They say that the pen is mightier than the sword. I thought you might enjoy this.
A few weeks ago we visited one of our favourite places on the Isle of Lewis, a remote place where sea eagles breed, and where they have got planning permission for 40+ turbines. When we got back I wrote the following poem. Don’t know if it’s of any interest but here goes
A corner set apart,
An other world on the boundaries of everyday life.
A solace, a restoration, a source of true reality.
Sunlight glints on sapphire sea lochs,
Sheep mooch carelessly on windswept hills,
Wheatears flit from post to post, blurring peach and black and white.
A dipper bobs it’s rhythm in a stony burn, whilst a curlew’s call ripples the air.
High, high above, the eagle surveys this life-filled scape,
Wing tips fanned, alert to the smallest breath,
Soaring glorious in golden freedom.
But a threat also lurks, forbidding in the air,
A ghost of greed and self-promotion,
A curse of those whose avarice sings in harmony with the hum of turbines,
Whose deliberate blindness sells them a dream, inferior and incomplete.
A dream that whirs on spinning blades of desecration,
Bulldozing age-old beauty for a monstrous rotating re-birth.
A dream of “modern” men who fail to comprehend their life-link to the land.
“Renewable” they call it,
“The way forward” they say.
Astounding in their ignorance, they seek to renew by destruction,
Promoting annihilation in the name of sustainability!
Morally bereft, they ignore the daily eternal renewal by morning dew and opal-pink sunrise.
When this bewildering madness in complete,
And the gaggle of gibbering experts have found another toy,
Who will renew the eagles’ cry in ancient crags?
Who will renew the skylarks’ song over heather-dusted moors?
Who will heal a landscape raped in the name of progress,
And reverse the betrayal?
For the “way forward” was never lost.
Those with eyes to look back through countless generations
See it written large in their forefathers’ passion for their land.