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Array ( [sid] => 160700 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The Willing Hand Of Man [time] => 2010-06-20 12:54:21 [hometext] => inspired by lovincritters thoughts on the Gulf of Mexico disaster, this is about man's obsession with progress-whatever the cost. [bodytext] => Like a thug intent on maximum damage
The digger entered the field under the cover of darkness.
Now exposed by the high sun of blossoming summer,
It is what it is, a large foreboding lump of machinery immobile at the field's edge.
From a gap in the hedge a man enters the still Sunday silence.
The chainsaw he dangles is like a grotesques extension of his arm.
He strides towards the copse of birch, ash and elm, his intentions wicked, his conscience clear.
The first pull of the cord is a devastating sound,
The flash of the saw scatters the birds as they look down on their God given kingdom,
A kingdom about to be taken by the willing hand of man.
With each stride he takes another tree falls, its limbs hanging for a micro second
In the sultry silence of the day.
Although these trees are meeting their fate with great dignity,
Their inner screams will haunt this place forever.
Now the digger makes its way across the field, wheezing like an asthmatic bulldog,
Stops at the mass of Hawthorne hedge, then raising its vast mechanical arm,
Demands the full attention of sun, sky, fallen trees.
It lands in the dark soil with a sickening thud, its huge jaws full of dark rotten teeth
Penetrate the deep earth and with each severed root a dream is lost,
Each dream a hundred years in the making, with each twig and thorn ripped from the hedge,
An ancient promise is broken, a promise made by sweet mother earth.
And now an uneasy stillness settles with the dusk. The trees are fallen,
The hedgerow, anointed with the tears of an age long forgotten, is flattened.
The ghosts are already gathering and with them another piece of the puzzle is slotted into place.
The puzzle of progress is an ongoing obscenity, an obscenity softly caressed
By the willing hand of man.

[comments] => 1 [counter] => 108 [topic] => 27 [informant] => cashfan1 [notes] => Corrected spelling as requested ~ Moderator_18 June 21, 2010 [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => NaturePoetry )
The Willing Hand Of Man

Contributed by cashfan1 on Sunday, 20th June 2010 @ 12:54:21 PM in AEST
Topic: NaturePoetry



Like a thug intent on maximum damage
The digger entered the field under the cover of darkness.
Now exposed by the high sun of blossoming summer,
It is what it is, a large foreboding lump of machinery immobile at the field's edge.
From a gap in the hedge a man enters the still Sunday silence.
The chainsaw he dangles is like a grotesques extension of his arm.
He strides towards the copse of birch, ash and elm, his intentions wicked, his conscience clear.
The first pull of the cord is a devastating sound,
The flash of the saw scatters the birds as they look down on their God given kingdom,
A kingdom about to be taken by the willing hand of man.
With each stride he takes another tree falls, its limbs hanging for a micro second
In the sultry silence of the day.
Although these trees are meeting their fate with great dignity,
Their inner screams will haunt this place forever.
Now the digger makes its way across the field, wheezing like an asthmatic bulldog,
Stops at the mass of Hawthorne hedge, then raising its vast mechanical arm,
Demands the full attention of sun, sky, fallen trees.
It lands in the dark soil with a sickening thud, its huge jaws full of dark rotten teeth
Penetrate the deep earth and with each severed root a dream is lost,
Each dream a hundred years in the making, with each twig and thorn ripped from the hedge,
An ancient promise is broken, a promise made by sweet mother earth.
And now an uneasy stillness settles with the dusk. The trees are fallen,
The hedgerow, anointed with the tears of an age long forgotten, is flattened.
The ghosts are already gathering and with them another piece of the puzzle is slotted into place.
The puzzle of progress is an ongoing obscenity, an obscenity softly caressed
By the willing hand of man.





Copyright © cashfan1 ... [ 2010-06-20 12:54:21]
(Date/Time posted on site)





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Re: The Willing Hand Of Man (User Rating: 1 )
by lovingcritters on Monday, 21st June 2010 @ 01:04:11 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)
Oh My this is truly a "Masterpiece" if I've ever seen one! Made me sick to heart once again to see what man does to man, and his surroundings!!! The imagery in this poem was so moving, I'm so touched, and when you made the trees come to life and speak..........that just broke my heart. All in the name of progress! If man is not stopped, soon his whole earth, his home that was created just for mankind will be competely destroyed!
I'll never forget this poem............
Wonderful in all ways!
Warm love,
consue




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