The Great Canal 2016

by Pat Sutherland Oct16

Three centuries of winding water,

sullied from the start,

coal-black, rust-red, sliding from

Bowling to Grangemouth,

Clyde to Forth;

floating coal, moving iron,

flanked by foundries

mills and breweries,

slaking Glasgow's thirst

at Port Dundas,

swelling industry and Scotland's trade.

A passage to adventure

for tall ships,

to servitude

for ragged humanity

transported  from The Butney,

a hellish highway

to the world's end.

Time flowed;

industry and profits grew                                                               

and would not wait

for barges, bound

to a horse's pace;

steam and power

outran the narrow boats,

sequestered by the train.

A century forsaken,

the Great Canal,

beneath black tenements

lay stagnant, silted,

a cesspool of beer cans,

its margins overspread

with swarming weeds,

till with the third millenium

came restoration.

Bulldozers scooped up sludge and trash,

scalpeled out a tiny heartbeat;

a trickle sprang and danced

into a rill,

a living, flowing course,

a waterway.

Today on Peccadillo

we motor slowly

past autumn corridors;

vivid leaves paint the surface,

fiery splashes on reflected clouds.

Willows droop and birches shiver,

A patient heron watches from the reeds,

coot and moorhen paddle by our bows.

Here in the ancient city,

a cycle of centuries

rolled full circle,

Nature is honoured again.