The Wail of a Weeping World (Ignorance in the Sun)

 

The tempest hisses back its spit-laden rage,

terracotta buckles in its wake,

scolds this land whose bluster

is met with forceful retribution.

Many panes have rattled

since the last gasps of Blitzkrieg ailed,

none the better judged,

the inhabitants

no longer know

the scratch of malnourishment,

the gall of a trench,

the tearing of flesh,

the grit of the fight.

Worse than forgotten;

reduced to vacant vectors

they fill the air,

curse the streets,

proclaim this is their freedom won,

ignorant in the bank holiday sun.

Too late this wail of a weeping world

when the damage is already done.

Cummings and conspiracies

Insidious, these aphids

appear green as the stem,

shaped like promising buds,

trail their sweet honeydew:

deceived, the ants lap it up,

ignorant of them sucking at sap,

draining phloem, spitting disease.

It takes hold. Rusted leaves

yellow and curl at the tip,

wither.

Spring meets her premature death.

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Just noticed I spelled deceived incorrectly in the picture! What a daft language English is.

Lankyshire's present

Up passages so narrow
  Th'as to squeeze,
Through steep terraced rows
  'gainst raw Pennine breeze.

Streets once cobbled
  Under hoof and wheel,
Now not a hobble
  Nor cloppity reel.

No mares, no foals
  Lest for deceitful treat.
No mines, no coal,
  To labourer's defeat.

A walk down't' canal
  Old Liverpool to Leeds
Still pit heads at' banks
  But no barges int reeds.

Horse-drawn loads long forgotten
  Unto rod and reel.
Gone the glory days of cotton
  And factories' ferocious peal.

No more are't' bustling mills,
  Now flats or crumbling shells.
No chimneys to adorn the hills
  And bugger all to sell.

Lankyshire once was mighty,
  Weaved the crown its jewels.
Lankyshire now blighted in Blighty,
  Out of work, unrenewed.

Alas in modern times to stride,
  A Lanky lad must leave.
Pints of Wainwright to London Pride,
  And tertiary sector slave.

O'er Watford wider still the Gap,
  Divide grows deep with greed.
Alas, the South would sadly lack
  If not for industrial creed.