THE FORETELLING

Another apocalyptic poem.
It is springs from real life. I recently moved and when it rained on Saturday night I awoke to find a pool of water by my back door. The moss that grows on the roof has been washed down the guttering and had blocked the drain.
I shall know for the future...
However it led to this.

the foretelling

every time it rains moss from off the roof

tumbles down the gutter to block the drain

and faced with a pool of still water

am required to plunge my hand

into its rippling surface

and pull wet velvet from the cast iron grid

if humans disappeared tomorrow

this house would flood in a single solar cycle

then slowly fall in on itself

and no one would remain to witness

the world becoming something else

our brief aberration ceased

I actually think it is about there. Which is unusual for me at the moment as most of the poems I write are definitely works in progress.
I was listening to Anthem In Eden last night. What an enduring achievement of English folk music. Some kind person has posted the whole song suite-happy listening.

And if that is not enough here is Polly On The Shore.

Until next time.