There’s No Room – a poem about nature

There’s no room


Pruned trees in rows,

Furrows in rows,

Houses in rows,

Brows in furrows,

There’s no room.


Pesticide clouds,

Smoke clouds,

Particle clouds,

Mushroom clouds,

Clouds in shrouds,

There’s no room.


Weeds eradicated,

Pest eradicated,

Vermin eradicated,

Eradicate the fate,

There’s no room.


Opher 13.4.2018



There’s no room at the inn of nature. We’ve taken every available space.

A million weary creatures are looking for a place to lay their heads, find sustenance and give birth. They’re scratting around between the neat furrows of our lives and pawing over the detritus we leave in our wake.

Life is hard and getting harder.

Once they were part of a great cycle. They had their place. Now they are reduced to the position of pest and hounded for their lives. Each new year that passes brings another weapon to assail them with.

There is no place where they can belong.

2 thoughts on “There’s No Room – a poem about nature

  1. I feel this way when I see the house martins in Cabanas on the coast being prevented from nesting. The original inhabitants of the fishing village lived easily with them but the newcomers with desires for sea views and clean places cannot accommodate these feathered friends. One plus, the local shop put up some of the RSPB type platforms that helps prevent the mess and there is a long row of the house martins just on the second line from their mud and sea.

    1. Yes Georgina – I see it all over the place – particularly with people putting up these plastic windows. They are knocking down nests and preventing them from nesting. So sad.

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