The Visitors Poem by Pamela Ann Frances Crane

What a boom!
Crack of doom -
Every room
Is quaking
And shaking
Things breaking
From the club
from the pub
village hub
running feet
people meet
in the street
as they stare
at the flare
in the air
Any light
in the night
is too bright
To ignore
and they saw
more and more
In the sky
flashing by
very high -
Did a shock
shatter rock
and unlock
Living light
green & white
on the night?
Did a star
fall too far
leave a scar?
Or a craft?
Don't be daft
they all laughed
Was the fire
in a gyre
something's pyre?

Academe
Sent the cream
Of their team
Men in suits
Shiny boots
In cahoots
With Whitehall
Had a ball
With it all -
What a joke!
Harried folk
Never spoke

In the drama
One farmer
Stayed calmer
Took a swig
Slew a pig
Cut a twig
From the boughs
That allows
You to dowse
(With a fork)
Took a walk
With the pork
In the night
To the site
Of the fright

By an orch-
ard his torch
hit a scorch
And he found
Something round
In the ground
On the hill
Farmer Bill
Lit a grill

Oh the smell
On the fell
wrought well -
Only then
Nine or ten
Tiny men
With noses
Like hoses
On roses
Guts grumbling
Feet stumbling
Came tumbling
To feast
On the Beast
Deceased
Bill’s bacon
Was taken
Unshaken
He set
His net
For a bet
Purple eyes
Silver thighs
Were the prize

But the farmer
Sans armour
Had karma -
Raw meat
Was a treat

Razor jaw
Silver claw
Simply tore
At the mesh
And the fresh
Human flesh

How he bled
As they fed
On his head
Not a stain
Of his brain
Would remain
Not a hair
Of him there
Anywhere...

The police
found a piece
Of his fleece
It was day-
Light so they
Got away

No-one knows
What still goes
On in those
Silent fells
No-one yells
No-one tells
But each year
People here
Disappear