Jill Boucher

Bipolar planet

Restless roulette ball spinning round the sun,
ricochets from furious fiery highs
to dismal lows.
Her slithering moods hump up land masses,
moons drag her seas, till
in remission stilled
she breathes
life into trilobites fish amphibians reptiles,
mosses ferns and trees, paints
snakeskins and dragonflies, makes music
from waterfalls and streams.

Then “Faites vos jeux” : she spins,
alternately burning and freezing.
Life recedes

in the first Great Dying.

Dinosaurs crawl from her seas
when next she rests:
a plethora of forms
infest her swamps and forests, herbivores
scuttling and lumbering, which mutate
to Frankenstein monsters, armoured spiked and clawed
carnivores, teeth like plough shares,
portcullis jaws.

Then “Faites vos jeux”: she spins
between black holes, bombarded by asteroids.
Life recedes

in the second Great Dying.

Not long ago she came to rest again
in a pocket of time.
Five continents rose from her seas
pregnant with paradise.
Recovering palette and stave,
she breeds for the first time mammals, and for fun
sets some on two legs, gives them big brains
to beat the system, send the croupiers home
and cure her restlessness.
Instead they raid her stores,
mauling her surfaces, fouling her lands with blood,
breeding incontinently.

Faites vos jeux Mesdames, Messieurs
and prepare

for the third Great Dying.

Jill Boucher lives in rural Warwickshire with a very large garden, a husband and a cat.  She has ‘always written poetry’,
but only began to write in earnest about four years ago, and is just beginning to get published.