CITY – SMOKESTACKED SERANADE
©Trev Teasdel, Coventry August 1974


O City…
Why does inspiration no longer tremble in your veins?
You have begat a desert of sundried grains.


O City…
Like a clenched fist in the garden of the Lord.
The flowers bent and bowed where vapours
out of you poured.


I stand here stranded in your blackened pit
Beaten down by your fast and furious whip.


O city…
Your dark eyes glisten and seduce me to your woos
You dark disgusting lady, you got me trembling in your shoes.
Time cracks his whip and breathes life into the fools
Mother nature’s raped by man’s pneumatic tools
People just sit around and watch….