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Loose lines lick the parchment torn,

With dragons inked and centaurs drawn.

Poseidon’s fork and seaweed hair,

Where pregnant page does new lands bear.

New worlds found through greed and death,

The ageing map now gains a West.

Coastlines guessed turn outlines known,

As mapper’s dreams now cease to roam.

Exotic shores are pinpoint found,

As fearsome tribes are brought to town.

Cocoa, soy and coffee, gold,

Shackled hands as freedoms sold.

Cargo boxed in standard size,

Canals are dug to shrink the miles.

Silk rails gleam whilst clocks align,

Cities bulge on standard time.

Roads cut forest, sand and ice,

Car park grey fills paradise.

Airmiles, sun tans, cheap postcards,

Far flung places now backyard.

Exotic scenes paint silver screen,

Distant worlds familiar seem.

Cable ties garotte the globe,

Space borne eyes, all lands exposed.

Nothing left for hands to draw,

Once rich earth now dying poor.

Ross Duggleby

Image credit here