A high mass of tree roots growing down from the sky
circumvent the sunshine and stick to sheltered shadows.
A nature impossible to avoid in the heart of the country –
the centre of a field. Grey light and purple cloud
herald in a rainstorm of dancing lightning and crescendos.
The sparks flash and spit as a mis-wired robot.
Everything belongs here – except for the bench and its plaque.
The welcomed, jarring presence of man and machine.

Catherine Mann gave me “circumvent, rainstorm, robot” as the inspiration for this poem in the Three Random Word project.


Leave a Reply

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

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

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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