Points of View

 

A poem by local resident Gwawr James.

The Turbine Illusion…

When you call a spade a shovel – it’s trouble.

Then you call a turbine a mill or a farm:

That won’t cause any harm -

It’s artistic licence to say.

It is illusion, you see -

They will think it’s a tree.

Or, maybe a fisherman’s tale.

In the sea it will float -

They will think it’s a boat.

Have you noticed the sizes?

Firstly, they were kind of…small.

But now they seem bigger…so tall!

Shall we see what happens next?

You watch, you wait.

Then find it’s too late.

Windmills they were quaint,

With our farms here to stay.

So, call them what they are today.

Turbines – and pylons.

Nothing to enhance our sweet land or sea.

Cemented in…and forever will be.

Ugly, unwanted and costly.

Grant us the right to say, ‘NO MORE’

Before it’s too late to withdraw.

“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

Trial run through Corwen 2011.

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