Climate change, schlimate change, the scientists lied. That does not mean we're out of tr sustaiableouble, we are still consuming more and more, resources are finite and wind turbines aren't. Fossil fuels are too precious to burn, we all have to scale back our lifestyles.
The desert slowly creeping
does not contemplate the weeping
of the mother whose milk ducts have run dry.
On a beach a rich girl, dreaming
turns a closed ear to the keening~
of the woman who must watch her children die.
Watchers in the arctic station
contemplate with fascination
the spectral beauty of the melting ice
as they gather information
on the predicted inundation.
The scream of money mutes their wise advice.
While the city’s raging thirst
deprives fields the mountains nursed
and sucks the river’s flowing current dry
or winds blow destructively
and fertile soil is washed to sea
by the torrents that pour down from the sky.
As the wounded Earth complains
profligate humankind unchains
ancient monsters our forefathers faced with dread.
They are nature’s retribution
for the relentless pollution
of the system that has been life’s one seedbed.
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Love Tinka
Still, an excellent write; a science fiction feel to this one, like other worlds coming alive.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.