Skip to main content

The Sadness of Plastic


I ha
ve known the inexorable sadness of litter on countryside walks
thrown along hedgerows of gleaming berries
out of place but in near sight.
The misery of mucky polystyrene food boxes
amongst marsh marigolds and achillea
flung from cars and wrappers of sandwiches
hinged like dentures to snap shut
over hungry hedgehogs or thirsty toads.
‘M’ or ‘Starbucks’ cups with unnecessary plastic lids
harmful havens of no return for tiny creatures.
The selfish scattering of chocolate covers
torn, sweet papers – all plastic – strewn
and cigarette butts, heeled into verges of
daisies, buttercups and dandelions
to blow about in breezes
or to be caught under hedges,
in ditches, and amongst the wild flowers
left by the Council for bees and butterflies
who now do battle with all this human debris.
Here lies the detritus of greed,
the refuse of recalcitrant rebels
who refuse to listen to the pleas in the news,
online, in social media, at school – everywhere –
about rubbish and pollution,
global warming and doom.

Don’t they care?

I know the disgust of black or green
little plastic bags full of dog poo tossed
up trees, hung from fences or chucked into ditches.
Why?
In nature surely ‘stick and flick’
or taking home to a bin
is better than more plastic to poison the view,
pollute our land, our rivers, our wildlife???
Plastic traps and ensnares,
suffocates, drowns out the pleasure
that was once a countryside walk.

Sue Foster

Currently Popular Poems:

Castaway

If my cast was made of moss I’d be content With the spring of reassurance. If my emotions were made of clay I’d mould them Into a ball. If my ball rolled Far away I’d rescue them Without fail. Natasha

Shingle Beach

Deep Yellow sea poppies With Salted horns Of sickle-shaped pods Grey green lobes Waxy Rosettes Clinging to the shingle And Fragility of life. Thomas

A Mindful Reunion

We meet in silence Clutching blankets brought from home, Holding memories from a year ago When scars were raw, Heads disguised by wigs And tears too salt to weep. I found words difficult then. ‘Body scan’ Was not a mindful exercise But a machine at the end of a corridor. There were places in my body I could not touch with thought. Like chrysalis we scatter the floor Each section of our being Revisited with childlike curiosity, Sensations magnified, the tickle of wool, the press of cotton. A forgotten ache from an ankle. Our teacher’s voice Both lesson and lullaby Returning to the breath Again and again We try to train our thoughts; Naughty as puppies With Baskerville bites I find peacefulness within the ordinary, Rest my head in the soft cushion of a second Savouring the beauty of this moment, Both rooted in earth and reaching for stars. Jacqueline Woods

Blue Sky

Blue sky And clouds float by Looking up high I can see why They do fly Blue sky Mavis

Erosion

Unerring yet erratic The weight of water never waits for readiness Sandstone is proven to be a two-faced liar a pretence of solidity written into the features of its rockface which crumbles under a wave’s supremacy and we wave goodbye to all we knew Lynne Nesbit

Ordinary Miracle

gratitude for the toothpaste pleasure at my soft mattress joy of the first sip of tea delight as my cat stretches to remember the miracle of ordinary things unhook the small mind move into the space where miracles are happening each second my body is breathing me in, out, every moment in, out in Sarah Caddick

Through Mist to the End

All alone I stand Nothing but mist As my friend. Waiting for the right feathers to land. To squawk, crow or hoot I’ll be your companion Through the mist to the end. Wilhelm

Whispered Words

Whispered words of silence Forgotten energies Of the past. Like a recurring dream Restless thoughts Of the now. Spirited voices of the present Elated energies Of the future.   Sally  

S.A.D

The black dog Shook his weary head Stay in bed He said. The black dog Followed me again Munching biscuits Lost energies for meals. The black dog Didn’t go for walks For three weeks He stayed inside. Not answering his calls The black dog remained silent Until Spring. Chris

Willow Winterbourne

Winterbourne willow wetland Shooting sinuous sprouts Unforgettably Upright Therapeutic tactile tree Silently silvery still. Robert