Dismal Fumes – A Poem

Frosty mornings, misty roads,

Lorries carry heavy loads.

Traffic everywhere, nose to nose,

Engines roaring, pavements closed.

Gases and fumes fill the air,

Sometimes feels like we just don’t care.

Planes fly over, pollution swirls –

From their jets, in poisonous twirls.

Watch the endless trail of smoke,

From power stations, making choke –

An atmosphere less full of wildlife,

Cut that pollution with a knife.

Energy wasted, all for nowt,

Nobody walking around and about.

Everyone sat inside cars and vans,

Time we made more Ecofriendly plans.

I wrote this poem after noticing how clogged up my city has been lately. As those working from home have been asked to get back on the road, I worry that pollution will soon be back to its normal levels. London last week had an air quality warning where people were encouraged to stay inside due to the clinging fog holding onto those traffic fumes and creating extra risks for people with asthma.

I also notice that our weather locally is steadily becoming warmer every winter. Daily temperatures of around ten degrees replace bitterly cold previous winters. Essentially in the East of England we do not see any snow any more.

As a snow lover this makes me sad and right now I can see nothing but pollution so the parallels have become increasingly visible.

Fingers crossed we will find solutions to these problems soon. Roads filled with electric cars and electricity grids powered by natural sources may well be the answer. For another of my poems please click here.

My First Published Book – An Extract

Here is an extract from my published book, ‘The Fathers, the Sons and the Anxious Ghost.’ I hope that you enjoy it and consider checking out the kindle version of it.

How could I keep everything as normal as possible? How could I hold my head up high? Nothing made any sense to me anymore. I was overwhelmed, bewildered and out of painkillers. My head pounded slowly as it had for the past ten hours. A night spent at my mum’s house was needed but I really ought to go back there, to the home I had shared with Michelle. My heart was sat throbbing gently in the soles of my shoes. My ears quietly rang. My nose ran tirelessly. I felt as though reality had subsided and everything was a mix between chaos and sublime fantasy. My children needed me. No doubt about that. But what could I say? What should I do? Who could I turn to? Why didn’t I see any of this coming? I was not one to cry but tears fell out of my eyes like rain from an overloaded storm cloud suddenly offloading. Like daggers, they seemed to cut across my cheeks and dig into my jaw, carving faint yet permanent etchings across my face and staining me forever like ageing creams dissolving the past and dripping poignantly onto the floor as if flooding and muddying the future and any chance of escape.

 

I had put a few clothes in a bag last night and got out of there as the police had urged me to. They wanted to examine the house and take finger prints and find out exactly what she did. I had accidentally taken her jumper with me. As I picked it out of the bag I thought about the last time I had seen her in it. Just the other evening. She had been cooking salmon and I recalled her taking it off because she said it stank of fish. I sniffed it now and it was clean and fragrant. It reminded me of spring and the strolls we took through the hills. My heart sank back down into those soles and I gathered myself together. My kids were stood either side of me as they saw me caress her jumper. They leant into my shoulders and we stood in silence, looking out of the window, reflecting quietly.

 

I gathered up their stuff and we got in the car quickly. My mum asked if I would be alright on the road driving in this state. I tried to make her believe that I was capable and I started to drive off, without looking over my shoulder. I needed to face up to this. As I drove quite slowly through the mainly car-less roads, the usual warmth associated with going home did not reassemble and I was left feeling confused, uncomfortable and out of place. I noticed a glazed look in Alfie’s eyes and the sparkle of partly evaporated tears chalked into his face. I could not determine the way Tess felt exactly as she looked quite serious yet I sometimes thought I could see the beginnings of a smile, especially as we passed some of our favourite haunts, like the park, the duck pond and the place where she went to dancing lessons. I prayed to a god that I had never really believed in that she might get through this in one piece and have nothing but fond memories of her wonderful mother. Little did I know this day was going to resonate with her more strongly than anyone else. Alfie was the one with mixed emotions, so I largely anticipated him suffering greatly.

 

We turned into our street eventually and I could still see the police cordon wrapped around our garden. There seemed to be no sign of anyone though and I had been assured we could return home today. So we got out of the car slowly and were soon approached by our elderly neighbour who hugged us all in turn and gave me some stew in a little plastic pot. ‘It must be so awful for you,’ said Margaret as she squeezed Alfie tightly.