“Monoculture” – a poem


In the sleaziest part of the city
Where the glamorous come out to play
There’s a sound of uneasy appeasement
And a developer whose got his way
They’re tearing the soul from the city
Ripping it’s heart from the core
Whilst it’s limbs are shouting and screaming
That it’s had it’s fill and “we want No More!”
The sound of the mechanical machinery
Mark the ultimate start of the end
The soul of the city has eroded
And within it, you’ll not find a friend
The heart of a neighbour’s solidarity
Will evaporate within those small spaces
And community spirit will die a slow death
By the trendies who don’t know their faces
Soon our cities will look all the same
With vague landmarks discerning the other
Monoculture societies, with no name
Like a child ripped apart from its mother
A nail in the heart of free living
Mediocrity will reign supreme
With a notch in the bedpost of banality
Be gone all you creatures of dreams
And in the post-development time
The street cleaners will take away dirt
They may wash away surface grime
But they’ll never clean the essence and hurt