Blood on the Grasslands
Present strategies safeguarding the Qinghai-Tibetan Plateau’s grasslands are inadvertently harming its ecosystem and need to be reconsidered.
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Present strategies safeguarding the Qinghai-Tibetan Plateau’s grasslands are inadvertently harming its ecosystem and need to be reconsidered.
Flitting between skyscapes the distant strains of multitudes flicker in the air. Hidden voices perched in ebbing hues that fade into the greys. Their covert
Rising heat wrinkles your feathers, hazy offerings that prick the skin and dull desires. Smouldering beneath the surface, your blood-streaked cloak of darkest night lies
An accidental echo on the line oscillates with the baritone of your misplaced song. Waves beneath waves traverse wires crossed with the rising beat of
Fleeing down grassy corridors from whirring teeth that hack at your habitat with ill-managed discipline; this rich mossy canvas spat out as loamy clots, to
The sky is ablaze. Waves of dirty yellows wash over the ground, as crimson smoke licks barren clouds that loiter jeeringly overhead. Fuel
After the accident the forest returned, blanketing forsaken machinery in a gentle, unfamiliar embrace. Stacks of contaminated televisions lie in heaps, repurposed as shelters for
You glide across your silky precipice, Enticed by spasms at the edges of your kingdom; You see nothing, Just a loose thread caught in the
Sailing swiftly along the salted seashore, Your whiteish throat flanks brown streaks That accentuate comedic orange brows. Amongst saline marshes and sunken reeds You build
Your recent absences have become More pronounced; The late spring evenings are no longer Alive with the industry of your approach, And the flowers in