nature

Callum Featherstone

Branched Afree

I feel at home
among the trees.
And their omnipotence;
branched afree.
There’s flourishment in
their fawns and parakeets.
That creates to grow away;
greyed infinity.
A jump for life; cyclically.
Like, immortal leaves,
that fall froze in frost,
then, are flung by spring.
They, unashamedly,
leap upon sunny treen.
In uncaught, gasping vistas.
Not, lone, soiled views.
When seeds’ pure persistence,
reach up, in their air; for me and you.
Those strong roots
entwine and twister.
To come on home;
for precious scions;
to live and breathe
and bloom on through.

© poormansdreams

Callum Featherstone

Lost, properly

Another

night lost –

to this infernal game

of sleep. Another light lost –

to this internal

flaming

heap.

Another day, found; wanting,

ever-seeking, left

behind. Suffer

darkness;

unfounded: daunting,

ever-creeping, when in mind.

Another time or another place,

Another line on another face,

Another calm before the storm,

Another baby to be born.

Another life is another death,

Another fight for another breath,

Another want, another need,

Another plot – for which to bleed.

Another jab, another hook,

Another play – not by the book,

Another lie becomes the truth,

Another, “why?” crushed under boot.

Another step in lands of Hinter,

Yet, another long, bleak winter,

One more liberty carelessly lost,

Bitterly frozen by piercing frost.

Another

toll cost – to

the extending tarmac

adam. Another soul lost – to

the never-ending

blackened

chasm.

Another scarlet debtor, found;

humanity is justly,

repossessed.

Smothered faces

turn raging red, thrusting,

brutality; into Robin’s breast.

Callum Featherstone

A prison of another’s design

Caged birds dream of tasting clouds

and soaring above hasting crowds.

Magnolia walls trap Southern promise

I’ll clip my wings for another’s solace.

Metal struts; horizontal sorrow,

beaming the echo of glottal morose.

The rise and fall of neck and seed;

the emptiness, the peck and plead.

A flighty notion hungers inside;

a prison of another’s design.

Resistance unfed; futility;

no fight, bereft, flightless.

Brain dead, drained, lifeless;

for we bred in captivity.

Callum Featherstone

Nature versus Torture

The natural landscape is an elderly, insightful shaman.

Each rugged ridged mountain top, swell within the ocean, jagged nettle, cracked tree stump and dancing desert is a wisdom filled wrinkle, thought or expression.

The ritual undertaken by nature combines meticulous process, indefinite time and arduous repetitions. Yet, the arrogance of the human race – the young pretender – mistakenly and pompously believes to know better than nature.

If you really take a minute and think about what our planet is telling us then you would realise what it’s relationship with us has turned into.

That of a hero toward a villain.

It’s only option left is to destroy us before we harm our hero and it’s universe any further. Rising sea levels, rising world temperatures, natural disasters, wildlife extinctions and crop failures… (the list goes on) all point to one thing;

the planet must extinguish that which destroys it.

It’s enemy.

Us.

Unless, of course, this youthful pretender learns from it’s hero…

Learns that process, time and repetition are valuable within nature. Learns that nature, in turn, is valuable. Learns that nature can live without humanity but humanity cannot live without nature.

And, most importantly, learns that although we foolishly teach one another that it is never too late to change, it is too late for us to change the permanent damage and atrocities we have caused to our hero, our planet, our Earth.

However, there is still a chance to rectify further damage; if we care for nature the way nature cares for us. And, our every morsel of being.

Don’t be a fool or young pretender.

Be a hero.

Be nature.