"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
We rip apart the Earth on which we stand, Try tame the wild for all that we have planned; Now caught up in our thoughts and ‘expertise,’ Expose ourselves to buried-deep disease. The virus is unmindful of our scheme, And flows between the species like a stream; We cut …
Running in dread from the The sickly secret of a Bee’s honeycomb, My nightmares are full of Buttered English muffins That morph into Deathstalker scorpions, And then back again into fields of cooked Corn on the cob. From the corner of my eye I see the Condensation on the inside …
These parasitic insect pests, Crave sanctuary that is sanguine; As most unwelcome, picky guests, They flee the hues of gold and green. Lilac and violet are painted, Daughters become well acquainted; Whilst sons search for others in red, To blacken the sheets on our bed. This is …
The Asian tiger mosquito’s a pest, It’s a vector of death-causing disease; In urban locations it makes its nest, And whilst the sun is up it flies and feeds. It started out in Southeast Asian climes, But shipping has caused it to spread its wings; Now in America it plots …