The ashen ground lay still hot,
With memory of fires burning,
Of life force curling in it’s flames,
And yet,
A silent revolution takes place,
Deep under burning soil,
Is a last hoorah for life in flux,
Root erupts
Supple and moist,
From a fragile,
but protective encasement,
Root unravels,
Tendril uncoils in and through rich packed earth,
From the depths it tunnels up,
up,
Closer to the light,
To the day,
To the fire it longs to challenge,
New life finds a way,
As if to say,
No,
No,
Not today
Tag: Climate change
This Inferno
We are burning
We are bombing,
In a self-made Apocalypse,
Who will save us?
When thee who made us
Provided free will capacities,
This is on us,
Regardless of what you believe in,
Fix it, unless
You choose this end,
With riches and ash,
Profit and pain,
War and climate change,
Neighbors are fleeing,
A hell we have made,
And so many close eyes, head down, to pray,
“Do something!” The universe screams,
Your prayers alone are a selfish salve,
Ignoring your personal investment in this terror,
“Too little too late,” the skeptics say,
But why add fuel to this raging inferno?
Juvenile Activists
A generation stands
In prayer,
From false idols
Long praised they demand sacrifice,
Their goddess is tired,
Is crying,
Is bleeding,
Is burning,
And still the idols won’t hear,
won’t see,
Won’t give
An inch, an ounce of fossil fuel empathy,
They were always false,
But propped up to heavenly heights,
Were worshipped
By those before
for the coin,
The vanity, the luxury,
The illusory gifts
Such “gods” would provide.
The juvenile,
Have much to lose,
In fact they’ve lost it.
Nothing to lose.
The false idols should fear,
The young, as they worship
The true Goddess.
No One Else
The darkness
We are told stories about,
It is here,
Do not avert your eyes,
We brought it here,
Collectively conjured the deepest evils,
It is our job to reign the hellhounds,
That reside here,
It is our job to restore humanity,
To pick up,
To free from cages
the fallen,
the lost,
the battered
and bruised,
It is our job,
There is no one else.
Hypotheticals
We all think we would
Have been the good guys in that story,
That we would have refused fascism’s demands,
We think we would have had the foresight,
The readiness to do the unpopular,
Until it happens on one’s own soil,
And then one is left in one of a few camps,
Those that acquiesce,
Those that refuse,
And those that just don’t know what to do,
What to do when humans are contained like cattle
With the label illegal,
What to do when realities of an angry mother Earth means this was no fault of their own,
What to do when being a good citizen conflicts with being a good person,
What to do when the question “what do I do?” is real
and not a hypothetical “what would I do?”
But rather ”what will I do?”
Consuming Mount Everest
Oh I see it
You see it,
We both see it too,
Our constituents can see it,
But they haven’t got a care,
Let’s climb Mount Everest and get back to…
Consumption,
Consuming ever inch of even the deadliest,
Most subversive terrain,
Because we are Man,
There is nothing outside of our domain,
No lamb, nor dove, nor tree, nor rock, nor gene, nor womb,
Someone can always claim better use,
Then use it, use it,
Use it up,
Dry the teat from which it’s sucked,
No concern for the mare,
For consumption sees not the waste,
Just the use,
And we are here in a land we soon won’t recognize,
Our children won’t believe what unused could mean,
Or look like,
our mountains dwarfed by landfills,
And our oceans become a myth,
Consume the seas, consume the trees,
The Lorax has already left,
What’s left are us hippies,
Rallying in it’s spirit,
Hoping still
that someone will wake up,
And see that this is
all just a nightmare
With an end,
We’re all waiting for
the Hollywood twist,
That deems our
ugly, air sucking
stranger than fiction truth
just that,
fiction
She of Letters 