His, a vision in 7 parts


His, a vision grabbing

Of lands scoured, cleaved

A violence upon her trees, animals, peoples, culture, time

Chained and ploughed in

A subjugated sterile mule of land

Where only Monsanto grows


His, a vision pretended

The forest a wilderness ended

Not animals, not plants, not people

Displaced, deserted to a desolate fringe

Of cleared impotent soil

Old growth, now plantations


His, a vision blinded

With fattened wallets

Woodchip coins change hands

While hungry trucks and dozers

Crush moon-dust tracks

Into the barren impotent riparian


His, a vision lifeless

Specicide enabled entitled

Lizards with coke can helmets

Writhe and roll in roadside gutters

Flashing white underbellies

Beside plastic eternal iced coffees


His, a vision blasted

From poisonous craters

Blighted hills, missing mountains

Lost men feeding at the trough

A land untouched, un-dug, un-mined

Is a profit missed


His, a boom-time

Corporate erections distended

Come suckle from her teat

Lap at her open cut

Peeled apart gaping, up for sale

To the highest bidder or lowest tender


His, a vision strangled

Black boys pendulum from a sheet

Staring timeless, lifeless, from yellow-cake eyes

Across a land where profit is shovelled

From a place and race incarcerated

Where cell bars are the barcodes of loss

(Copyright Andrew James Macleod 2019)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s