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Carbon Negative

One fine day all this will burn
Strange but true

The blue woods of Oregon
Silver snakes of her rivers
Her dark lakes gone like steam

Something will come
A hammer at high noon
To stove in this huge porcelain egg of a world

Our hopes were only ever
The white wisps of clouds
Full of love and silence

Let them nestle there
Snug as shadows
In the shoulders of the hills

We are men
We ride high
Brains blazing on jet fuel.


Sammy Jay, 30, grew up in Oxford and in Ireland by the sea. He works as a rare book dealer with Peter Harrington of London, tending to their literature department with an interest in poetry in particular. He has been writing since he can remember, and is working on his first collection.

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