Copperopolis
(1717 / 1804)
mountains of the moon
lunar landscapes
lunatic fringes
mercury madness
running through brains
scabs picked
wounds running raw
skin blotched red
eyes blurred
twitching
wait a hundred years
grass might grow back
earth might give flowers
bay waters might flow free
my grandfather coughs
his lungs up
bit by bit
he’ll never again know
the scent of flowers
taste oysters from the bay
smell sea-fresh air
rogermoorepoet 
Copperopolis I remember the train tide and the desolate poisoned landscape so well.
However by the virtue of foresight and good policy backed by European money and a dose of science and perserverence thrown in the area has been rehabilitated you would not recognise it. The River Tawe flows again in a green and pleasant land.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I heard that, Fran. Well, read it. I also heard that oysters have returned to Oystermouth after an absence of more than 100 years. Apparently Oystermouth sent oysters all over Britain and the continent in the 1700’s and 1800’s. Then they vanished as the bay became polluted. I also remember diving off the sewers at low tide and walking through the squishy mud. Little did I know … I am using a new technique to write my poems. Hope you like them. They are sightly different.
LikeLike
Our first images live from the moon were also about conquering. A beautiful tribute, Roger, and a brutal reminder.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Cathy: I remember the old steam trains slowing down as they went past hose ‘lunar landscapes’ all pot-holed and shriveled up. Nothing could grow for years after the smelting. They used to tell me that Sudbury was a bit like that, but I’ve never been there.
LikeLike