Nature’s Retribution Poem by Will Gibbs

TACTILE map, raw flint and mortar,
Face torn and tugged by devoted tides
Of endless rain and vicious blows,
Rote this face to scars and frowns.

Bucolic bonnet, dank and teary
Bristled thatch that clad the eves,
Clutching scalp like seaweed,
Grapples with breakneck rocks.

Ivy acne sprawls and gnaws
With Archie’s mirthful aspect,
She pries his joints and exploits
Exposing, to time’s temper.

From within the depth of soul, peer
Naked eyes of leaded glass.
Crimson rain glazes honest panes,
His eyes squint, and emotion bleed.

Lowly and fulfilled this rustic,
Carnal cottage limps into the fold,
His shoulders shyly slumping,
In verdant nature’s den.

So sits, secluded face of
Old forgotten, forgiven days.
Winds whisper not, primed
With tooth’ed rage.

On the sunless side,
Engraved on idle stone,
Where nature’s nails do fail,
Moss and lichen fabrics gather.

Archie ages as the tactile oak,
Perseverance, endurance gone,
Powerless to her elements;
Rain, wind, spite and anger.

“What have I done” quoth he,
The mute air seemed to listen,
This sudden silence falling
Far upon on the lonely fells.




“Why punish me” wails he:
The incontinent cottage.
“Why the rains” craves he?
“Why the pains” howls he?

Resounding voice of waves
Smothered deafening silence
“You cheated me” scorned nature;
“So I punish you with care.”

“You blight my rivulet,
Steal my crops of flint,
So in the name of justice,
I punish ye with age.”