Hopes for the New Bridge

The same dull old children

Are, deadened, nodding along,

Dumbed by the brutal treatment

Of these same old plans.

The same harakeke and toetoe,

Roughly wrenched roots

Stamped into rocky clay and

Smattered with a speckle of black bark.

They are gazing up, and mute

Blank disbelief is branded on each

Silent, swaying seed-head

Perceiving the arcing structure out of reach.

This bridge represents a human dissatisfaction

With locality and it’s factions,

And contends capacity to cross any gulf.

To attack a road is a profound assertion

Of the local,

And a lively rejuvenation to the slaves of that black slash

In the living back of the earth.

Our same, sad, community of spirits

May find new strength in roots to wrest

And wreck the engines blowing smoke

In sooty billows from pursed pipes like metal lips,

To smash the roads that spread and choke,

To bury the chunks with fresh and furry willow tips.

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TWM GWYNNE

Twm Gwynne is an eco-radical poet and writer, wandering child of misted valleys. More of his writing can be found at his blog ydyngwyrdd.wordpress.com.