stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 5353
    [post_author] => 7
    [post_date] => 2014-08-12 17:45:38
    [post_date_gmt] => 2014-08-12 17:45:38
    [post_content] => You needn't go far
To notice the difference.
The ground is the same
The trees are still there
But the air feels wrong.

There are no skulls, no bodies
No cheap horror film cliches.
If it wasn't so stifling, you could almost enjoy it.
But it's always so stifling.

It used to be a pilgrimage for you,
To sit there, in the clammy dusk
For as long as you could, before
It all became to much.
Time to run along home.

After a while, they started moving.
Whole sections of the map
Had to be cut away.
The fringes spread out.
You lost a metre or two each day.

The pilgrimages have stopped now.
Too tiring, too large a strain.
Scraps and cuttings of maps
Litter the table. Slowly
A picture is forming.

They're all round the house now.
A perimeter wall.

When you pull down the tablecloth,
There's a whole world under the table.
A half light sometimes shines
through the fabric horizon.
The ground is the same
But the air feels right.
    [post_title] => Cartography
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => cartography
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2016-11-24 17:51:36
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2016-11-24 17:51:36
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poetrysociety.org.uk.gridhosted.co.uk/?post_type=poems&p=5353
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2014
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem was a runner-up in the Farewell Challenge #4 on Young Poets Network (YPN) in 2014.
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => Runner-up, Cape Farewell Challenge #4 2014
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 137
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Nat Norland
            [slug] => nat-norland
            [content] => Nat is a winner in the 2016 Behind the Curtain poetry challenge on Young Poets Network, in partnership with the V&A Museum. He also won the Poetry Society's inaugural Timothy Corsellis Prize, for poems from 14-25 year olds responding to WWII poetry. Judges from the War Poets Association, Imperial War Museums and the Poetry Society chose Nat's poem from hundreds of entries. He is also a 2014 winner of the Cape Farewell/Young Poets Network competition to produce poems in response to climate change.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 137
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Nat Norland
    [slug] => nat-norland
    [content] => Nat is a winner in the 2016 Behind the Curtain poetry challenge on Young Poets Network, in partnership with the V&A Museum. He also won the Poetry Society's inaugural Timothy Corsellis Prize, for poems from 14-25 year olds responding to WWII poetry. Judges from the War Poets Association, Imperial War Museums and the Poetry Society chose Nat's poem from hundreds of entries. He is also a 2014 winner of the Cape Farewell/Young Poets Network competition to produce poems in response to climate change.
)

Cartography

Nat Norland

You needn’t go far
To notice the difference.
The ground is the same
The trees are still there
But the air feels wrong.

There are no skulls, no bodies
No cheap horror film cliches.
If it wasn’t so stifling, you could almost enjoy it.
But it’s always so stifling.

It used to be a pilgrimage for you,
To sit there, in the clammy dusk
For as long as you could, before
It all became to much.
Time to run along home.

After a while, they started moving.
Whole sections of the map
Had to be cut away.
The fringes spread out.
You lost a metre or two each day.

The pilgrimages have stopped now.
Too tiring, too large a strain.
Scraps and cuttings of maps
Litter the table. Slowly
A picture is forming.

They’re all round the house now.
A perimeter wall.

When you pull down the tablecloth,
There’s a whole world under the table.
A half light sometimes shines
through the fabric horizon.
The ground is the same
But the air feels right.