There is much that is good about the inland waterways. However, there is also much that's bad.
The level of public relations is grim, distrust amongst boaters is dire
and is about to fall even further. The actions over the unnecessary changes to licensing do not bode well
for the future. Yet the trust keeps on plugging away with various puff
pieces. Fluffy voles are a favourite as are stories of how thing were in
the past. Yet the biggest story remains studiously ignored by the trust. That is the funding shortfall,
which is like a huge but invisible elephant in Canal and River Trust Boardroom.
There is a
cold wind blowing along the cut:
In a
steady gentle breeze, the water surface is never still;
canal and
river is hemmed in, by the nearby verdant hills;
quiet is
the needed solitude, that my waterways bring to me;
something
that many folk in towns, could never ever see;
as the
springtime ray of sunlight, will warm you through;
my words
inspired an image, only for your mind to view.
The canal
and its industry, was once a place of heavy toil;
why the
river is a leisure park now, for no one to despoil;
a myriad
of buds and flowers, that only spring time brings;
amongst
the waterways most attractive, and natural things;
heady
scent of bluebells, a memory that our senses hold;
the sound
of the hedgerow birds, inside our heads unfold.
However
this vista is sullied, for the future is looking grim;
as
corporate megalomania, new unwanted rules brings in;
boats
can't stay any longer, so move along your time is up;
the
peaceful tranquillity gone, for we have been sold a pup;
a waterway
run by accountants, maintenance cut to the core;
the future
tipped beyond the brink, the ends in sight for sure.
The
towpath life now rushing by, as peace has been replaced;
no longer
a place to walk with child, as the waterways defaced;
turned
into a high speed cycle route, the towpath's no longer safe;
now its
just a time trial location, for a cyclists high speed race;
decades of
dedicated restoration, to improve what had been lost;
towpath
now given over to cyclist who don't even share the costs.
Partnerships
promoted as saviours, an extra burden they now create;
a new
level of empire building clap trap, is this to be the ultimate fate;
trustees
are well out of their depth, their outlandish targets are set;
but just
like a mythical cheque in the posts, neither can clear the debt;
a million
pounds a week is the shortfall, the gap continuing to grow;
both with heads
buried in the sand, how could we expect them to know.
The Alternative Canal Laureate
Evan Keel.
"The events depicted
in this poem are fictitious. Any similarity to any person
living or dead is merely coincidental. No person should without the
prior permission of the author assume the identity of any character.
These poems are a story that could be based on actual events. In
certain cases incidents, characters and time lines have been changed for
dramatic purposes. Certain characters may be accidental composites, or
entirely fictitious. I was helped in my creative endeavour by my
friend's telepathic cat named Huxley. Huxley assumes all responsibility
for any mistakes and errors."
