I STOOD TIP-TOE

I STOOD TIP-TOE (A VISITATION BY THE SPIRIT OF KEATS)

By Peter Woodgate 

I stood tip-toe upon a little mound

Of rubbish-strewn upon the ground,

There stretched as far as eye could see

The product of man’s lunacy.

I gazed awhile, then felt a shiver,

Rising from the toxic river

As bloated fish with dark glazed eye,

And rotting fins, went floating by.

In amongst the withered green,

Of seedy plants, there could be seen

The spiteful jaws of jagged tins

That should have ended up in bins.

Plastic bottles lay awry

Their necks extended to the sky,

And bygone news, with faded words,

Was pierced, and hung upon the swords,

Of bramble bushes, black and keen

To catch the eye and spoil the scene.

The eye, in wandering, did pass,

Refracted light from broken glass

And tin-foil wrappers’ garish sheen

Reflected ugliness, now seen

Instead of beauty; in its place

Mindlessness had shown its face.

Thoughts of peaceful meditation

In God’s wondrous vegetation

Were dispelled, the mind now blue,

I spied a rubber tyre, then two,

Deposited in gay abandon,

The relic of a disused tandem.

To think that two had passed this way

Whilst life was innocent and gay

And knelt upon the lush green ground

And laughed, and played, and heard the sound

Of skylarks, linnets, and the thrush,

Before extinction, with a rush,

Drew its final veil across,

Mankind oblivious, to the loss.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate