Or, Gordon The Creator.
I started out writing a short story of how the Squashed Forest was created, and it accidentally became a poem that was much longer than planned. It seems fitting to add it as the first proper blog post. I did start doing an illustrated version but I really don't have time to finish it at the moment, so I've just included the first couple of images for now.
Enjoy!
This is Gordon, the mountain ape
He formed a roughly human shape
Not that he knows what humans are
Men do not stray on planets far
As this one is, where Gord resides
Along with tribe and several brides
The peak was cold as ice by night
And colder with the rising light
But tribe was hairy, furry, dense
From harsh air they needed no defence
They lived in a relatively comfortable way
Not knowing it would end one day
It started with rumbles and building heat
The rock felt warm beneath their feet
When snow and ice were melting fast
The apes thought each breath might be their last
Then the mountain cracked and shook
The tribe, each others hands they took
And strode across hot moving ground
As lava flowed and magma found
It’s way under the crumbling earth
The tribe fled down from mountain hearth
Until the rock had levelled out
Extinction cheated, but whereabouts
They found themselves they did not know
This flatter ground was foreign, so
Tribe started walking towards the sun
Two by two and one by one
Gordon followed the trailing horde
But without destination he quickly grew bored
Somewhere down the line, and many moons later
Where forested land drew across the equator
And the tallest of trees barely grazed the shins
Of even the smallest homi-sapiens
It was only here that they realised how large they had grown
Up high on that mountain they never had known
The giants they were, now their heads neared the cloud
The biggest eloped through the vaporous shroud
But shorter folk noticed the forest be crushed
Down under their toes as they strode through the dust
So tribe took the least dense, least coniferous path
To lessen destruction and reduce aftermath
For mostly they were a considerate breed
Gordon however chose not to concede
He saw that the ground in some parts was more boggy
Away from the group the land was quite soggy
He thought “how fun it must feel on the toes,
As squelching between all the digits it goes”
The urge to stand in the mud grew
“I have to try it” Gordon knew
And so, when he saw none were watching
He ventured sideways, slowly launching
His foot into the foggy air
And swiftly brought it down, just where
A clump of forest innocently sat
Not knowing it would be pounded flat
The foot came down, intent to spoil
Succeeding as it crushed the soil
And trees they snapped and folded and cracked
As the world around began to compact
The beasts with wings, the bats and birds
Were able to escape unhurt
And creatures blind that lived by touch
Had long eluded vibrations such
But slower critters, plants and fungi
Saw darkness descend from the sky
And down they went, til earth would be
Level with Gordon’s hairy knee
For just a moment he was stuck
His toes sucked in the squishy muck
Then with a heave he plucked the appendage
Out of the ground and over the ridge
He almost nearly lost his balance
Being so destructive and callous
The guilt inside began to creep
He never expected to go so deep
And as he looked down in the hole
He’d made with his enormous sole
He saw the mangled, squashed remains
And pondered if he’d caused much pain
But the feeling lasted just a second
For then he heard his tribe, they beckoned
“Gordon, get back to the line,
You don’t want to be left behind!”
And so he chose to stray no further
And gave no other thought or fervor
To the tiny sunken forest lives
He simply went back to his wives
The tribe continued walking south
Through dry deserts and ocean mouth
Until eventually they saw
A quiet beach, a lonely shore
With palm trees bountiful and tall
For long they had not felt this small
So unanimously tribe decided
To their new habitat they’d been guided
Gordon lay down on the soft, warm land
And watched his brides dance in the sand
He knew the whole tribe were as content
As he was then, and did not resent
The molten rock that took their home
The mountains that they used to roam
And as sun set on new landscapes
The tribe were happy, hopeful apes
Yet far away, in footstep trod
Where Gordon was creator, God
The forest slumbered in the void
Squashed it was, but not destroyed
For over time the trees returned
Things evolved, they grew and learned
How to survive down in the dirt
Life there was no more inert
And long after Gord and tribe were gone
The Squashed Forest flourished and life went on
But those stories are for another time
Another tale, a different rhyme