Who would want to live in a world which is just not quite fatal?”
~ Rachel Carson ~”The Silent Spring”
In the footprint of the old barn
five new houses almost built
swallows due home from Africa
shall find no eaves
All along the forest tracks
creatures sound alarms
flee from our footsteps in a flash
of wing and fur and hoof
Then the roads come through
bulldozers never sleep
until a clearway sweeps clean
the forest floor
Nest, burrow, lair, flower
fungi, sapling, scooped
and scarified to dust
And we do not mind that deadly silence
above all engine noise
May all the man-eaters mount attacks
send in the snakes spitting venom
spiders with their fatal bites
multiply microbes in every element
every corner of the continents
Before we lay waste the earth
With this “Forest Traffic!”photo from Pulkit Kudiwal, Carrie has stirred our Sunday Muse
PoetryPix 
The pairing of the quote with the poem…a powerful shiver to begin the day. Between the weird, loud machine noises that startled all of us this morning and this poem I have to wonder when the forest will turn at bay to devour our homes.
sooner rather than later might be best 😉
Great descriptors and examples of our encroachment and how it disrupts the ecosystem. Humans used to be wise when they lived as part of it instead of what they do now. I also hope we are “taken out” as I love this place too much to consider its death 😦
So true – we need to remember our place in the ecosystem not beyond it
Your poem struck a chord … I live that nightmare right now in my used-to-be smallish city. Well done.
It’s everywhere Helen and despite raised awareness nothing much changes this course we humans are on
This is as magnificent as it is sobering and deveastating Laura. Incredible poetry with a strong message!
You chose an evocative prompt this time around Carrie 😉
A wake-up call, beautfully written.
Many thanks Bev – a rant in verse,
kaykuala
Then the roads come through
bulldozers never sleep
It all seems familiar in the development of any region. The pandemic has in some ways slow things up. It certainly is a curse, Laura!
Hank
And still we carry on cementing the earth
Something needs to happen to save what’s left. Your poem reminds me of a painting someone told me about, showing the Europeans arriving in ships, indigenous people holding out their hands in welcome and the animals all running away. They are apparently changing their behaviour now and becoming nocturnal to avoid us.
Or nocturnal because of all the light pollution
…”Before we lay waste the earth”
A curse indeed.
Powerful and important poem, Laura!
Thank you – sometimes it just hits home!