Godzilla in East Anglia
His breath is felt, as turning in their myriad blocks
The new white windmills melt, and fly as loose
As sputum, or the threads of dandelion clocks
And the grey clay is baked in the Great Ouse.
He stands athwart the Wash, strides o’er the Nene
And round his flanks rise flecks of speckling foam
His heraldry is grey and mottled green
Here, not Japan, in glory, he comes home.
King John’s jewels crushed beneath his monstrous feet
And in Norwich and Yarmouth and King’s Lynn
New banners fly and folk cry in the street:
“We always knew something big would begin.
When Ravens flee and Parliament’s but frauds
Then Monsters shall Arise and stalk the broads”.
Simon BJ
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