The poem below was written by Joe Forshaw, a member of the Southport u3a Fringe Poetry group.
Water drops speckle double glazing,
tracing, weaving, vertical waterways
in gravatourial acquiescence.
Visibility, not totally obscure beyond
the conservatory wrap around windows.
Cumulus drift by with threating presence.
Not satisfied with earlier torrential water-outs.
clouds ease off to promise false hope, then,
out of the grey, a renewed wet avalanche.
Clematis, hydrangeas, white roses, droop
in defensive posture, soaked into temporary
surrender, biding, hoping for another chance.
This is the now, but not that which will be.
Weather forecasts and patterns are changing.
in plain sight, in real time not just by nuance.
Business interests pay no heed. Greedy and
blind to the future they mutilate, kill and maim.
It’s far to late to change, no chance to re-enhance.
Ice burgs melt, rivers flood, famine disease
and unrest spread unrestrained. It’s gone beyond,
changeable or undo-able, gone past the last dance.
Our children will not forgive our negligence.
Will not accept our pleas for sympathetic clemency
for our failure to exercise the required due- diligence.
Joe Forshaw. 2021