Nothing gentle survived that farm,

lambs were drowned, deer were shot.

Baby bunnies and hares mowed down at silage time,

baby calves stuck at their mothers hips from too much rich draft.


Nothing gentle survived that farm,

only screams and shouts and slamming doors…so many slamming doors.

Raging, ragged, angry mum,

draining, demanding, dehumanising dad.


Nothing gentle survived that farm,

apart from you Tessa, and your warm caring paws and soft mats of long hair.

But you were of no use to them,

cuddles, love and care seemingly so disposable, insignificant and useless.

Why didn’t you chase sheep, perform and be vicious like they demanded?

Somehow you stayed warm, my only teacher of warmth, I miss you.


Nothing gentle survived that farm,

no gentle breeze, only roaring gales.

Power cuts matching the black energy surges,

broken plates and broken sugar bowls.


Nothing gentle survived that farm.

I was so desperate for a rest,

from your emotional demands.

I’d clean every inch of the blackened kitchen,

scrubbing the table legs that the dogs had desperately gnawed in frustration;

I knew their feeling.

Sugary cereal would numb me out

And watching neighbours for those 20 minutes of peace

Until we heard the door….

You would yell out and we would all come running

To service you….our captor, boss and King.


Written April 2020