A Hidden Trace
Beneath the pristine peaks and snow-capped mounds, Lie records of our past and future selves. A precious commodity lying dormant, Safe from prying eyes
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Beneath the pristine peaks and snow-capped mounds, Lie records of our past and future selves. A precious commodity lying dormant, Safe from prying eyes
Within the hidden pores of ancient rock, Clandestine remnants of our past lie trapped And whisper of the future they unlock. As these seductive
Within each breathe of air we need to live, Are carried tiny particles of dust; These specks pass through our bodies’ finest sieve, And cause
Beneath the rock lies liquid gold, With pressures set and bills to fold; But prospectors should be aware, Removal must be done with care.
When gliding through our old and rusty skies, You filtered out the wheezing, blackened air; A century of progress built on lies, Now captured in
The oceans are awash with our debris, As plastics from our lives flow down the drain And travel down hewn channels to the sea, Where
This week I am helping colleagues from The Cooper Group at the University of Liverpool discuss the fascinating world of molecular cages, as part of
We need to breathe so that we can all live, And yet our lungs are not a perfect sieve; So why is it that people
Arising from our ashen pit of toil, As forge and mill did shape this unkempt land; The blackness of the trees from coal and oil,
With climate change now set in stone I go to turn on my TV, And watch the other people moan: “It isn’t really up to