Olde England

I sit on a bus
on a grey afternoon
in a place in the Midlands
with a Saxon name
passing scrubby heathland:
"The Nature Trail".
Did  blonde Saxon warriors
with round shields and axes 
and garnet red finery
right in front of my bus
run screaming to battle
or flea for their lives?

I worked In London
in Oxford Street
Where condemmed Martyrs
defiantly wearing priestly robes
 were dragged on  hurdles 
through the mud and the hatred
in their terror still praying
their hearts soon to be torn out
just a little further along
the ancient road
to Oxford Town
to Tyburn , to Heaven.

I live by the canal
and think what it was like
to see  boatmen and horses
transport fragile bone China
which before went by mule trains 
dragged down muddy tracks.
Did this feel like progress ?
Or just greed incarnate ?  
Would their toil through the seasons
in fields which once stood here
be rudely forgotten
yet return in their dreams?

 

Tags: Imagery,