[Erik Olson]

Chemical fountains in the San Joaquin
sea-level valley ripen fields of citrus,
no sight of people, only where they've been,
Summer year round, sun fevered like a virus.
Groves only orange-rancher’s daughters crop
repeat for miles. In desert lacking rain
lies teeming fruit in silos for the shop,
drab process plants put beef in cellophane.
Driving through here, it seems the world outspreads
before you: orchards harvest apricots
or limes, fields grapes or grains in packing sheds.
Oil derricks drill bemired, near feeding lots.

k

[Martin Parker]

I was about to ask if there was likely to be some more, actual and relevant verse on this thread any time soon -- or at all.

Thank you, Erik, for coming to the rescue!

[John Whitworth]

Quite right, Martin. This might be worth a punt. It is obvious it is my first time in France. For a start the French are not in the least romantic. And the wonderful cuisine is a thing of the past too.

Across La Manche, sud-ouest de Thanet,
The finest country on the planet,
(Not counting here of course), la France,
Compound de cuisine et romance,

La France, le plus beau pays du monde,
Une nation witty yet profonde.
Tous les enfants can quote Descartes
Which shows how ils sont toujours smart.

Très cultivés, leurs films et plays
Deserving of the highest praise,
Likewise leurs romans need no boost,
Stendhal, Balzac, Flaubert, Proust,

Les jolies femmes, quel sex-appeal!
Les hommes, quel confidence et style!
Ils even jouent le criquet, yes!
Although (hélas!) sans much success.